Sixteen years later...

Fourteen years ago, a few months after my 18th birthday, Chiron announced that the gods had discovered a new titan plot. They were going to destroy western civilization the 'old fashioned' way. Conventional warfare. They were slowly infiltrating the government of the Russian Federation. So, Chiron decided that, as soon as we came of age, us demigods should become officers in the Military, so that we were ready when the Russians/titans attacked. I, of course, got in to the Naval Academy at Annapolis. I convinced my cousin Thalia to take a break from the hunters to join the Navy Air Forces. She agreed.

Then, Annabeth disappeared. And I mean disappeared. Gone. Dropped off the face of the earth. I searched the world for her, but could not find her anywhere. After a year of missing countless classes and tests, I gave up the search, figuring she must be dead. I was absolutely devastated. If Thalia hadn't been there to beat the crap out of me every time I started pitying myself, I probably would have become a manic depressive

Three months later, I found a girl named Claire. She was about a year younger than me, and extremely attractive. I flirted with her, but I absolutely sucked at that. But I guess she found my abject failure at it to be sort of cute, because she gladly went along when I asked her out. I was about to enter the restaurant with her, when my dad showed up and pulled us into an ally. Turns out, the girl I had asked out was my half-sister. She was a daughter of Poseidon. Awkward, I know.

I convinced her to spend a summer at camp half blood. Everything was going great. Then her mom died. She was not quite old enough to go to the Naval Academy and live on her own yet. So guess what? My awesome mom adopted her. So now she is my awesome sister, Claire Jackson.

After I graduated from the Academy, Thalia disappeared. At least she left a note, something about being chosen by Naval Intelligence. I was miserablye again. My sister was about the only friend I had left. You'd think the savior of Olympus would have more friends, but nooooo. So, I lived another nine, boring, painful years, with nothing better to do than excel at my job and rise quickly to the rank of Admiral. Now, I'm thirty-two, a US Navy Admiral, single, with no friends, and have NEVER had a girlfriend. Life sucks, I know.

I was in a chair on the bridge of my aircraft carrier, reading The Line Upon a Wind (which was quite difficult due to my dyslexia), and wondering if this extraction mission could get any more boring.

That's right, I said MY aircraft carrier. Why? Because I am Admiral Perseus Jackson, USN.

Anyhow, my carrier, the USS Athena was sitting in the middle of its task force, waiting for a fishing boat. That's right, a FISHING BOAT. I, the foremost admiral in the navy, aboard the Athena, the most powerful warship in the world, was waiting for a damn fishing boat to come our way. Why? Something to do with an operative from naval intelligence. We were here to extract the operative from Russia, where he/she had been for the last…long time, probably, considering that this operative was important enough to warrant a whole damn carrier task force to come halfway across the world.

I was off duty, but I enjoyed being on the command deck anyways. The view was great, and it kept me up to date on the goings on around the ship. The command deck was sleek and modern. In the center, there was a regal chair, flanked by colorful readouts, for the officer of the watch. There were wide, sloping windows on all sides, letting in the perfect amount of light; enough to read by without needing a lamp, but not too much as to create glare off the readouts and displays. About twelve officers were seated at stations under the windows, monitoring the status of the ship or doing other odd jobs.

The on-duty communications officer, Junior Lieutenant Matthews, turned around in his swivel chair to face to officer of the watch, my flag officer, Captain Jack Berkner.

His hand pressed to his earpiece, Matthews reported, "Hawkeye one reports incoming contact, dual prop aircraft, unidentified, bearing Green030 to flagship, coming our way." In English, that means our radar plane designated Hawkeye-One, an E-2D Hawkeye Airborne Early Warning and Control plane, detected an unidentified airplane bearing thirty degrees off the flagship's starboard bow. Make more sense? Probably not. I liked it better when the only military things I needed to know were sword, bow, armor, helmet, and 'there is a big effing monster behind you!'

Anyways, this little pronouncement piqued my interest, so I decided to stick around awhile longer. "Have Hawkeye-One keep them in sight," ordered my flag captain. "Anything on IFF?" he inquired.

"Nothing, sir. Nothing at all." That was really strange. Even civilian craft would be broadcasting an IFF (Identify Friend/Foe) Beacon.

Rising from my chair in the back of the bridge, I said, "that's odd."

A few of the officers jumped at the sound of my voice. Apparently, no one had noticed me sitting back there.

"Erm… Admiral on the bridge?" said Captain Berkner, giving me a nervous look. "How long have you been back there?"

"Oh, about ten minutes," I said. He looked at me nervously again. "Its fine, Jack," I told him. He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, pretending to wipe nervous sweat of his brow.

"Drama queen," I muttered.

The Captain stood. "Want the chair, sir?" he said, motioning to the chair in the center. 'Want the chair' basically translates to 'do you want to take command.'

"Naw," I said. "There would be no point in having a flag captain if I had to do all the work, ya know?" I smirked. "I'll just watch."

He rolled his eyes, and sat back down, giving Lieutenant Matthews a nod.

Mathews picked up the radio input, "civilian aircraft, this is the USS Athena. Identify yourself, over."

