Three men stood just outside the bridge of the ship, clutching coffee cups as if their heat was the only thing that stood between them and a slow, freezing death. They gazed out over the water to the waiting ocean, their breath forming small clouds as they exhaled. None spoke, as if a single word could banish the magic of the night. Finally, the one dressed in a heavy blue coat and a knit hat turned to another and spoke.
"How long until your men finish?" asked Captain Rosen.
The man he spoke to wore the uniform of the Israeli Defence Force. A beret rested at an odd angle on his head, exposing his thinly covered scalp and ears to the elements. His arms rested at chest level, folded tightly together to conserve heat. A long scar ran down the left side of a face that spoke volumes of war and strife. His eyes locked on Captain Rosen's.
"Anytime, now," he replied. "The last of the 9mm ammunition is being loaded and then you'll be set."
Captain Rosen smiled oddly. "You will be set. Our job is just beginning," he said softly. His eyes turned to the ocean as if issuing a challenge. "I have never both hated and loved a thing except the sea," he whispered. He paused and took a deep breath. After a brief gaze that seemed to reach the horizon and go beyond, he turned to the third man.
"Ready the ship for departure. Tell Danny that I want the reactors on- line in ten minutes," he commanded his executive officer. "I want to get underway before 0030 hours." His XO nodded and left without a word. Rosen turned to the Israeli officer.
"While I enjoy your presence on the ship, General, I must ask you to leave so that we may get underway." The general saluted, which Rosen returned.
"Good luck, Captain. My prayers are with you." With these final words, the general headed down the stairs to the deck below and disembarked. Rosen followed his form down the ramp, the image disappearing and reappearing at regular intervals under the ship's lights. When he finally lost sight, he looked up at the sleeping city. The few lights that had power and were on twinkled in the fog. Rosen turned and entered the bridge.
Inside, he found his bridge crew at their stations. The sound of hushed conversations was occasionally broken by radio bursts from various speakers. Fluorescent bulbs flooded the room with light, requiring a moment of adjustment. The air smelled of the sea mixed with a hint of ozone from the computer banks that lined the back wall. His presence went unnoticed by all except for his XO, John Sterling.
Sterling was one of the few Christians that remained in the Jewish enclave of Chicago. Captain Rosen valued his experience in the Merchant Marine over his religion. He always worked hard to please and often succeeded. He was often regarded as Rosen's alter- ego and took pride in the connection to a man he revered.
"The last of the loading has been completed and the deck is clear and secure," he reported. "The reactor is coming on- line now." Rosen nodded his approval and Sterling hurried to the intercom to finish preparations.
Rosen walked over to the captain's chair and sat. He pressed a button on the right armrest, activating a display console. Its indicators reported the status of the ship. He took several minutes to look it over.
Several more displays appeared, marking the activation of the engine. A second later, Sterling's voice rang out across the bridge.
"Reactor on- line, sir. The engine is active. Enabler is ready." He swallowed, considering his next action. "Shall I have them cast off the lines, sir?"
Rosen paused, deep in thought. He looked up and turned in his seat, facing his anxiously waiting bridge crew.
"Yes," he replied. "Let's get underway." His bridge crew hurried to carry out his order. Rosen turned back, his thoughts returning to the sea.
A few minutes passed as preparations were checked and double- checked. Finally, Sterling turned again to Rosen, his voice full of pride and excitement. "All set, sir."
Rosen glanced to the side as if annoyed and turned his gaze back to the sea. He spoke slowly and with determination. "Let's go."
Enabler pulled out of Hafia and set out across the Eastern Mediterranean.
They headed northwest, skirting Cyprus and Crete. Since the Great Collapse, the islands of the Aegean and the Eastern Mediterranean had developed a trading confederation. While keeping pretty much to themselves, the islands' navies kept the area safer than the waters near Egypt and Libya. A revival of the Barbary Pirates had rendered the Southern Mediterranean unsafe for all except the most armed merchant ship.
