"For in this modern world, the instruments of warfare are not solely for waging war. Far more importantly, they are the means for controlling peace. Naval officers must therefore understand not only how to fight a war, but how to use the tremendous power which they operate to sustain a world of liberty and justice, without unleashing the powerful instruments of destruction and chaos that they have at their command."

Admiral Arleigh Burke, Chief of Naval Operations 1961

Chapter 1:

They were losing this war. There was no way to deny it now. No hope that a sudden victory would turn the tide in their favor. They had simply lost too much to the monsters. The tired ships and weary men of the United States Navy had thrown themselves repeatedly at the Abyssals in the hopes of at least slowing their advance, but in the end, nothing they could do. So many ships, so many lives had been lost in the attempt, and now the Navy was almost nothing left to stand against the Abyssals. For the remaining ships, there lay only a single option, to run. Maybe in fleeing they could preserve the handful of ships they had left for a day when they might make a difference.

Commander Matthew L. Dover, USN, captain of the destroyer USS Halsey(DDG-97), sat in the wardroom, sipping at a cup of lukewarm coffee. It tasted horrible, but at this point Matt would have gladly drunk bilgewater if it was laced with caffeine. He hadn't even known it was possible to be this tired, and he had no idea how much longer he could go. The strain was already beginning to show on his body, and his normally bright, blue eyes were dull and bloodshot. His face was covered with a sprinkling of brown stubble that made him look much older than his thirty six years. He couldn't remember the last time he had looked like this bad, but he just couldn't bring himself to rest. Not with the threat of attack bearing down.

Not thirty six hours ago, his ship had participated in the largest battle to date. It was to be a last, desperate attempt to check the Abyssal's implacable advance across the Pacific. In the waters off Midway Island, ever ship the Navy had left sortied to meet them, including the only three remaining carriers in the Pacific. It was to be a grand gesture of defiance to the Abyssals, and a victory would have drawn a line of defiance right in their path. In the end, a gesture was all it was. Nearly every single ship that had joined the battle was lost, and now the only carrier left was the Enterprise. The order to retreat had come during the night, and the surviving ships had begun a mad dash to safety. It had been simple luck that Halsey had found one of her sisters, O'Kane, in the confusion, and then they had fallen in company with the Enterprise. Lending their own meager power to the big ship's defense. They had come a long way since then, and in a few hours they would be safely secure in Pearl Harbor. So why then did Matt feel so anxious?

He idly took a sip from his mug, and looked up to see Lieutenant Commander Evan Sullivan slide into a seat across the table. Sullivan was Matt's executive officer, his second in command. The XO was nearly a polar opposite from his captain right now. Sullivan had his usual happy-go-lucky expression plastered across his face, and looked for the world like he wasn't worried about anything. He took one look at Matt, then announced, "I know that look, sir. You're worried."

Matt let out a derisive snort. "No, exec, I'm not worried. Scared shitless, maybe, but not worried," Matt replied, dryly.

"I don't know why. Contrary to Sparky's bitchin, the ship is fine," Sullivan replied. He was referring to the Halsey's engineering officer, Lieutenant Commander Rick Smith, known to the crew as Sparky. The man was just a tad eccentric, but Matt knew of no better engineer in the fleet. He could keep the turbines running with nothing more than duct tape and WD-40 if Matt asked him to. "Hell, the only problem I see is having only a pair of DDGs."

"You'll understand when you get your own ship, exec," Matt said, patting Sullivan on the shoulder as he stood, "The first, second, and third thing on your mind at all times is her safety. Want some coffee?"

"Sure. It taste like burnt, day old beans soaked in stale bilgewater?" Sullivan asked.

"You know it," Matt deadpanned, then walked over to where the carafes were secured. Matt grabbed an empty mug off the rack and began to fill it. He said idly while the cup filled, "I can't wait to get back to Pearl. Get some R&R, maybe actually manage to get some drydock time. The old girl certainly needs it."

"She'll hold together," Sullivan replied, "She is Halsey after all. Hit hard, hit fast, hit often, and all that."

"She's certainly earned a rest, we all have," Matt commented, wistfully. His ship had been through a lot over the last few months. Halsey had been an old ship to begin with, almost twenty years of continuous service now. But even if she was old, she certainly had a lot of fight in her. She had participated in almost every major campaign of this war, and Matt still didn't know if it was due to his skill as a captain, or pure luck that she had yet to take serious damage. "When will we face something we can't beat?" he said, voicing the thought that kept coming into his mind.

"Never doubt the girl's luck skipper, she'll pull us through," Sullivan commented. Matt shook his head, why did he sound so melancholy all of a sudden?

"I'm sorry, exec. It's a captain's job to worry needlessly," Matt said, sliding a full mug across the table.

"You're wrong about that, skipper. Worryin's my job," Matt looked up to see Senior Chief Rowin Boggs standing in the hatchway. Boggs was the ship's Command Master Chief, the highest ranking enlisted man aboard. Boggs fit the stereotype of an old time noncom to a T, being gruff an stern most of the time. He was the one who ensured that the crew carried out Matt's orders.

"Morning Boats, what are you doing this deep in officer's country?" Matt asked.

"Skipper and the XO disappear, there's only about three places they can be. Wardroom being one," Boggs replied in his usual gruff manner.

"So is there a reason you need us, or is this a social call?" Matt asked, easing himself back into a seat. Boggs pulled out a sheet of paper and walked over to hand it to Matt.

"Comms got that about ten minutes ago. Telex from Pearl," Boggs said. Matt took the paper and began to skim through is. His face fell as he read.

"What is it?" Sullivan asked, placing his mug back on the table.

"Patrol flight spotted some Abyssals. Couldn't identify them past 'Abyssals', but they're headed straight for us," Matt's voice sounded distant as he read. He slammed the telex on the table and reached up to rub his face in frustration, "All told, that piece of information is about two hour old. Why can't we ever get this stuff when it's relevant?"

