Nyx Tower

  Agamemnon looked out over the city from his fortified command post. The tower offered a commanding view of the entire metropolis but its diminutive stature compared to the other skyscrapers made it inconspicuous enough to be overlooked. The orange glow of the sun was just beginning to crest the horizon, painting the sky beyond the edge of the storm clouds in a beautiful fan of orange and purple. He detested it. The cold embrace of night was soon to give way to the uncomfortable warmth of the day. Nothing more unpleasant for a vampire.

  He contemplated his force disposition. He had taken much inspiration in its planning and deployment. The entire city was a spring trap, coiled tight and ready to be sprung on any hapless force that dared enter. He had a vast array of armaments available to him. As a matter of responsible caution, he did not assume his plan flawless. But he couldn’t help but stroke his own ego. Any offensive here was doomed to fail. His impressively arrayed army was destined for success. The only thing his enemies would find here, would be death.

  His rumination was interrupted by one of his lieutenants, a promising young man with a confident and upbeat attitude. He was competent and one of Agamemnon’s most promising pupils, he plied the trade of terror and conquest like an acolyte of the darkness itself; and he was from a corporate background no less.

  “Do you think today will be the day?” The young lieutenant asked.

  “Hard to say, Mr. Cohen.” Agamemnon acknowledged him happily. “But I hope so. We wait any longer and we may have to shuffle our defenses. Lest the enemy scout them too thoroughly.”

  “Perhaps we should give the order now?” Cohen recommended. “If they were to assault the city today, they’d surely have taken advantage of the earliest second of sunlight. If they’re not here yet...”

  Agamemnon scratched his chin thoughtfully. “A good recommendation.”

  He thought some more. “Very well. Give the order. Shuffle the outer defenses, but keep the core intact. Tell them to make it quick. Don’t bother staggering unit movements. Tell them to get on the road ASAP. Let’s not be vulnerable longer than we have to.”

  “At your command, my Lord.” The young thrall bowed.

  “After that, let’s eat.” Agamemnon clasped his hands together merrily. “I’m told they caught some fresh virgins last night.”

  Vanguard Fast Amphibious Landing Craft Hornet

  The vessel crested the horizon with the waning darkness at its back. Its twin hulls ran atop the waves, displacing the sea like swords. At a blistering 50 knots, the Hornet barreled towards shore with jets of seaspray being thrown over the bow. It’s target: the beach off Los Angeles International Airport. In her holds, the tanks of the Fourth Armored “Serpent Crushers” swayed with the sea state.

  On the bridge, Ground-Commander Reinstead observed the coastline with hawk-like attention, taking note of every detail. The powerful optic cameras and forward-facing radars on the ship greatly aided in creating a 3D map of the landing zone in real time.

  The sight was ominous and foreboding. The black clouds hung overhead, highlighted by the red light pulsing from the tallest tower. It was the very image of an evil fortress.

  He checked with the battlenet, ensuring the myriad of other forces in support of his were in position. The Hornet was histories biggest battering ram, but even she would have a hard time fending off heavy shore-based defenses unless covered by aircraft.

  Unseen but very much present were stealth and electronic warfare configured Screechers. The strike aircraft infiltrated the enemy radar apparatus unseen. Linked back to an AWACS flying well-behind them, they fed real-time data back to an incoming wave of ground-attack aircraft. At the same time they spoofed enemy electronics. In conjunction with ISR CYBERCOM back on Salvo, they degraded the enemy sensor network. Radars of every frequency were jammed and spoofed. Wireless radios were jammed into total silence. The only way to spot the incoming attack was with the naked eye. The Vanguard had to contend with similar efforts exerted passively by the vampires. But the invading force had the benefit of laser comms. The communication method relied on line of sight between the linked units, but was impossible to jam and unspoofable.

  Reinstead glanced at the digital map display. They were about to cross the line of no return, beyond which, they would be committed.

  Vanguard Rifles on the bridge performed their tasks in concert.

  A radioman reported to him. “Sir! AWACS Bantam reports: Operation Railhead is a go. All units are green light. Execute! Execute! Execute!”

  “Very well.” He replied confidently. “All Ahead Flank. Activate forward CIWS. All hands brace for shock.”

  Tension increased on the bridge directly alongside enthusiasm.

  Overhead, dozens of aircraft came in at various flight levels. Heavy ordnance hung primed from their hardpoints. Various slogans had been painted on their warheads.