Static.

I frowned. People usually don't ignore aircraft carriers when they try to talk to you.

"Unidentified civilian aircraft, this is the United States Aircraft Carrier Athena. You are entering USS Athena airspace. Identify yourself immediately."

Static.

I strode over to the 'captain's chair,' closing the distance with a few long strides. "Get a pair of raptors in the air," I ordered to the on duty flight officer.

The officer, who happened to be the commander of my carrier's Air Wing, Commander Skylark, nodded to me, and picked up the phone at her station. "Flight deck, this is Skylark. Admiral wants a pair of twenty-twos in the air. We've got a non-responsive civilian aircraft incoming, and he wants some fighters up there. Hawkeye-One is in the air. Get the coordinates from him."

Commander Skylark nodded to me, and I snatched a curious glance down at the flight deck. There were dozens of little figures scrambling over an around a pair of F-22 Raptors, frantically prepping the planes for launch.

Captain Berkner gave me a funny look. "What happened to 'just watching,'" he asked.

I smiled, "well, it just got a bit more exciting." He began to rise out of the chair.

"No. Keep it. I'm going to leave as soon as we get all this figured out." I covered my ears as a quadruplet of powerful engines began to scream, and a pair of sleek black aircraft shot out into the sky, becoming mere dots among the clouds in mere seconds. I glanced at Lieutenant Mathews, "try it again."

He sighed, and picked up his radio again.

"Unidentified civilian aircraft, this is Lieutenant Matthews of the USS ATHENA," he said angrily, emphasizing the name of our world famous, powerful warship. "You are entering our airspace. Please respond immediately, or we will order our fighters to engage."

Static.

"Lieutenant McKenna," I said, turning towards my sensor operator, "what's the nearest ship?"

He checked his display, "USS Poseidon." And yes, all the ships in my task force are named after Greek gods.

Good. My sister's ship. She was really sexy, sleek, fast, powerful, and packed one hell of a punch. What? No! I was talking about the ship, not my sister! Geez…

And, yes, I just called a ship 'sexy.' Ya, I know. I'm absolutely hopeless.

Anyways, the USS Poseidon was one of the new Zumwalt Class ships (AUTHOR'S NOTE: look that up on Wikipedia. They are actually pretty cool looking ships), and was more than capable of the task at hand. And my awesome sister is the best captain in the Navy. And that's not an opinion, it's a fact.

"Have the Poseidon get a missile lock on them, and start opening missile ports. Look real threatening," I ordered.

The communications officer relayed the order. I could imagine my sister flashing her trademarked dangerous smile, and braking orders at her weapons crews. She is one tough cookie, I'll tell you that. Mess with her, and you end up in the hospital, best case. Worst case; the morgue.

A missile lock from the Poseidon must have gotten the aircraft's attention. A vaguely familiar female voice crackled over the radio.

"Athena, this is USNI-017," said the voice. "Didn't want to draw the fleets attention to this, but we are your contact."

"Bull crap," I said, mostly to myself, "our contact is a fishing boat."

Apparently, the communications officer still had the radio input on, because the voice crackled over the radio again a few seconds later, "uhhm, sorry. Blame the angry Russians with guns," I couldn't help but laugh at that, "had to, erm, 'borrow' this plane to get out of there quickly. My verification code is" a pause, "935-454."

I dug through my pockets, looking for the paper that had the code on it. Car key. House key. Room key. Locker key. Other locker key. Key to the car I sold a few years back. Key to my old college locker. Key to the gym in the town I lived in a few years ago. Key to my old HOUSE in that town. Scrap of paper. Ballpoint pen. Other pen. No, wait, that's riptide. By this point, Captain Berkner was giving me an amused look. Finally, I found the sheet with the code on it. I glanced at it. 935-454.

"Dangit," I murmured. I grabbed the radio piece and held it up to my mouth. "This is Admiral Jackson, USS Athena. Confirmation received and confirmed. Response code Delta-Epsilon-Six-Nine."

I handed the radio back to the communications officer, ignoring a vague, "wait, admiral who?" as I did so.

I looked out the window, and spotted the sizable civilian aircraft coming in closer to the carrier, flanked by a pair of black silhouettes, which I figured were the F-22s.

"Skylark," I inquired to my flight officer, "do you think that thing will be able to land on the carrier?"

She looked out the window, and shook her head, "no, sir."

"Crap," I said.

The voice of the plane's pilot crackled over the radio again, "Athena, this is USNI-017. Can we land?"

Skylark had said it was impossible, but we had to get the operative aboard ship. I looked between the approaching plane and the flight deck. It would definitely be a stretch.

I picked up the radio, "depends. Do you mind if your plane gets wrecked in the process?"

"Not really. It's not actually my plane," she said. "I…erm…procured it from a Russian hangar."

"Alright, you have clearance to land. Do your best not to go off the flight deck. Skid turn, nose drag, whatever. Don't worry about damage," I glanced down at the flight deck, "actually, I would prefer if you didn't crash in to the control tower. But it's fine if you damage the deck. I'm handing you over to flight control," I said, nodding to Commander Skylark, who continued staring at me incredulously as she picked up her headset to begin coordinating the flight crews.