"What do we do?" Sullivan asked. His normal air of joviality was gone, replaced by cool professionalism.

"The only thing we can do," Matt replied, stretching as he stood, "We fight them, exec." He turned to look at Boggs. The chief raised a questioning eyebrow, silently asking for orders. Boggs had no idea what to do, but the old time noncom would never admit that, especially not where the crew might overhear him. "Chief, make sure the crew is ready." That was all Matt needed to say. Boggs nodded, then left with a look of determination on his face. Matt drained the rest of his coffee, then looked at Sullivan, "Get down to CIC, exec. I'm headed up to the bridge."

"Aye aye, sir," Sullivan replied, then raised his mug in salute. Matt began to move out, but stopped when Sullivan said, "And sir, good luck."

"Hopefully we won't need that, exec," Matt replied, then ducked into the corridor. It didn't take him long to reach the bridge.

He was greeted by the customary call of, "Captain on deck," as he stepped through the hatch.

"As you were," he replied out of reflex, "Keep the deck lieutenant, I'm just looking."

Lieutenant Sandra Wright, the current officer of the deck nodded, then replied, "Aye sir, I have the deck." As the OOD, Wright currently had command of the ship, Matt didn't want to change over just yet. Wright was a young, just barely into her second sea tour as an officer, but she showed promise. Matt wordlessly stepped through the bridge, and then flopped down in his chair at the front of the space. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew there was something out there. And it was hunting his ship.

[][][]

It was amazing just how quickly things could change. One minute Matt was looking out at blue skies, and the next there was a growing cloud on the horizon to their west. No one knew why the Abyssals were always wrapped in storm, perhaps it was nature herself trying to fight them? Already. Matt could feel the air growing colder, and when he looked up at the ship's barometer, it was dropping like a stone. With grim realization, he saw that the Abyssals had managed to put themselves right between the Enterprise and Pearl Harbor, perhaps the worst place for them to pop up. There was no way they could avoid them. They would have to fight. With all the strength he could muster, Matt said, "I have the deck, lieutenant. Go ahead and sound general quarters." He silently prayed that he hadn't just signed their death warrants.

With a wavering voice, Lieutenant Wright replied, "Aye sir, you have the deck. Sound general quarters, aye sir," she turned to the boatswain of the watch and ordered, "Bosun, sound general quarters." The man nodded, then walked to the 1MC general address box.

He rang the ship's bell loudly, then said, "General quarters, general quarters all hands, man your battlestations." The Halsey came alive with the rhythmic gong-gong-gong of the general alarm. The deck vibrated and rattled as the crew ran to their stations. Covers were ripped off weapons, and safety pins removed. The bridge crew had to stand aside as Marine gunners ran through to man the .50 caliber machine guns mounted on the bridge wings. Small arms were issued, kevlar body armor and helmets were passed out. The damage control teams put on their firefighting gear and broke out damcon gear. In the combat information center, every station was turned on, bathing the space in a harsh, blue glow. Commander Sullivan accepted a headset and moved to stand in the center of the room, taking his place as the officer in charge of the CIC.

One of the junior crewmembers broke out the anti-flash gear and Matt wasted no time donning the protective hood and gloves. Wright stood at the comm panel, relaying readiness reports as they came in, until she announced, "All sections report manned and ready, sir."

"Very well," Matt replied, then looked over at the chronometer to note the time, "Four minutes, not good. Lieutenant, inform Chief Boggs that the deck division was the slowest. He ought to have some interesting words with them later." Several members of the bridge crew cringed at the thought of the Senior Chief's ire.

"The crew is tired, sir," Wright commented grimly.

"As much as I'd like to, I can't fix that," Matt commented, then looked out the bridge windows. What he saw made him shudder. The blue sky was completely gone, replaced by an inky blackness that flashed and pulsated raw evil. The wind had begun to whip across the deck, and it howled through any open hatch. The sea was beginning to run rough, and the deck had already begun to roll. Matt watched waves begin to crash over the bow, leaving the fo'c'sle awash. Rain fell in great sheets, creating wafting, opaque curtains of water that were almost impossible to see through. The cover they presented worked both ways. The Abyssals couldn't see them, but Matt had no idea where the Abyssals were. He reached down to grab the 21MC phone and said, "CIC, I need a picture. Things are getting pretty bad up here."

"Radar's workin on a picture," Sullivan replied over the phone, "But the returns are jumpin around like frogs on a skillet, per usual. They're out there, but I can't give you anything solid." The Abyssals defied all logic when it came to radar. It was possible to spot them, almost easy in fact, but to make any sense of their returns was no easy task. They were always fuzzy as hell, and jumped around the scope. It took even an experienced radar operator time to sort through the mess, time which Halsey didn't have.

"We might not have a minute, exec," Matt replied, slamming the phone back into its cradle. He looked up at the storm enveloping his ship, trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything through the haze.

"Sir, look there," Wright said, pointing at something ahead. Through the miasma of rain and spray, the Enterprise's deck flashed. For a moment Matt thought that the carrier had been hit. Then he realized he was watching the flash of a jet's afterburners.

"We just might get some air support after all," he muttered. He doubted that even as he said it. These days SOP called for a carrier to launch all of its planes as quickly as possible in order to minimize the chances of a deck fire. The planes were launched regardless of whether or not they had been loaded. He had heard horror stories of pilots going into battle armed with nothing more than cannon ammo, and the rounds in their sidearm. He hoped the Enterprise's planes could help them today, but wasn't counting on it. The jangling raaaa of the bridge phone broke Matt from his thoughts.

"We got a picture," Sullivan announced without preamble. Matt reached over to switch the circuit to the bridge speakers, "Three contacts, two small, and one big. Range is ten thousand, closing at ten knots."

"Two destroyers and a cruiser?" Wright suggested hopefully.

"No, the Abyssals may be cocky, but they aren't that cocky. Probably two cruisers and a battleship," Matt replied with grimly, "They want Big E dead." He raised the phone to ask, "Any word from fleet?"