  “Suck on this!”

  “Unlucky”

  “Vengeance!”

  “Chef’s Kiss”

  “Du Doch Nicht”

  They were accompanied by formations of fast-moving cruise missiles. Their elongated bodies and stubby wings distinguished them.

  The high-flying aircraft were the advance wave. They would engage at long range with stand-off munitions. Anti-radiation missiles for hostile radar sites and point-defenses, followed by massive staggered waves of cruise missiles to hit pre-targeted positions. The cruise missiles carried various ordnance types from cluster bomblets to high-yield warheads. A few were equipped with napalm tanks, the small number being a necessary restriction to prevent obscuring the landing zone.

  Reinstead quickly realized that restraining the use of napalm didn’t matter. As the Vanguard aircraft closed in and released their high-speed payloads, the vampires let loose their own volley to compensate. Heatseeking SAMs rose to intercept aircraft and the incoming missiles. The bright rocket engine plumes and accompanying exhaust smoke created the horrifying visage of a set of smoky jaws closing on the horizon. It stretched for as far as the eye could see.

  Reinstead was only seeing one side of the opening moves. The same was occurring from all four cardinal directions. Aircraft and missiles streaked in to pummel gun emplacements, armor formations, troop concentrations, suspected command posts, radio infrastructure and bunkers. An equal number of interceptors was rising to meet them.

  In seconds, the sky surrounding Los Angeles had become a hell of shrapnel. Missile paths crisscrossed in every direction and along every axis. Flares, chaff and countermeasures popped. The Electromagnetic spectrum was brutally murdered with interference.

  Defenders desperately emptied their tubes on anything in the sky that moved. Short-range anti-aircraft artillery opened up, erupting into yellow fireballs of flak and tracer-fire. Vanguard aircraft dodged and notched missiles. Some were unsuccessful, their aircraft sent down in flames or barely recognizable scrapheaps.

  On the ground, the effect was immediately noticeable. Huge plumes erupted where munitions struck home, bathing the city in a layer of smoke that mixed with the rain. Visibility quickly turned to zero. The particularly large mushroom clouds of munition depots erupted could be seen for miles despite it.

  The second wave of aircraft came in at wavetop level. They Screeched over the Hornet as if to say “Watch this”.

  They engaged the forces at the landing zones. ATGMs were the first off the rail, lashing out at precise targets that survived the cruise missile carpet barrage. Once closer, they hit formations of enemy infantry with thick sprays of 50mm and 100m rockets. To any soldier on the ground, it must have seemed as if the sky had erupted and the Earth gaveway beneath them; so furious was the barrage. Any stragglers were picked off in gun runs.

  Reinstead observed the spectacle through the ship’s set of Big Eyes, binocular devices. It almost seemed unfair. Even so, he knew they had probably only degraded 25% of the enemy force disposition with this first wave. He still expected to be outnumbered on the beach.

  Members of the crew watched and cheered with every explosion.

  The radioman belted off a report excitedly, “Sir! AWACS Bantam reports: Good effect on target. 64% successful engagement. Enemy long-range shore defenses destroyed. Air-defense degraded, but still firing. Loss of thirteen aircraft. Enemy ground formations status is unknown. Low-level observation impossible due to smoke interference.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Reinstead nodded. “Very good. We continue forward.”

  Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a technician pointing at his monitor and conferring with his colleagues. Their mood appeared much less elated than the rest of the CIC team.

  He prompted them to speak up. “Hostile naval activity?”

  The sonar tech reported, “Interference from explosions. But we can tell background noise just dropped to zero.”

  “Fish aren’t swimming?” Reinstead joked.

  The sonarman didn’t laugh. His expression was grave. Reinstead’s mood immediately shifted to match.

  The Rifle reported, “Hold indications of Vorrkoth in the channel.”

  The mood on the bridge shifted. Suddenly everyone’s heads were on a swivel.

  “What bearing?” The Hornet’s Captain prompted, an edge of fear creeping in to his voice.

  “Unknown. Indications confused. Interference from the bombardment.”

  Lookouts frantically scoured the ocean, looking for signs; a wake, schools of disturbed fish, unnatural wave patterns.

  “Any report from our bodyguard?” The Captain asked.

  “Yes, where’s the submarine?” Reinstead said.

  The radioman answered, “They’re not up in comms. Not responding to hails.”

  “Get Coup de Grace on the line. Tell them to charge their railgun.”

  The radioman replied affirmative.