A slight disturbance in the Number three coolant pump prompted its shut down and repair. As a result, the reactor was only run at seventy-five percent, reducing their top speed to twenty-two knots. Luckily, this occurred just north of Crete, where the protective guns of Knossos were almost visible to the unaided eye.
The temporarily crippled ship was able to finish repairs and continue toward Sicily. Sterling's course plot ended there. Where to go from there was probably the hardest decision they would make.
"O.K. gentlemen," Rosen began. After a quick glance at his sonar operator he quickly added, "and ladies." She smiled and Rosen continued. "We have to make a decision. Those of you who have sailed with me before are aware of our problem." There was grumbling as the mostly veteran crew signaled ascent.
"In order to get to Gibraltar and the Atlantic, we need to get past Sicily," he explained for the benefit of those taken on in Israel. "As you can see, we have two choices. We can go north through the Strait of Messina and pay the Mafia its toll." His finger traced a line that went north between the Italian Peninsula and Sicily. "Or we can go past Tunis and risk the pirates." He indicated the alternate route. A few moments passed silently as people considered.
"Sir, what is the toll?" asked a young navigator. Rosen smiled, glad that someone had finally asked.
"Usually, just one of the boxes of uranium we carry for just such a purpose. However . . ."
"Recent reports indicate that the Mafia is in a war with the Papal States," interrupted Major Goldberg. Goldberg was the military advisor for Enabler, assigned by the Chicago Guard to assist Rosen in political and military matters. "While they may just take their normal toll, if they learn about the nature of our cargo, we may find ourselves staying there longer than we would care for."
Rosen regarded the major coldly. "Major Goldberg is right. However, if we don't take the Strait, we risk the Barbary Pirates."
"Better a fight then just handing ourselves over," Goldberg said bitterly. Rosen stared at him, eyes locked in anger. The major stared back, coldly.
Sterling realized what was coming and quickly interjected. "Sir, we've dealt with the Mafia before. They've never done anything outside our agreement with them," he informed Goldberg.
"They've never been at war with the Pope, either," replied the major, his eyes leaving Rosen for less than a second.
"I do not plan to risk my ship for a chunk of uranium," stated Rosen.
"First of all: this is not your ship. Secondly, there is a hell of a lot more at risk than just uranium," Goldberg retorted, "Chicago needs these armaments." The room went silent, neither man moving. The ever increasing tension was felt by all on the bridge as more than a few collars were adjusted. Finally, Sterling spoke.
"Sir," he addressed Rosen, "pirate activity is at a low this time of year. If there is a risk of seizure by the Mafia, perhaps we should follow Major Goldberg's advice." He swallowed nervously as he finished.
Rosen turned to look at his XO, the anger still in his eyes. Suddenly, his features softened as he considered Sterling's words.
"I suppose you're right," he said slowly. He turned to the navigation officer. "Set a course for Malta." The officer acknowledged with a nod and turned to his station. Rosen glared at Goldberg until the major turned away and headed below deck. With a final glance of concentration at his XO, he walked out into the night air. His eyes swept the ocean, lost in thought.
Rosen did not return until dawn.
Enabler proceeded west, reaching Malta before heading north around Tunis. A Maltese resupply ship met Enabler, trading fresh food for some of the precious uranium that served as the best currency in the Mediterranean.
The ship then turned northwest, staying as close as possible to Sicily without violating Mafia waters. While ruthless, the Mafia did not have the navy required to "tax" those that sailed more than ten miles from its coast.
Upon clearing Sicily, Rosen ordered a westward course that kept them as far as possible from both the Barbary States of North Africa and the papal island of Sardinia.
"Between a rock and a hard place," muttered Rosen as Enabler settled on its new course. His eyes surveyed the ocean from his command chair. He was unaware that Sterling had just come up behind him.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Huh? Oh. Nothing, John. It just seems like we're between a rock." He gestured toward the African coast. "And a hard place." He shifted his attention north, where the Pope's intolerant regime poised, ready to strike.