There was a momentary pause, and Matt thought he could hear the XO sigh on the other end of the line, "Fleet says to break formation with O'Kane and advance. The last order was, 'Protect the Enterprise, at all cost'." Matt's eyes closed momentarily as the weight of that order fell on his shoulders. The chances of them living through this day just shrank, exponentially. In order to give the carrier time to escape, he would have to put his ship right in the Abyssal's cross hairs.

In a voice that was strangely distant, he replied, "Very well, keep me informed." He kept the handset gripped tightly in his hand as he ordered the helmsman, "Come left, steer course 220. All engines ahead flank."

"Come left, steer course 220, all engines ahead flank, aye sir." There was a tinge of sullen resignation from the helmsman as he carried out the orders.

"Sir, why did they give that order?" Wright asked, a note of worry evident in her voice.

"They need us to protect the carrier. So that is exactly what we are going to do," Matt replied, he knew that he had to keep his voice firm to reassure Wright. The last thing he needed right now was for his bridge officers to panic. Matt raised the phone to his ear, "CIC, we have a missile solution yet?"

"Radar says he has a tentative solution, but no track just yet. Wait one," Sullivan replied almost immediately.

"Exec, we are rapidly running out of time and ocean," Matt said, taking measured breaths. If they couldn't get missiles on target soon, then they would all be in trouble.

"Working on it, skipper, but the returns are bouncin all over the place," Sullivan replied, then spoke again as something was passed to him, "Skipper, O'Kane has formed up behind us, they're ready to engage targets as we see fit."

Matt took a deep breath to calm himself, then replied, "Very well, acknowledge, and tell them we'll transmit them a firing solution just as soon as we have it."

A new voice came on the circuit causing Matt's head to snap around, "Bridge, starboard lookout new contact, bearing 120, range 98 double 0, closing fast. Looks like a cruiser." Matt peered through the bridge windows, and spotted the silhouette of the contact. He had a hard time making it out through the constant rain and darkness though. A tracer arced past the windows before exploding into the orange white flame of an illumination round.

"Where did that come from?" Wright asked after a moment of stunned silence.

"Probably O'Kane," Matt replied offhand, "Glad someone was on the ball." He looked back to see what the flare had revealed, and immediately his blood went cold. Emerging from a wall of rain was an Abyssal. From the outside, it looked like a ship, an ancient ship. Its prow was sharp and its sides were flat. By all rights, this thing should be easy to kill, but looks can be deceiving. It's eight and six inch guns hit with way more punch than they had a right too. A well placed salvo would cripple Halsey. It was also devilishly fast, Matt had seen one just like it break thirty knots before.

"CIC, are you seeing this?" Matt asked. He hoped the crew couldn't hear the hesitation in his voice, and suddenly felt the pang of anxiousness returning. He didn't know why, they had been in battle before, but had never felt this gnawing feeling of apprehension and dread in his gut. Hell, he had been in battles with them yesterday, but he had never felt this way about one. There was just something different about this one, and Matt couldn't figure out what it was.

Almost as if the Abyssal knew that it had been spotted, its main turrets began to slowly rotate. It also began a lazy turn, moving to unshadow its full broadside. "No missile track, working on it," Sullivan replied, "Recommend engaging with mount 51."

"Very well, batteries release." A second later the 5" gun down on the fo'c'sle barked with a loud ka-whumph. Matt watched for the shot to land, but a second shot struck before the Halsey's. He looked over to see that O'Kane had opened up with her 5". The shots caused no discernable damage when they struck, just sparked off the plate. If one thing could be said for the Abyssals, it was that they were tough. The Navy didn't have a gun that could penetrate their flanks when the war started. There had been a scramble to adopt an armor piercing round capable of damaging the Abyssals. Matt was glad that the Halsey's magazines had been filled with said shells the last time they had left Diego. Of course they had expended some of the rounds over the last few days, but they still had quite a few left.

The rounds still needed to hit almost flat on to be able to penetrate. The angle the Abyssal presented was too great, and most of the shells skipped off harmlessly. The gun kept up a steady stream of fire. Shifting its aim up, hoping to score a lucky hit on the thinner superstructure. There was still no visible damage after landing several hits, and the Abyssal continued its advance. It would be able to present its full broadside in a minute. "CIC, I hope you have something better for me," Matt said, his voice rising steadily, "Or else this fucker's going to get off a broadside." Matt slammed a fist into his armrest in frustration. It was clear that he was agitated, he never swore over the radio.

"Sir, launching SM-6s on a radar beam," Sullivan replied a moment later, "TAO says that could work."

"Do it. You are weapons free."

"Roger weapons free. Birds away." It only took a moment for the Halsey to be bathed in fire. VLS hatches popped open and about thirty SM-6 missiles began to fly away. At the same time, Halsey shot an invisible beam of radio energy at the Abyssal, giving the missiles something solid to track. They chased after the beam like dogs running after a favorite toy. Even with the ship guiding the missiles, an unsettling number of them fell short, impacting harmlessly with the sea, passing over it without exploding. The Abyssals just seemed to make technology go haywire with their presence. In this case though, sheer saturation was able to solve the problem. About six of the missiles impacted the Abyssal, causing it to disappear in fire and smoke.

Even then, Matt didn't have high hopes for success. The SM-6 was really an anti-aircraft missile. Its warhead just wasn't able to penetrate the Abyssal's armor. It was like trying to kill a tank with a BB gun. When the smoke cleared, it was clear that they had done some damage to the Abyssal. Its decks were a mess, and several of its secondary guns had been thrown from their mounts. But it was still sailing, still fighting. As Matt watched in horror, its guns barked out a ragged broadside. He didn't even have a chance to shout before the shots struck, causing his ship to ring and vibrate like a bass drum. He saw a shell impact with the bow, causing the prow to rend upwards with sheer force. The bridge shuddered violently, and a few of the windows burst inwards, showering an enlisted rating with glass. The ship seemed to slow, and Matt feared that the engines had been knocked out. Then, just as soon as it had begun, the attack ended. "Is everyone alright?" Matt asked breaking the tense silence.