As a matter of fact, everyone was staring at me incredulously. I ignored them, and grabbed the input to the loudspeaker. "General quarters, all hands, this is the Admiral. Clear the flight deck. I repeat, clear the flight deck. We have an emergency oversized landing incoming. Damage control teams strand ready. I want all of the ropes, cords, trips, and planks we have to slow planes on the flight deck deployed." I hung up the input.

Captain Berkner looked at me as if I had lost it, "sir, even if we could land a plane that big, the plane itself isn't equipped to land on a carrier."

"This is our contact, Captain. It's the whole reason we're even out here on the wrong side of the Pacific. It's our duty to get them aboard," I scolded. I looked out the window. The plane was about a hundred meters from the flight deck, and closing fast. I dashed out the bridge door, shouting, "Captain, you have the bridge."

Down a narrow stairway, out a door, and I was standing at the base of the tower, watching the dual-prop aircraft skid across my flight deck, with a sickening screech. Sparks flew, rubber and steel melted and fused. An engine on the plane caught on fire. Then the other engine. Not good.

I watched and preyed as the plane skidded to a halt, a mere three meters from the end of the flight deck. I breathed a sigh of relief, and dashed over to it, followed by a cloud of sailors and aviators in fire gear.

Most of the plane was on fire. You couldn't see many flames, but you could tell by the column of smoke billowing from the airframe. I grabbed a fire suppressant hose as the firefighters fought the blaze in vein. One thing you learn very quickly when living on a carrier is that a fire on the flight deck is the worst disaster imaginable. With tons of solid and liquid fuel lying around, it's not too hard to see the reason.

It looked rather hopeless. I could have used my son of Poseidon skills and just doused the flame with seawater, but that would have looked suspicious. The mist is thinner out at sea. Questions would be asked. Questions I tend to try avoiding.

Then, a ship cut in front of my carrier at high speed, dangerously close to crashing. The USS Poseidon.

I was staring at the ship, wondering what my sister thought she was doing, until it finished its pass, and a massive splashing wake caused by the destroyer's speed slammed into the flight deck, not only dousing the flames but also pushing the aircraft a few more meters from its precarious position near the edge.

A round of cheers erupted from the men on the flight deck, and I looked at the Poseidon, spotting an easily recognizable figure standing on the stern quarter, arms folded under her chest, "thanks sis!" I yelled, as my sister tossed me a lazy salute.

Men began to scrabble over the wrecked airframe, prying apart melted metal and taking crowbars to the doors. I slowly approached, and waited patiently. Finally, the doors were kicked open from the inside. Someone stood in the doorway, retracting a powerful leg from a front snap kick. It was a beautiful young woman, who looked to be about twenty-four, with long, pitch black hair and electric blue eyes. She wore dark blue jeans, and a black T-Shirt with a US Naval Air Forces Commander's insignia pinned sloppily to her right shoulder. She jumped down from the wrecked aircraft. She looked a little older than she had seemed when I last saw her, nine years ago. I guess her boss had aged her a bit so that she could stay in the navy without everyone wondering why she looked sixteen.

"Thalia Grace," I said, a massive grin spreading across my face. She looked up at me, and smiled wider than I ever thought would be possible for a human to smile.

"Kelp face!" she shouted, launching herself at me, nearly tacking me to the ground with a massive bear hug.

"Whoa, huntress!" I cautioned, "No hugging guys, remember!" I exclaimed, trying to regain my balance.

"I think I can make an exception for my favorite cousin." Wow, did Thalia really just give me a compliment. That happens, like, almost never.

I hugged her back, and then pulled away and held her at arm's length, smiling, "that's 'Admiral Kelp Face' to you, Commander Pinecone Head," I joked. I nodded in the direction of the plane she had just totaled. "Nice landing back there. Way to make an entrance. It was very you, if you know what I mean." Which was true. Somehow, Thalia always managed to pull of dramatic entrances like that. This, I must admit, was the apex, though.

"Admiral," she said with surprise, glancing at my uniform, "all responsible now, eh? Admiral Kelp Face. Hmm… that does have a certain ring to it," she said, punching me in the shoulder. I tried not to wince. I remembered the days when I had a perpetual bruise there because of the frequency of her punches.

"Well," I admitted, "I missed you, Thals." I looked away, thinking about if it was wise to really admit how bad it had been without her, my best and only friend after Annabeth's death, at my side. I elected upon just fessing up. "Ah, to hell with that. Life has been completely miserable since you dropped off the face of the earth."

"Oh, gods! Don't tell me you still haven't managed to find yourself a girlfriend," she said, pure disappointment seeping into my cousin's voice.

I smirked, and shook my head.

"Um, Thalia," came a beautiful voice from the doorway of the plane, "who the hell were you just hugging?"

I looked over my cousin's shoulder to see who it was. Suffice it to say, I almost died on the spot.

Well, I suppose its not too much of a cliffie because its easy to guess who the person is...