"It's been that way for your people for a long time, hasn't it?" asked Sterling. His eyes held worry for his captain.
"Yeah, I guess," came the reply. "'Course now it doesn't matter much. Everyone hates everyone, nowadays." Rosen punctuated his statement with a weak laugh. "I guess it's not as bad in America. Why do you suppose that is, John?" he asked.
"Well, Captain, I guess we've just had less time to develop hatreds. Out here, they die hard."
Rosen nodded, thinking. "I think you've got something there, John." He turned toward the rest of the bridge and got out of his chair. "Of course, you've always been smarter than me," he said as he passed Sterling on his way toward the plot table. Sterling was stunned by the compliment.
Rosen looked over the plot table. The electronic screen encompassed the entire surface, detailing in bright colors the coasts of Sardinia and Tunisia and Enabler's location and course. No other ships were visible on the display. After a brief pause, Sterling joined his captain on the other side of the table.
"No contacts on sonar or radar, sir," he reported. "We're looking pretty good."
"Don't get cocky, John," cautioned Rosen. "We still have a long way to go."
"Yes, sir," replied Sterling, his enthusiasm only slightly diminished.
The constant drone of bridge operations was broken by an announcement from the radio officer.
"Sir, we're receiving a transmission from a station in Africa," reported the officer. Rosen hurried over to the radio station. He picked up two sets of headphones, handing one to Sterling.
"Play it," he ordered. The radio officer complied. An accented voice filled Rosen's head.
"ENABLER, THIS IS COMMAND STATION THREE," the voice began, "YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF OUR TRADE LAWS. PROCEED ON COURSE TWO-ONE-THREE IMMEDIATELY. I REPEAT, ENABLER . . ." The voice repeated its message. Rosen grabbed the transmission mike.
"Bullshit. You have no authority out here." He released the transmit button. The reply came immediately.
"THERE IS A SUBMARINE IN YOUR VICINITY. IT GIVES US ALL THE AUTHORITY WE NEED."
"Damn," muttered Rosen. He pressed the transmit button again. "All right. Changing course now." He slammed the mike down on the radio station and tossed the headphones on top of them. Sterling followed his lead.
"Helm, change course to 213," he ordered. As the helmsman scrambled to obey, Major Goldberg walked up to Rosen.
"What was that about, Captain?"
"We have a pirate sub herding us in," answered Rosen.
"And we're complying?" asked Goldberg in amazement.
"Yes, unless you want your precious munitions at the bottom of the Med." Goldberg shut up.
"People," Rosen announced, "we have reason to believe that there is a sub out there. As a result, we are following the orders of pirates and heading toward Africa. Now, unless you want to spend the rest of your lives on a Barbary slave ship, I suggest you find that sub!"
The bridge filled with activity as people rushed to their stations. The sonar station was crowded by four sonar operators. Two donned headphones while the others busied themselves with computer readouts. Rosen studied the plot table, accompanied by Sterling.
After about ten seconds, Rosen looked up at the sonar station.
"Anything?" he asked. Three of the sonar operators shook their heads. The fourth, one of the operators with headphones, did not react.
"Seaman Benjamin, do you have anything?" queried Sterling of the fourth operator. The young seaman raised his hand for quiet. While an act of insubordination by anyone else, it was expected of Benjamin. The eccentric sonarman was the best in Chicago. The bridge fell silent. Seconds stretched into hours. The entire crew waited in anticipation. No one breathed or spoke.
"Target bearing forty-three degrees!" shouted Benjamin suddenly. The entire bridge crew broke into applause.