Someone rushed over to the injured rating, and shouted, "Corpsman, we need a corpsman."

"Medical team to the bridge, medical team to the bridge," Matt called over the phone, then rotated in his chair, "How does my ship look, lieutenant?" Wright was one step ahead of her captain, she already had a headset on and was listening to incoming reports

"Sir, we took one in the forward berthing spaces, there are casualties. The aft deckhouse and the flight deck were hit. The helo's wrecked," she reported, sounding downcast.

"Anything else?"

"A few, new holes in the aft funnel, and the forward engine room was hit, but the shot went clean through. Made a mess of the conduits and wiring though. Sparky's working on bypassing it, and we should have full speed back soon." Matt was about to reply when his voice was drowned out by a loud roar. At first he thought his ship had been attacked again, but then he saw it, there were several missiles streaking past his ship. They had come from the other two destroyers in the van. The entire bridge held their breath as they passed, waiting and hoping that they would fly true.

Several fell short or impacted without exploding, but as Stalin once said, "Quantity has a quality all of its own." Several of the missiles detonated against the Abyssal. It only takes one shot to destroy a ship, but said shot has to land in exactly the right spot. While the Abyssal was heavily armored, there were still gaps in its defense. With the amount of missiles being hurled at the cruiser, the chances that one would find a gap rose significantly. This time it was the upper works. A missile managed to arc down and punch through the thinly armored roof of a turret, and detonate inside the barbette, setting off the Abyssal's remaining stores of powder. Matt watched as the Abyssal disappeared in a ball of orange fire. All that was left when the flames dissipated was a smoldering hulk very quickly slipping beneath the waves. Matt didn't know who started the cheer, but it quickly spread throughout the bridge. Matt even found himself joining in for a bit.

Then pragmatism won out, and he raised the phone, "CIC, how we looking?"

"Not good skipper. The cupboards are starting to run bare. That last attack pretty much ran us dry of SM-6s. We still have the Sea Sparrows, but you know how well they work." Matt had to nod at that. The Sea Sparrow was a medium range SAM, and had a smaller warhead then the SM-6, and was couldn't even scratch the Abyssal. "Full stock of LRASMs, about five more SM's, and about 75 percent on the cannon rounds."

"Carry on then," Matt replied, his voice sounding oddly hollow, and then replaced the phone in its cradle. Matt leaned back in his chair and removed his helmet to wipe the layer of sweat that had accumulated on his brow. Damn, when did it get so cold in here?

The sound of the bosun's voice made him look over his shoulder, Boggs had just stepped onto the bridge, "Skipper, Sparky says he'll have engines back in about ten minutes."

"I heard," Matt replied simply, "Where have you been, Boats?" Boggs' battle station was on the bridge as the boatswain of the watch, but he had been absent since the battle began.

"I got stuck aft when the shell wrecked the hangar. Took me this long to pick myself clear," Boggs replied, "It's a mess back there skipper. I'm surprised the chopper didn't explode. The whole aft end of the ship is shot to hell." Matt grimaced, he had known the damage was bad, but he didn't realize how bad.

"Very well, man your station, Senior Chief."

"Aye aye, sir," Boggs replied, then relieved Wright from the 1MC set.

Matt got about five minutes of peace before a frantic call came over the bridge speakers, "Bridge, CIC, Big E just radioed that her planes found something."

"What?" Matt asked, grabbing his phone.

"Surface contact to our front, they cannot identify at this time, storm is too thick. They broke off, we aren't getting any help from them."

"Damn," Matt replied, then grabbed his binoculars off the bulkhead. Ahead, vague at first, but steadily growing sharper, were two dark forms.

"Jesus Christ," muttered Boggs, his face going suddenly slack. Before them, racing to prevent their escape, were two Abyssals, a destroyer and an absolutely massive battleship. There was a collective gasp as the bridge realized what was ahead of them.

After a minute spent studying the Abyssal through his binoculars, Matt spoke, "It's a battleship alright, one of their big heavies," with a sigh he said, "They really don't want us to get away." The thing looked like the combination of at least four different classes of battleship. The superstructure looked more like it had been grown, rather than built. It dwarfed the destroyer sitting next to it by a good hundred feet.

With a steely resolve, Matt said into the phone, "CIC, signal. Tell them we are going to give those bastards everything we got. Prepare to make a torpedo attack." His hands involuntarily balled into fists of rage, "We can't go around them, and we can't go back. That leaves only one option." Matt spun to face Boggs, ordering, "Boats, have someone yank down that rag we have flying now, and hoist the battle flag."

"Aye aye sir," Boggs replied, then passed the word over the intercom. Matt couldn't see it, but he knew the oversized stars and stripes was being run up the mast halyard. That ought to show the Abyssals just who they were fighting. "Sir, Sparky reports full speed restored."

"Just in time," Matt muttered, then, in a voice that garnered no objection, ordered, "CIC, signal fleet, flank speed ahead," then he looked back at the helmsman, repeating, "Helm, all ahead flank."

"Aye sir, ahead flank." Halsey shuddered as water began to force its way around her damaged bow. Matt could feel the deck tilt upwards slightly as the stern dug in, and the ship picked up speed. He watched in horror as the battleship ahead opened fire with its forward turret. The huge shells moaned over his ship before slamming into the Enterprise several hundred yards behind. A fireball erupted on the carrier's flight deck, and a column of greasy, black smoke rose into the air. The carrier managed to duck into a wall of rain, disappearing from view. At least she would be safe from fire for several seconds.

"Exec, fire as they bear," Matt said in a cold voice. His eyes flashed with icy determination, and all of his earlier fears vanished in an instant.

"Aye, skipper." Matt watched as the 5" gun barked, and the remaining SM-6 missiles spat forth from her VLS cells. The destroyer seemed to pick up even more speed as she moved to cut off the Abyssals, almost as if she knew how much was at stake. It was clear to everyone that the only way to get out of this alive, was to sink the Abyssals in front of them. It was equally clear that this was impossible. Ahead waited the battleship, all several thousand tons of it.