  The sonarman spoke up again, “Hold underwater comms!”

  He read the message out loud. “Hornet, Bravo-Gulf. Hold one Vorrkoth in OPAREA. Approaching Hornet from bearing zero-seven-three. Zero-bearing rate. Time to CPA: one-seven minutes.”

  Everyone’s hearts sank.

  Vanguard Submarine Mastodon

  “Message Received. Confirm Vorrkoth is on intercept course for Hornet. Get clear.” The reply from Hornet read.

  “Get clear?” The Officer of the Deck said, incredulous. “They don’t expect us to just standby do they?”

  The captain answered him. “There’s not a lot we can do. Right now the captain of that vessel is preparing to launch the invasion force early and miles off shore instead of landing them directly on the beach. He’s going to sacrifice his ship so that the Vorrkoth comes to the surface and the Sky-Carrier can target it. Meanwhile, we and the invasion force escape. Sort of. The footsloggers will be under fire all the way to their beachhead.”

  The OOD knew his Captain too well to believe that was how events were going to play out.

  “So what are we actually going to do?” he said wryly.

  The Captain smirked and adjusted his ballcap. “We’re going fishing.”

  Hornet

  “Message from Mastodon: Maintain course and speed. Do not launch. Will run interference.” The report read.

  “Bloody hell. They’re going to sacrifice themselves for us.”

  The Channel

  Underneath the blue waves, in the briny deep, the Vorrkoth swam unimpeded. All sealife in the area could sense the presence of the ancient super-predator. Awakened from its hundreds of years of slumber and like its brethren before, it desired to hunt. To feed. A small voice, more of an artificial chemical reaction, directed it. It told it to wake up. Then told it to swim. Now it was commanding it to feed on the most enticing target it could find. The beast was not self-aware enough to comprehend the source of the commands or the monolith entity that used them to control it. It needed only obey its nature.

  The fat carcass of an interloper on its chosen hunting ground would prove the most enticing lure. It was a fast moving ocean-goer like itself. There were so few prey of the Vorrkoth’s size. It would provide a nice and filling meal for it and its younglings. It honed in on the fat-bellied and hapless prey.

  Just as it began to speed up to intercept and surprise the unaware surface-whale something else intruded upon its hunting ground. Something submerged. It placed itself directly between the hungry Vorrkoth and its soon-to-be meal. Long and black-skinned, it glided quietly. It gave off the aura of a predator. This would not do. These were IT’S waters. This fish could only be here to steal IT’S food-prey.

  To make matters worse, it taunted the territorial kaiju. As it passed between it and its prey, it gave off a sudden shrill noise and flashing light. It was a clear display of aggression. The Vorrkoth adjusted course. Pissed off and still hungry, it would make THIS one its new dinner.

  Mastodon

  “Conn, sonar! Target is in acquisition. It’s pursuing us.”

  Everyone looked to the captain for orders. He stood undaunted.

  “Alright people, let’s pour on the steam. Helm, All-ahead flank.” he ordered.

  “Maneuvering answers all-ahead flank!” The Helm reported.

  Mastodon’s twin shafts turned rapidly, creating a wave of cavitation behind the submarine. The entire submarine vibrated as the engineering plant worked valiantly to push it through the water. Hydrodynamic forces buffeted the hull as it did.

  “Sonar, conn. Do you still hold hostile contact with all this cavitation?”

  “Conn, Sonar. Hold contact directly aft, range one-three thousand yards and gaining. Speed: three-five knots. Hard not to miss something that big moving that fast.”

  Mastodon was currently making 32 knots.

  The ship’s OOD spoke up. “Respectfully, I’d like not to be run down like a dog on a highway. We do have a plan, right?”

  The captain assured him. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna gut-check him. Hornet will have called in the carrier by now. We need to force this bastard to the surface and give her a clean target.”

  He looked to the Chief of the Watch, manning the submarine’s ballasting systems. “Standby for emergency blow.”

  The old submariner gripped the uniquely shaped actuating valves and awaited the command.

  The captain briefed the control team on the plan and received one single “Aye!” in unison from the watchstanders.

  “Conn, Sonar! Lost the towed-array. Assess hostile contact, uh, ate it.”

  The thin towed sonar array had been streaming at a mere 3,000 feet behind Mastodon.

  “Alright, that’s close enough.” the captain said. “All hands brace for high-speed maneuvers!”