"Thank God," breathed Rosen. He raised his voice to command level. "Everyone return to their stations. Benjamin, get me a range!" A few seconds of bedlam passed. A thin, red line extended from the Enabler's icon on the plot display, marking the direction to the sub. After a small pause, this became a red sub icon as Benjamin came through on the range computation. It was located 1500 meters away. Rosen considered his options.
"Navigation," he barked. The navigation officer looked up. "At any point does the other sub come near our course?" The navigation officer consulted a computer on his wrist, occasionally glancing down at the plot table. After ten seconds of computation, he came to a conclusion.
"Yes, sir. They're coming in on a curve to stay deep. They should be within 200 meters here." His index finger came down on a point ten miles north of the African coast.
That'll be cutting it close, thought Rosen. He scratched his beard.
"I take it you have a plan," said Goldberg.
"One's in development," came the reply. Rosen's eyes stared deep into the plot table, as if trying to bore holes in it through sheer will.
"Increase speed to three-fourths!" he shouted abruptly. "Sterling!"
"Yes, sir?" The XO came to attention.
"Go down below and tell Danny to get the Man-o-wars ready. Give him a hand."
"Yes, sir!" Sterling smiled eagerly, filled with the energy and anticipation of a seven-year-old. He rushed down the ladder to the engine compartment. Goldberg had a mystified look on his face.
"What are you planning to do, Captain? I demand to know."
"I'm planning a little surprise for the pirates, Major." Rosen's voice was emotionless.
"I must know what you are planning. Chicago security is at stake," he stated. Rosen remained unaffected. "I cannot allow this mission to be jeopardized. I am the military officer on this ship. Unless you let me review your plan, I suggest we take our chances with the pirates. We can always pay them . . ." Goldberg was interrupted by the coldest stare Rosen had ever given.
"WE WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" barked Rosen, his voice ice cold and commanding. He shuddered under the force of his own outburst The bridge crew froze in their tracks, startled. Rosen continued, unaware of the disruption he had caused.
"Once we submit to them, there will be no end to their activities," he announced, his composure regained. "They will loot the sea 'till nothing remains. They are not men; they're animals!" His voice filled with the rage of a lifetime struggle. "Other men may submit, but I will not. I will get this ship to Chicago even if I have to fight every pirate from here to the St. Lawrence on my own, your weapons be damned!" His eyes remained locked in an icy stare on Goldberg, who fought to keep from shaking. "Perhaps you've been behind a desk too long to remember what's worth fighting for, but I sure as hell haven't."
A sudden silence descended on the bridge. The crew remained motionless, still deep in shock. Rosen looked down at the plot table, regaining control. After a moment of anxiety, Goldberg spoke.
"Perhaps you are right, Captain," he said softly. "It's time I stopped being a bureaucrat and became a warrior. I will trust your instinct." He looked at Rosen, waiting for a reply.
"Thank you, Major. I apologize for my outburst." The crew slowly returned to their stations, the previous bedlam restoring itself. Both Goldberg and Rosen bent over the plot, studying.
"Sir!" announced Benjamin. "The sub is bering 13 degrees at 350 meters!"
"Thank you, Mr. Benjamin," acknowledged Rosen. He pressed the intercom key, connecting to the engine compartment.
"Sir?" Sterling's voice came through the speaker with a slight distortion.
"Are the Man-o-wars ready?" asked Rosen.
"Yes, sir. We have four armed and loaded. Awaiting your command."
"Very good, XO. Bridge out." Rosen turned to the sonar station. "Range to target?"
"250 meters, sir."
Rosen pondered a moment, scanning the plot. "Engines, all stop," he ordered. Goldberg got a nervous look on his face, but remained silent.
"All stop, Captain," reported the helmsman. After a few seconds, the radio crackled to life.
"Incoming message, Captain," reported the radio operator.
"Put it on the main speaker." Rosen walked to the radio station. The accented voice filled the room.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? RESUME SPEED IMMEDIATELY!"
Rosen grabbed the microphone and pressed the transmit key. "We are having engine problems. Please give us a few minutes."