As the first missiles hit, the Abyssal began a leisurely turn to present her broadside of six fourteen inch guns. Her secondary battery of four and five inch guns was entirely superfluous when compared to their power, and the destroyer hiding in the battleship's lee was quickly forgotten, despite its guns and deadly torpedoes. The additional threat it represented was insignificant when compared with the battleship. Several explosions framed the monster as the missiles struck, but it was clear that they had done little damage, if any.

All the attack had managed to accomplish was to earn the monster's attention. Matt watched as the big turrets began slowly rotating to point at his ship. Two seconds later, the battleship opened fire. She pulsed with flame from the bow to the stern as the big guns salvoed. Seconds later the thunderous roar of fourteen inch shells thundered toward them. They sounded louder than anything Matt had ever heard. He didn't even try to brace himself as his ship was thrown into hell.

The first salvo landed short, but it threw up a wall of water that washed over the entirety of the ship. Matt was drenched as spray cascaded through the shattered windows. Halsey dove through the wall of water thrown up by the main guns, but the splashes from the secondary guns continued, uninterrupted. A loud bang came from somewhere aft, and the ship shuddered, but Matt ignored it for now. A few of the VLS cells popped open on the foredeck and several LRASMs shot off into the storm. Matt watched as they nosed over and dove towards the Abyssal. The few that hit threw up balls of fire on the Abyssal's hull, but the damage they caused seemed almost insignificant against the monster's bulk.

Something went clang forward, and a five inch shell plowed a furrow in the damaged prow before ricocheting into the sea. The big anchor chain that normally lay taught across the deck suddenly went slack and whipped back as the anchor fell into the sea. The battleship fired another salvo from its main guns, less than three miles off. Damn, they were close. This time the shells barely flew over the ship, sounding almost like a large freight train as they passed. After several seconds of silence, the 5" finally replied with a suddenly pathetic sounding ka-whumph.

Matt had to judge their distance entirely by eye now, the last salvo had knocked out the rangefinder. "Wait for it," he said, holding up a hand. When he thought the angle looked right, he brought it down, "Now, left full rudder." Halsey shuddered as her bow swung sharply around. The monster seemed almost motionless, the destroyer tucked under her like a timid child. The Halsey was almost beam on now, and Matt shouted into the phone, "Starboard mount, fire." Five torpedoes chuffed from their tubes and lanced in the Abyssal's direction. When the Halsey had been first laid down, she had been built with two triple 12" torpedo tubes, one per side. As the war had heated up however, several changes had been made to the ships of the US Navy in an effort to increase their effectiveness against the Abyssals. The triple mount had been removed, and two quintuple 21" mounts were installed in their place. The torpedoes they carried were near identical copies of the ones Halsey's WWII ancestors took into battle. Except these worked. Matt found himself waiting with tense anticipation, watching as the battleship pulsed with another salvo. Matt was muttering under his breath as he waited, "Come on, come on." The buzz saw roar of the CIWS mount caused Matt to look up. Until now, the Halsey's single CIWS gun had been shadowed by her bulk. Now he wondered what it was shooting at, just as a thunderous clash caused the ship to lurch upward, and throw him onto the deck.

Halsey heaved sickeningly as a fourteen inch shell on a virtually flat trajectory slammed into the forward engine room, mere feet from where the earlier hit had landed. The shell managed to find the one part of the ship heavy enough to detonate it, the turbine mounting. The explosion threw everyone aboard to the deck and blew out a large section of the Halsey's side. Everything, and everyone, in the room was vaporized instantly by the rapidly expanding fireball, and a cloud of soot and smoke shot out of the forward funnel as hot gasses rushed up the uptakes. Instantly the Halsey's speed halved

Matt managed to crawl to his feet after several seconds, and looked around. The bridge was a mess. Pieces of equipment were strewn throughout the space, and the space had been plunged into darkness as the lights blinked out. It took several seconds for the emergency lanterns to pop on and bath the bridge in an eerie, red glow. To top things off the few remaining windows had been blown out, exposing all of them to the torrents of rain pelting the ship. Matt turned to look at Boggs, but the chief had already ducked out the aft hatch. He slowly raised the phone to his ear and croaked, "Is everyone alright?"
"I'm good, skipper," Wright replied from behind him. Her voice sounded weak, and he turned to see her still sprawled out across the deck. He pointed to a rating that was standing, and indicated that she needed help. The sailor nodded, and ran over to assist the injured lieutenant.

Matt reached for the phone, but had to lean over when he saw that it was dangling from its cord. "Damage report," he barked.

This time, Sparky's voice came over the line, sounding more than a little distraught, "We lost the forward engine room."

"How long to get it back?" Matt asked hopefully.

"No, you don't understand, sir. We didn't lose it, it's gone. The shell exploded inside. I think it also took out a large chunk of the hull. The engine room is flooding heavily, but the watertight doors are holding, for now. There's a fire in the decks around that space, but it's being contained."

"What can you give me, Sparky?" Matt said, his voice tinged with remorse.

"I've secured the starboard shaft. We'll have to make do with the port. It's all I can give you," Sparky replied. He sounded like he was blaming himself for the Halsey's injuries.

"Very well," Matt sighed, "Do what you can, and keep me informed." He stared back out at the Abyssal and saw something. Rapidly moving up Halsey's starboard side was another ship, it took him a second to realize that it was O'Kane. Matt felt a surge of pride as he saw the destroyer moving up to screen her wounded sister. His heart fell however when he got a good look at her. O'Kane's mast had been sheared off almost at the top of her bridge, and her radar antennas were nothing but a tangled mess. A large chunk had been taken out of her superstructure, and her forward CIWS mount was completely gone. The older destroyer looked even more chewed up than Halsey. Her torpedo tubes were rigged out, so maybe she had gotten off a salvo, but otherwise, she was a mess.

