***
The cheers in the flight hangar of the USS Ronald Reagan were deafening. There wasn’t a single soldier sitting down. Everyone knew what it meant. The water shortages would end, the states exiled would be reinstated, and the economy would recover. That debate was the start of a chain reaction that would ripple through the rest of the country like an antidote to a poison.
But the cheers were quelled by the carrier’s sirens. Every soldier in the hangar scrambled to her or his station in an organized chaos that could only occur through the discipline of control and habit.
Captain Howard stormed up to the flight deck, and the boom of F-15s echoed through the air. Once on the flight deck, Howard could see the approaching Mexican fleet in the distance. Once on the command deck, Howard had a full view of the battle around him.
Explosions rocked the evening sky as jets were pinned against one another in dogfights. Puffs of smoke burst from the cannons of the warships. The horizon resembled a deadlier version of fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“Sergeant Pint, what’s our status?” Howard asked.
“Sixty bogeys in our airspace, sir. Four of the Mexican warships are attempting to flank us from the west.”
“Alert Captain Ford.”
“Yes, sir.”
The ignition of the jet engines rotating through their preflight had overtaken the carrier’s wailing sirens. Each boom from the flight deck signaling another takeoff was single beat of a war drum. And Howard could feel every vibration of war ripple through his chest.
“Missiles incoming, Captain. Deploying countermeasures,” Pint said.
The sophisticated defense system of the carrier had the ability to deflect a barrage of direct attacks. The system calculated velocity, trajectory, and Coriolis effect from the earth’s curvature, all within seconds. The results were sixteen RIM-7 Sea Sparrow missiles launched from the USS Ronald Reagan, intercepting the attacking Mexican missiles.
Each missile collided with its target seamlessly and decorated the sky with the ramifications of war. High above the explosions, dogfights between the Mexican and American fighters rocked the atmosphere. The swarm of jets resembled hornets, angered by the violent disturbance of their home.
“Countermeasures effective,” Pint said.
The massive show of force from the Mexican military was Gallo throwing everything he had at them, and Howard knew it. Gallo thought he could overwhelm them. He might have stood a chance if Ford hadn’t shown up, but not now. The Mexican general had just sentenced his men to a death sentence.
“Sir, we have enemy submarines on radar!” Pint yelled.
“Order the USS Albuquerque to engage. Change course to east.”
“Yes, sir.”
Howard knew that exposing the USS Albuquerque so early in the battle might have posed a strategic threat, but Gallo had been the first to show his cards. And Howard couldn’t afford to lose the USS Ronald Reagan.
“USS Albuquerque, engage enemy submarine, heading Alpha, Foxtrot, Niner, Seven,” Pint ordered.
The radar detecting the enemy sub continued to track its location. Any torpedoes fired would trigger the defense systems, but the USS Albuquerque was much better equipped to handle such an offensive.
“Enemy sub twenty five hundred yards due south, Captain,” Pint said.
The USS Albuquerque inched closer to the enemy sub. The two shapes on the display screen were on a collision course, with the USS Albuquerque having the edge. There wasn’t a faster attack sub in the Pacific Fleet.
The shift of the massive aircraft carrier began its own change of heading. The USS Ronald Reagan was big, but Howard wasn’t going to let it be a sitting duck.
“Torpedoes launched!” Pint said.
Before Howard could respond, the USS Albuquerque did it for him. Two foreign objects were on trajectory right for the carrier. The USS Albuquerque’s own torpedoes sped along the radar to intercept. The entire bridge drew in a breath as the two elongated dots grew closer until they disappeared on radar, which failed to exemplify the explosion of contact underneath the ocean’s surface less than fifty yards from the carrier’s hull.
“We have good effect,” Pint said, wiping the sweat off his forehead as the enemy sub faded from radar.