"YOU HAVE FIVE. STATION OUT."
"I guess these aren't the people one negotiates with," commented Goldberg. Rosen snorted. He waited exactly ninety seconds before giving his next order.
"Engines! Ahead full!" he yelled. The crew rushed to comply. A few seconds later, the helmsman confirmed full speed. The ship shuddered under the strain.
"Sonar, where is that sub?" he asked Benjamin.
"125 meters at ten degrees, sir."
"Good," he muttered. He slapped the intercom key. "Sterling! Fire all!"
"Yes, sir." Four small tubes were dropped into the ocean behind the ship, propelled by the wake. The sound of their departure was covered by that of the trashing propellers. They rapidly closed on the sub, without propulsion of their own.
At fifty meters to the sub, they activated. Rocket engines ignited, launching shaped warheads at the submarine's hull. They rapidly closed the distance to the sub. Three connected with the hull, tearing large holes in the titanium shell. The fourth shot harmlessly by.
"A hit!" yelled Benjamin upon hearing the explosions. The bridge erupted in cheers as the submarine sank to a watery grave. The entire crew smiled as Goldberg turned to Rosen.
"I apologize, sir. That was damn fine work. How did . . ."
"Torpedo!" interrupted Benjamin. The crew turned in surprise at the outburst, the smiles quickly fading from their faces. All they had time for was to realize that, at this range, it was impossible to do anything.
"Collision!" screamed Rosen as the torpedo detonated several feet from the Enabler's stern. The dying sub had managed to commit one final act of revenge. As it sunk, the weapons officer slapped the launch button that was already armed. The circuits to one of the tubes responded, rewarding the doomed pirate with post mortem vengeance on those who had caused his demise. He would never know what his torpedo would do. On the surface, however, the crew of the Enabler was well aware of the result of his action.
"Damage report," barked Rosen. The bridge crew scrambled to get the information he requested, while the crew below struggled to contain the damage. The Enabler was at dead stop. "What happened?" he yelled.
"Dying shot, sir," Benjamin answered. "The sub is on the bottom now. Everything I've got says she's dead now."
"You sure?" asked Rosen.
"Bet my life on it, sir." Benjamin gulped as he realized what he had just said. Luckily, Rosen was distracted by an intercom message.
"Sir," said Sterling in an exhausted voice, "the torpedo has wreaked a lot of havoc down here."
"Is the reactor O.K.?" queried Rosen in an anxious voice.
"The reactor itself is O.K., but the coolant system was hit. Its only running at fifty percent. Also, one of the prop turbines was cracked. Engineer Sanders says that we'll hit critical if we go above thirty percent on the engines."
"Put Danny on," ordered Rosen. Sterling's voice was replaced with the New England accent of the Enabler's Chief Engineer.
"Engineer Sanders here, sir."
"Danny, what is the situation down there?"
"Pretty bad, Capt'n," answered Sanders. "The entire compartment is badly messed up. We're barely holding on to the reactor now, but we should be able to fix it. Luckily, those new sealant/pumping systems worked. The hull breach is almost fixed."
"Thank God for that. What about the rest of the systems? Can you repair them?"
Sanders paused, thinking. "I can probably scavenge enough cooling to bring it up to seventy-five percent. If we shut down prop two, I'll probably be able to give you seventy overall. The rest'll have to be fixed in Chicago."
"Do it, Danny. Use whatever you have to," ordered Rosen. "We need to get out of here. What can you give us now, while you work?"
"One-fourth, sir."
"Thanks, Danny. Bridge out." Rosen turned to the helm. "Ahead one-fourth," he ordered the helmsman. "Heading: thirty degrees."
"Ahead one-fourth, aye." The Enabler slowly built up speed, reaching seven knots. It turned northwest, away from Tunis and the pirates in the titanium coffin, where the air was starting to slowly run out.