Matt didn't know why the other destroyer was charging like that, but already she had gotten the Abyssal's attention. The fire around Halsey slacked as O'Kane charged forward. She was giving them a chance, they could cut and run right now, all they had to do was turn away and leave O'Kane to the Abyssal. Matt looked around the bridge, trying to decide if that was what his crew wanted. There were some decisions that no captain wanted to ever have to make, and this was one of them. Abandon one ship to possibly save another, or continue the attack and possibly lose both? Matt just didn't know what to do. He looked up to see O'Kane shudder as a salvo from the battleship's secondaries exploded against her sides.

In that instant, Matt made up his mind. He couldn't live with that decision weighing on his conscious. They had run far enough already, if they were going to stand and fight, here was a good a place as any. "Helm bring about behind O'Kane. We still have one set of torpedoes, let's use them." Halsey shuddered as she swung her tortured bow around to point directly at the battleship. They needed to turn far enough to unshadow the port side torpedo tubes, and maybe breaking the formation would cause the Abyssal to split its fire.

"Sir," came the startled voice of one of the lookouts, "Enterprise is breaking out of the rain." Matt cursed. It was now or never, if they didn't stop this monster here, Enterprise would be all but lost.

"Sparky, I need all the speed you can get out of her. I don't care if we blow up the engines, we need to get there," Matt growled over the phone.

With a resigned sigh, Sparky replied, "Aye, sir, but we're definitely going to need a drydock after this one." Halsey groaned and vibrated as Sparky worked to coax every extra knot he could get out of her battered engines. Matt watched as the speed gauge began to slowly crawl up a few knots. It was almost as if the old girl knew exactly what was at stake and had decided to give it her all. She continued her turn until she passed O'Kane's stern going in the other direction. If it worked, this would put Halsey's unfired port torpedo tubes in line to hit the Abyssal, but it would also put her in the line of fire of all of the battleship's secondaries.

Matt raised the phone, and hesitantly asked, "CIC, what's the time on the torps?"

It took a minute for Sullivan to reply, and when it came the XO's voice sounded faint and scratchy, "Ten seconds." Matt nodded, ten seconds until they knew if their charge had been worth it. A loud bang came from forward as a five inch shell slammed into the fo'c'sle and careened off the deck. Taking most of the hatches for the forward VLS cell with it. The ship staggered again as a shell landed aft. The hits were almost constant now, and all Matt could do was pray that his ship would hold together long enough to make a difference.

"Three… two… one," Matt counted, then held his breath. Nothing, they had missed. "Prepare to fire-," he was interrupted as a snap of light, and looked up to see two towering columns of water rise against the battleship's flank. They had hit, the torps had hit. Matt wanted to shout with glee.

"Damn skipper, it worked," the helmsman commented. The entire bridge seemed to hold its breath as they watched to see what the monster would do now. They had definitely hurt the bastard, it was slowing to a crawl, and one of the forward turrets seemed to be jammed in place. The Abyssal began a quick turn, moving to avoid any other torpedoes. It was almost completely bow on to them now, and only a few of its secondaries could target them at this angle.

"Helm, take us alongside her. Let's jam our torps right up her ass," Matt snarled.

"Aye sir," the ship leaned as the helmsman lined her up with the battleship. In a few seconds they would be in position to fire off all of their torpedoes at a range where it would be impossible for the battleship to dodge them, but it would also put Halsey in the full broadside of the Abyssal's secondaries. They were more than capable of wrecking Matt's ship all by themselves. Then, the Abyssal destroyer, completely forgotten until now, shot out from under the battleship, and then sped off in the direction of the Enterprise. It took Matt a split second to realize what it was trying to accomplish.

"Shit, CIC, the tin can's making a run on Big E. Can you stop it," Matt barked over. There was no reply, but a moment later the 5" gun rotated outboard to aim at the destroyer trying to slip away. Against this target, the 5" was more than sufficient. They couldn't afford to break off from the battleship, not now. Not when they were this close. Halsey needed to make every shot from her 5" count. If that destroyer managed to launch its own torpedoes, then the Enterprise would be in serious trouble. The gun raised up and barked again, ka-whumph. It immediately fired again, then again, and again, keeping up a steady stream of fire at the running destroyer.

Shots slammed into its hull, and the Abyssal seemed to vibrate with each of the impacts. Hit after hit slammed into it until it suddenly convulsed with a brilliant fireball. Its hull jackknifed suddenly, its bow leaping out of the water to point skywards. The bridge cheered in delight, Matt included, but there was still the battleship. As if to make its presence known, the battleship flashed as its single operational forward turret fired. Matt watched as a fourteen inch shell slammed into the foredeck. It was on a flat enough trajectory that it skipped off the steel deck, but it slammed into the 5" gun as it went. The gun was ripped from the deck and sent spinning over the side. Matt's heart fell like a stone, now the only weapon his ship had left were the five torpedoes in the port mount. He looked over to judge the range to the battleship, and saw O'Kane pulling along their beam. The other destroyer had her starboard tubes rigged out, and it looked to Matt like they were planning on making a torpedo run of their own. Matt swore he saw a form standing on the other destroyer's bridgewing, giving a salute to his ship. Without thinking about it, Matt stepped out onto his own bridgewing and returned the salute.

Without planning it O'Kane had fallen in on the Abyssal's port side while the Halsey was charging up the starboard. They had caught the battleship in a crossfire, now all that was left was to finish the attack. The Battleship pulsed with rolling fire now as all of its secondaries opened fire. Five inch, four inch, and anti-aircraft machine gun rounds slammed into the Halsey, and they thrummed against her hull like the rain hammering her decks. Matt stepped back into the bridge just in time to see the helmsman be cut down by a stray round. He immediately grabbed the wheel. "Lieutenant, you up?" he shouted.

Lieutenant Wright staggeringly rose to her feet and nodded, "Yes, I'm good sir."

"Get on the 21MC. When I tell you to, give the order to fire the torpedoes," Matt said.