  There was the sound of seatbelts being adjusted. Personnel gripped anything they could like they were on a rollercoaster that was about to drop.

  “Payout forward anchor!”

  The anchor dropped from inside the sub’s forward-most main ballast tank and into the water column. The multi-ton solid steel object dropped towards the ocean floor.

  “Conn, sonar! Hold anchor impact on bottom!”

  “Helm hard right rudder, stop the shafts!”

  The anchor snagged on the bottom of the ocean. The chain snapped taught as the weight of the submarine and its momentum was placed upon it. With the rudder kicked right, the entire submarine drifted on its center axis. The anchor dragged the bow down slightly while the stern swung in a wide arc.

  The entire crew gripped their seats tightly, knuckles turning white as the submarine conducted a maneuver it was never designed to. Four-hundred feet of steel tube turned on a dime in a matter of seconds.

  The round dome of the sonar sphere was now facing the oncoming vorrkoth.

  “Cut loose the anchor! All-ahead flank, cavitate! Open outer doors! Standby to launch!”

  The shafts began turning once again. The screws worked overtime to push the submarine forward; straight towards the jaws of the predator.

  The weapon’s officer reported, “Solution ready! Super-cavitating warshot in tubes 1,4,5 and 7. Heavy-weight warshots in 2, 3, 6 and 8.What tubes do you want firing?”

  “Match bearings and fire all tubes!” The captain ordered.

  “Shooting all tubes! One away… two away… three away… “ the weapons officer called off the tubes as they fired until there were none left. “All warshots out!”

  The super-cavitating torpedoes, propelled by a rocket motor at blistering speeds, were first to impact. Their high-yield warheads impacted directly on the monster’s nose. They were followed by the heavy-weight torpedoes. The massive ordnance created underwater implosions that rocked the entire bay. On the surface, huge geysers of water erupted from where the gaseous bubbles of the implosions they created broached.

  The vorrkoth lurched, stung by its prey. The massive explosions gave it pause, but did no damage.

  The hull of the submarine glided by it on the port side. The super-predator lurched sideways and reached out with its tentacles, attempting to ensnare its aggressor.

  “All hands brace!"

  The large tentacles bracketed the hull, ripping off any fixtures sticking out along its surface. Inside, the crew grit their teeth as the hull groaned and shook violently. Sailors were thrown from their stations by the angles and shakes. Pipes burst from contractions and lights flickered.

  “Emergency blow! Full rise all planes!” the captain ordered.

  The Chief of the Watch depressed the valves and compressed air was forced into the submarine’s ballast tanks, blowing the water out. With the sudden loss of weight, it rose quickly. The hull slipped free of the vorrkoth’s death drip.

  After only a few seconds, the nosecone breached the surface. The entire ship rocketed up out of the water with the front half of the hull rising almost vertical from the waves before slamming back down in a shower of seawater.

  Coup de Grace

  “Transmission from Bravo-Gulf: Surfaced at grid three-six. Vorrkoth in tow. Please kill.”

  The sky-captain of the carrier didn’t waste time. “Bring our bow around! Report charge?!”

  “Weapon fully charged, sir! Ready to fire on command!”

  The vorrkoth broached the surface behind the submarine. The wake of it and the submarine on the surface was clear and easy to spot from miles off in the otherwise empty channel. Grace heeled around to bring her massive railgun to bear.

  “Advise that submarine. This will be danger close.” the captain said, fearing the weapon might sink the stricken vessel as well.

  The message was sent and a reply received just as fast.

  The reply read, “We’ll take our chances. Fire at will.”

  Just like on Tinian, the air around the ship electrified. Small bursts of lightning created by static buildup flashed along the bow and the bulge along the keel. There was a bright light and the air around the Grace seemed to shimmer.

  On the bridge everyone held their breath. Damage Control teams stood on standby throughout the ship, just in case the weapon melted portions of the hull again.

  There was a tremendous clap. The vorrkoth exploded.

  In a brilliant flash of light and water vapor, it was gone. A massive wave rose from the epicenter of the impact site. It washed over the submarine and spread outward in an expanding circle. But as it did its magnitude decreased. The Vanguard vessel remained floating.

  Coup de Grace’s radar operator reported, “Gained radar contact ahead of own ship. Altitude 10,000 feet and climbing. Assess to be chunks of the vorrkoth.”

  A phone talker chimed in, “DC Central reports no fires. Electrical plant nominal.”

  A series of cheers went up from the crew.