Enabler continued northwest, heading for the Balearic Islands of Spain. Rosen wanted to put as much distance between Enabler and the Barbary States as possible. Spain, while no more sympathetic to the Jewish cause than the Africans, did not have an organized navy nor the wish to have one. They had become isolationists since the Great Collapse, which suited Rosen just fine.
Half a day had passed since the battle with the sub and repairs were just starting to wind down. Sterling visited Captain Rosen after coming off his shift. He hesitated a moment before knocking on the Captain's door.
"Come in!" Rosen shouted from his desk. Sterling opened the door halfway and poked his head in.
"I don't mean to bother you, sir. I just thought you may want a status report, but I can see you're busy. I'll come back later." Sterling made to close the door and leave before he was stopped by Rosen.
"Now's perfect, John." Rosen looked at Sterling quizzically. "Is something on your mind?" he asked. Sterling paused for a moment, an uncomfortable silence descending on the room. He then entered the cabin, quietly closing the door behind him. Standing before Rosen's desk, he dropped his gaze to the floor in discomfort.
"Have a seat," offered Rosen, motioning at a chair near the desk. Sterling hurried to comply. He sat on the edge of the chair, fully erect.
"Sir, we've almost completed repairs to the engine," he began. "Engineer Sanders says that . . ." Rosen cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"What's troubling you? Relax." Rosen flashed a fatherlike smile at his XO. Sterling took a deep, nervous breath and spoke, his voice shaky.
"Sir, I feel I should apologize for contradicting you in front of the crew in the East Med. I was out of line and I'm sorry." His voice dropped off. He stared at his feet, relieved but still miserable. Rosen thought a minute.
"John, you didn't do anything wrong. If it wasn't for you, the Major and I would have probably kept arguing and nothing would have been resolved. You did your job."
"But I shouldn't contradict you in front of the crew," Sterling protested.
"First of all, you didn't contradict me. You just presented a fact in order to diffuse a difficult situation. And secondly, this isn't a military ship, it's a cargo hauler. Just because we have to fight like the Navy doesn't mean we have to act like them," smiled Rosen. He new perfectly well that any ship was military these days, or did not float long. "Besides, I'm not infallible, you know."
"But if I hadn't convinced you to go south, we might have avoided the pirates."
"We probably would have been hit anyway. Remember, we got hit after we cleared Sicily. And whose to say we wouldn't have fared worse with the Mafia?"
Yeah, but . . ." Sterling's voice trailed off. He dropped his head in shame.
"I know you feel responsible, but it wasn't your fault. Every officer is faced with an unwinnable situation at some point. Just because we ran into trouble doesn't mean you failed. If it wasn't for your help, we would probably be unloading in Africa right now." Sterling looked up, skeptical. He scowled in concentration.
"I guess you're right. I just feel like I could have done something more." Rosen smiled.
"Wanting to do more after you've done all you can is the mark of a good officer and a great man." Rosen paused, gathering his thoughts. "And that's not just flattery," he added. Sterling laughed.
"Yes, sir." Both men remained silent, their smiled fading as the pressure of their current situation crept back in. Rosen cleared his throat.
"So, what's the situation down below?" he asked, authority and severity returning to his voice.
"Pretty good, sir, all things considered. The engine system is up thanks to Engineer Sander's modifications. We can get sixty percent power, seventy in an emergency."
"What about the crew."
Sterling thought a moment. "They're nervous, but morale is still O.K. The fact that we actually got away from the pirates is giving everyone a little hope." He smiled weakly. "Myself included," he added. Rosen nodded slowly.
"Good." Rosen ran his hand down his beard. He looked over to the intercom built into his wooden desk and pressed a button.
"Bridge," announced the speaker after a few seconds.
"Jacobs, take us to half speed," Rosen ordered.
"One-half, aye, sir." Rosen pressed the button again, severing the connection. He looked up at Sterling, who was waiting expectantly for orders.