"Aye sir," Wright replied. Her voice still sounded shaky, and she wobbled a bit when she got to her feet, but it couldn't be helped at this point. She managed to make it over to his chair and receive the 21MC phone when a close hit rocked the bridge. Matt opened his eyes to see that he was lying on the deck. He tried to stand, but he felt like someone had whacked him repeatedly in the side with a baseball bat. Upon closer examination, he saw that his uniform was been shredded along his right side, and blood leaked from several dozen wounds. He slowly pulled himself back to his feet, but almost screamed as a lance of pain shot through his body. Eventually he managed to hold himself upright by leaning against the ship's wheel.

"Come on old girl," Matt muttered in a pleading voice, "Hold together, just now. Do this and I promise you'll get a nice long rest in the Pearl." They were very close now, so close that the Abyssal was having trouble rotating its secondaries fast enough to track the charging destroyer. They were almost there, a hundred more feet and they would be in position. Matt willed his broken, battered ship the last few feet. They had to do this. Then with a voice that was firm with command, Matt ordered, "Now, lieutenant."

Wright raised the phone and said, "Fire the torpedoes now." Matt gave it ten more seconds, then cranked the helm hard over, breaking away from the Abyssal. At this range it only took the fish thirty seconds to travel the distance between the destroyers and the battleship. Matt heard a massive roar and turned to see the beast bracketed by several explosions. The Abyssal seemed to be lifted out of the water by the force of the blasts. When the wall of water fell, Matt could see that the battleship wasn't moving anymore, and it was starting to list. The Abyssal was crippled, there was no doubt about it now.

Halsey continued to open the distance, running as fast as she could, but the Abyssal's guns barked again in defiance and rage. Most of the shots fell short, churning the water in the destroyer's wake, but a single round punched through the flight deck tearing down through several decks and out the bottom of the ship. Through machinery and wrecking the steering gear and the propeller shafts. With one shot, the Abyssal had disabled the Halsey's ability to maneuver and move. Matt suddenly found that his ship would no longer respond to his commands, she was trapped on her heading, and rapidly losing speed. He cursed loudly, "Fuck, what now?"

Wright was already on the 21MC, she replied a second later, "Sparky says that shot took out the steering gear, and the prop alleys. We can't get it back, not without a drydock." It was with grim realization that Matt came to the conclusion that he was dead. With no way to move or maneuver, it was only a matter of time before the battleship nailed them with a full salvo. Matt looked up at the Abyssal with grim determination. It was listing and low at the bow, but its turrets were still turning, still pointing at his ship. He expected the final salvo to land at any moment, and gave the monster a resigned look. That was when it exploded.

A bright flash and a thunderous explosion framed the Abyssal, and several columns of water rose along its flanks. Those were torpedo hits, they had to be. "Where did those torps come from?" Matt wondered aloud. Both destroyers had already launched all of their fish, and there hadn't been time to reload the mounts.

"Maybe Enterprise?" Wright asked. It was clear that she was just as surprised as Matt had been.

"Possibly," Matt muttered. Then looked back out at the monster that had harried them for the last ten minutes. The battleship had ceased all movement, and its guns had fallen silent. It was rapidly beginning to slip lower into the water, and as he watched, it exploded with a massive fireball. The detonation tore Abyssal in half, and it vanished within seconds.

It was clear now that the battle was over. The rain pounding the decks had begun to slacken, and the storm was already breaking up. Without the Abyssals there to sustain it, the squall was rapidly dissipating. Matt tried to walk over to his seat, but froze when pain shot through his body. He was reminded of the hit he took earlier and looked down to see the side of his uniform stained with blood. Damn, he would have to get that looked at. Limping now, he moved over to the front of the bridge, and took the 21MC phone from Wright. The young lieutenant seemed absolutely shell-shocked. She was simply staring ahead with a slack expression. Matt put a comforting hand on her shoulder as he asked over the phone, "Exec, Sparky, is everyone alright?" There was no response. He looked down at the handset in confusion. It was a sound-powered phone, it should work all the time. His question was answered a second later when a tired and dejected looking Sparky walked onto the bridge.

With a loud sigh, he announced, "The electrics were cut a deck below you. I'm surprised you could still give helm commands." Matt looked up at the engineer. His face was streaked black with soot and grease, and his hair was an absolute mess.

"How does she look, commander?"

With a resigned sigh, Sparky replied, "She's gone skipper. The flooding aft is too much, we can't handle it, not with only two engines. I give us maybe half an hour." Matt felt like a part of him died with that statement.

"Isn't there something you can do?" he pleaded. He couldn't lose his ship, they had won. Why would she give up now?

Sparky shook his head and looked down at the deck, "Sir, I can't do anything. Believe me I could if I wanted to, but… but the damage is too bad. I recommend…" Sparky had to take a gulp of air to clear his throat, "I recommend that we abandon ship as soon as possible. She's settling pretty evenly right now, but I have no idea how long that will last." Matt nodded solemnly, then looked around the bridge. The space was a mess. Equipment was strewn everywhere, and water sloshed across the deck lapping at Matt's feet. At least two of the crewmen had been cut down during the battle, and their blood soaked the deck.

"Damn, I leave for five minutes," Matt looked up to see Boggs stick his head through the hatch, "Sparky give you the word, skipper?"

"Yeah," Matt sighed, "Go ahead Boats, pass the word for abandon ship."

"Aye aye, sir," Boggs replied, his voice sounding much deeper than it normally did. He began to duck back out of the bridge, then changed his mind and stopped. "You did a good job skipper. She was a good boat," Boggs said.

"She still is a good boat, at least for a while longer," Matt replied, "Go, help people off. I'll deal with everyone topside."

"Aye sir," Boggs said, then disappeared down the companionway.

"Come on, Sparky. Let's get everyone out," Matt ordered, then reached over to grab the still shell-chocked Wright. He slowly began to work his way off his dying ship.

