Kommuna

  The vessel burned, flames reflecting off of the dark water. Stricken and lonely, beyond U.S territorial waters off the coast of California, the stolen Russian deep-sea exploitation vessel foundered as multiple ruptures in her hull allowed the ingress of hundreds of tons of water. Across her upper decks fires raged beyond control. The entire upper gantry structure was engulfed in flame.

  The ship was going down by the bow and water was washing over the forecastle. The twin screws spun freely as the stern slowly lifted higher out of the water. The bridge, which sat atop the tallest point in the gantry, was heavily angled and facing downward as the surface loomed closer.

  The vessel had been doomed by an unknown enemy. A single Vanguard aircraft, presumably carrying a strike team, had been picked up on radar days earlier. But it dropped in altitude and disappeared off of radar before they could see it visually. Assuming it was the work of their dark lord in action, none paid it any mind.

  Now a new enemy scourged the ship. One that could blend in seamlessly with the darkness and possessed greater strength than any human.

  In the confines of the bridge, Dmitry crawled across the deck. His legs had been taken off at the knee. He didn't know how. One moment he was directing the crew and giving signals to manipulate the sea beasts into attacking the Terra Vanguard beachhead at LAX, the next the ship was being ripped apart by internal explosions. Their control gear and the deep-diving submersible had been destroyed instantly.

  Then the crew started getting picked off one by one. He never say their attacker. They moved through the shadows with frightening speed. One by one, starting with the thralls, they began to disappear. Their mutilated corpses were found strewn about the deck or hanging from the overhead. Terror gripped the crew. Some attempted to abandon ship, but whoever their assailant was, they did not allow mercy. Those that escaped were gripped by the shadow and hauled back aboard, doomed to burn to death or be trapped in a flooding compartment.

  The fire was licking at Dmitry's bleeding nubs. He tried crawling on his belly across the deck, which was covered in broken glass. He was going for the control panel when a figure suddenly appeared from the smoke. Incredulous that someone else had survived, he began crawling towards them.

  They strode across the bridge with a strange nonchalance to their step. They stopped before a section of filing cabinets and a safe that contained his and Svetlana's personal effects.

  The mute vampire was enraged. For the first time since his conversion to vampirism, he spoke. "Hey! What are you doing?!"

  The figure stepped back. It was a female. Dmitry's jaw dropped in shock.

  It was Vespera.

  "Don't mind me. I've just come to collect a few things." She told him in a sing-song voice. "Your sister was many things; a bitch, a traitor... but she was not stupid. I know she has resources hidden away. A few little rainy-day stashes." She continued going through folders, looking for very specific paperwork.

  Dmitry reached out to grab her boot. "You have to help me!"

  She shook him loose with ease. "Oh I have many desires but that is not one. After today, I will effectively be the last vampire on Earth. There might be a few rats who escape the sinking ship, but they'll be hunted down with ease. Your Queen, her court. The Vanguard will not let them escape. Their deaths are inevitable. That I have learned from close observation."

  He grit his teeth. "You're a traitor!"

  Vespera touched a finger to her lips. "More like... a survivor. I know a doomed venture when I see one. And frankly..." She rolled her shoulders. "I don't like the idea of dooming our planet to extinction. As much as I yearn for a dark future, I do have to live here and I would prefer not to one day rule over ashes. That's why I'm starting my own cult. Well, less of a cult actually, more of an entire sovereign nation, and that requires a lot of resources. Which is why I'm here. Blowing up your ship isn't personal, it's just business.... and also still a little bit personal. It was your sister and you that strapped me to a nuke and left me to die."

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Finding what she was looking for, she closed the safe and cabinet. She turned on her heel. "Why am I explaining this to you? In a few minutes you will burn to death. Atleast, you'd better hope you do. Unless you want to spend eternity trapped in a sunken shipwreck." She taunted. Slowly, she began to fade into smoke.

  "Ta-ta." She waved and disappeared.

  Dmitry cried out in anger as fire consumed him.

  Wreck of the Cry Havoc

  "Backup power failure." Sky-Captain Kilmer declared as the last emergency lights on the bridge went out. She added more somberly, "She's officially dead."

  Her hand caressed the helmwheel before giving it one final loving pat. There would be another sky-carrier but there would never be another Cry Havoc.

  "It's time we departed." Tambor said. He abruptly turned to leave.

  Camila followed him closely. "Uh, sir, we should call in a medevac for the paladin. Last we saw, he was just lying there."

  Tambor paused for a second, as if hesitating. Then he smiled. The expression unnerved her slightly.

  "Right you are. We should send a Foxhound to get him." he said.

  Camila nodded towards Dewitt, who used an emergency handheld radio to get in touch with a combat controller.

  When she turned her attention back to Tambor, she frowned. He had taken one second to give that order. One second longer than it should have taken him to make such a decision. And she shouldn't have had to prompt him. His choice of words was also odd.

  As the Leader-Commander made his way towards the exit, she noticed his moments were slightly jaunty. It was a slight difference from his usual natural movement. Only someone as close to him as her would notice it.

  Her hand brushed against her empty holster.

  She quietly contemplated while him and Kilmer worked to undog the entry hatch. She second-guessed herself. He probably had a concussion. That could be the only explanation for the odd behavior. Her Leader-Commander stood firm. He always had.

  The Foxhound touched down inside the VTOL bay on the Iron Heart. Sky Captain Victoria Kilmer, Commander Dewitt, Leader-Commander Tambor, Lieutenant Camila, and several other survivors of the Havoc's crash stepped off. They were greeted by the rest of Tambor's staff, who had been ordered off the Havoc before the suicidal maneuver.

  Sky Captain Bybon welcomed Kilmer. He stood at half her height but had rippling muscles that bulged against his uniform.

  Their community was a very small and tight-knit one. Bybon greeted her with his cap removed. "Condolences, ma'am," he said, as she was his senior. "She went down fighting."

  Kilmer nodded sadly. "A better fate than many get, I suppose."

  Camila followed Tambor off. She nearly ran into his back when he suddenly stopped. She had already found a new tablet and was busy tapping away. It was odd that Tambor stopped. From the moment he hit the deck on any carrier, he always made an immediate beeline for the operations center without stopping.

  She stopped and watched him for several seconds. Tambor looked lost. His head was on a swivel as if he had never been here before. It was surreal to see the Leader-Commander look lost.

  "Is everything okay, sir?" she probed."Ah, yes," he said with a smile, but there was no emotion behind it. It was eerily hollow. "Lead the way to the operations center."

  She was suspicious now. "You usually lead the way."

  "That's an order," he said sternly.

  Camila didn't budge.

  "Now, Lieutenant!" he said in a tone he had never used with her. It was bordering on angry.

  Everyone's attention was on them now. Several tense seconds passed with Tambor and Camila locked in a standoff.

  And then all it took was a flash. Camila's hand was on Kilmer's sidearm and withdrawing it from its holster. She pointed it at Tambor, her finger wrapping around the trigger. The sights focused on Tambor's head.

  Before she could pull the trigger, somebody behind Tambor brought a fire extinguisher down on his head. He crumpled like a sack of potatoes.

  Holding the fire extinguisher was none other than Checkmate. The angel had appeared out of nowhere. Her face was etched with worry.

  Camila choked and her hand went limp, dropping the pistol. She couldn't believe that she had almost shot Axton.

  Everybody held their breath, unsure what was happening.

  "That is not Axton Tambor," Checkmate said.

  "He's possessed, isn't he?" Camila asked her. The lieutenant was on the verge of panic.

  Checkmate nodded gravely. "Correct. We need to move him to a maximum-security facility… immediately."