[][][]

It amazed Captain Dover just how quickly things could change. The ship that had been his home for almost a year now, was slowly dying. The crew was up on deck now, milling around the fo'c'sle while corpsman moved through administering first aid, and the surviving officers tried to get a head count. There were a lot of faces missing from this group, and Matt couldn't help but feel that he had let his men down. He had promised to protect them, and now some of them were gone. He was currently standing in the superstructure. Partly for the better vantage point, and because he was trying not to let the crew see how much pain he was in. The shrapnel wounds he had taken earlier hurt like a bitch now, and Matt was having trouble even standing.

"Skipper, you alright?" Matt looked over to see Chief Boggs pushing his way through the mob of crewmen.

"I'll manage," Matt replied, "How're things looking, Chief?"

"XO is putting the RHIBs in the water, and we've already dropped all the rafts that weren't torn up," Boggs reported, "There should be more than enough room for everyone."

"Finally, some good news," Matt said dryly, "I definitely need some of that." Matt could tell that the Halsey didn't have much left in her. The once proud ship had started to list to port, and the angle of the deck was getting worse with every passing second. It wouldn't be long before she turned turtle and capsized. The hull was creaking and groaning now, almost as if the old girl was screaming in protest. She had done well to hold on this long, and Matt hoped she would hold on just long enough to get the rest of his crew off. "Keep them moving Boats," Matt said, reaching up to put a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Sir, you can leave now," Boggs tried to suggest.

"No, Boats, not until I know everyone's off," Matt replied. He knew that it was his duty as the captain, and maybe doing that would help to assuage the guilt he felt over losing so many.

Giving a shaky salute, Boggs replied, "Aye aye, sir." The big senior chief dashed off, moving to help hand out life jackets. They were climbing over the side now. Someone had begun to throw the big, inflatable life rafts into the water, and they were quickly being filled. The fo'c'sle began to slowly empty as survivors went over the side. After a while, Matt and Chief Boggs were the only ones left on the ship. "Need a hand, skipper?" Boggs asked, then wrapped an arm around Matt's shoulders.

"Thanks, Boats," Matt replied, and together, the two walked to the rail. The burbling roar of an outboard engine drew Matt's gaze over the side. Carefully making his way through the clusters of sailors, was the XO in one of the ship's boats.

"Someone need a ride," Sullivan shouted, then brought the boat to a stop under the rail. Matt judged the distance from the rail to the boat. With the list Halsey had taken on, it was only about ten feet. Even then he didn't relish the thought of making that jump. It was with much pain that he finally made it. 11

"You good, skipper?" Boggs asked as he fell into the boat.

"I'll live," Matt replied. Getting down had taken a lot out of him, and the captain couldn't do much more then lie in the bottom of the boat. Several shouts made him look over. What he saw was impossible, it had to be. Moving through the rafts and floating sailors, were two girls. What was impossible about them, was the fact that they were standing on top of the water. They looked like teenagers. They moved through the group of sailors towards the boat.

"Are you the skipper?" she sounded confused, like she couldn't figure out what was happening.

With all the strength he could muster, Matt said, "I am, Commander Matthew Dover."

"I'm sorry, captain," she said, then cast her eyes down at the water, "If we had been a minute faster, we could have stopped that monster."

"What are you talking about, little lady?" Boggs asked, speaking for the first time.

"If we had put our torpedoes in the water a few minutes sooner, we could have saved your ship," she replied, voice sullen.

"What?" Matt said, now he really was confused, "Just who-what are you?"

She looked him in the face. Her warm, brown eyes meeting his steel, blue ones. "USS Nicholas, DD-449. If you want a Fletcher, there are none better than me," she pointed over her shoulder to the second girl, "She's Charles Ausburn."

"Call me Charlie, herr Kapitän," she said, "DD-570, flag of DesRon 23."

Nicholas spoke up again, "I don't really know what I am right now, but when I woke up, I saw that… thing attacking your ship. We launched torps at it, but it was too late to stop its last salvo."

Sudden realization dawned on Matt, "That last shot, the one we thought came from Big E that was you?"

"We sank it, if that's what you mean."

"Just what are you?" Matt asked in slack-jawed wonder.

"All I know sir, is that I used to be a destroyer," Nicholas replied, "And now I'm not."

Sullivan coughed, making Matt look up at his XO, "As touching as this is, we probably ought to get the men out of the water. O'Kane is ready to take them, we just have to drag the rafts over there."

"Very well, exec. Get going," Matt said, then looked at the girls, "If you want a lift, we have the room."

"Okay," Nicholas replied, then scrambled over the boat's gunwale. It took her a few times, and if it hadn't been for a helping hand from Chief Boggs, she would have tumbled back into the water. Nicholas landed in the bottom of the boat, and lay there for several seconds. A moment later, she was wrapped in a bright light, and the equipment she had strapped to herself disappeared, leaving a small, damp girl lying in the boat. Charlie followed a minute later, with a bit more success. A moment later, Sullivan gunned the outboard, and the boat took off.

A few minutes later Matt looked back to see Halsey finish capsizing. Her bright, red bottom and shiny, bronze screws were exposed for all to see. A moment after that, the ship that Matt had called home, his ship, slipped beneath the waves. Boggs stood up and took off his hat with a flourish. With a voice uncharacteristically filled with emotion, he said, "Take off your hats boys. There goes a good ship."

Nicholas stood next to the Chief, and said, "May she find peace wherever she ends up." Matt wiped his cheek as hot tears began to well up. He may have failed his ship, but he damn sure wasn't going to fail her crew.

In a husky voice, Matt ordered, "Take us home, exec. Take us home." He looked over at the two, strange girls sitting in the boat, and asked, "So, what's your story?"

"That may take time to explain, herr Kapitän," Charlie replied.

"That's alright, we have plenty of time, and I'm certainly not going anywhere," Matt replied. Nicholas and Charlie looked at each other for a long moment, then began to tell their life stories. While he was listening, Matt suddenly had a strange feeling that losing his ship was a beginning, rather than an end.