"Take a break, John. Things will be pretty boring for awhile and you've earned it." Sterling made to protest, but Rosen broke him off with a wave. "I'll call you when I need you, XO," he said with mock severity.
"Yes, sir," replied Sterling. He stood up and walked to the door. Just before leaving, he turned to Rosen.
"Sir, the men told me what you said to Major Goldberg," he stated. Rosen listened, unaffected. "Did you mean what you said?"
Rosen leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. "Yes," he answered simply.
"Thank you, sir," Sterling said quickly. "I just wanted to know." He hurried out.
"But I wish I hadn't," finished Rosen as the door closed. He did not know if Sterling had heard him or not.
And he did not know which was better, either.
Enabler proceeded on toward the Strait of Gibraltar. Apparently, the Barbary Pirates got the message and did not attempt any more seizures. Near Gibraltar, remnants of the pre-Collapse world were evident. Positioned at the only passage to the Atlantic from the Mediterranean, Gibraltar now served as a massive way station and trading post for the fragments of civilization that still hung on. Ships from Catalonia, Marseille, England and other seafaring parts of Europe were visible as Enabler approached the waters of the Atlantic.
Rosen woke with a start, his sleep interrupted by the intercom's digitized bo's'n's pipe. He slapped his hand on the console next to his bunk. His hand searched frantically for the respond button, lest he receive another of the shrill wake up calls. After a few seconds that seemed an eternity for the groggy captain, his index finger successfully connected with his goal.
"Rosen, here," he grumbled.
"Sir, you asked to be awakened when we reached Gibraltar." The bridge officer's cheerful voice came across the intercom channel. The ensign was unaware of the etiquette used when dealing with recently awakened captains.
"Yes," answered Rosen, his mind still getting up to speed after his rudely interrupted peace. The ensign paused a moment, confused at his captain's failure to make the connection. He finally realized the situation and switched to a tone of voice better suited for the semi-conscious.
"We've arrived at Gibraltar and are prepared to dock with a platform. You ordered me to notify you for the docking."
"Oh. . ." Rosen came to a startling conclusion, rejoining the world of the living. "Oh! We've arrived at Gibraltar."
"Yes, sir," replied the ensign, ignoring the captain's restatement of the obvious. "What are your orders, sir?"
"I'll be right there." Rosen slapped the disconnect key and jumped out of bed. He quickly dressed and headed up to the bridge.
"Sir." greeted the ensign as Rosen stepped onto the bridge. Rosen looked out over the water at the huge floating platforms that dotted the sea, half a mile from the coast of Gibraltar. Each had the capacity to dock four ships. Most of the docks were used, although by ships much smaller than Enabler. A constant blur of motion was visible on all of them as cargo was loaded and unloaded. Chains of barges, laden with cargo, made their way between the platforms, carrying crates between the platforms and the coast. The massive trade evident here was the only thing that kept some areas alive; areas that had grown too dependant on other regions to survive on their own. Trade was no longer a luxury; it was life.
"We've received clearance to dock at platform six, sir," announced the ensign. He pointed to the nearest platform, where a French barge and an English merchantman were docked.
"Hmmmm," muttered Rosen. He leaned on a brass rail, staring at the platform. "Helm, bring us closer." The helmsman was an experienced driver, who was good enough to not need the captain telling him how to do it and had a captain good enough to know it.
"I still don't understand . . ." whispered the ensign.
"Understand what?" asked Rosen, his eyes never leaving the platform.
"Huh? Oh. Why we do this," answered the ensign, surprised that the captain had heard him. A little fear crept into his voice. "I mean, why can't we dock in a port town? I've seen the charts. The coast is deep enough."
Rosen looked back at the ensign. "Control, mister, control," he answered cryptically. The ensign was confused by this answer, but relieved that it was not a berating.
"Control, sir?"
Rosen looked thoughtful. "You saw what the pirates tried a few days ago?" he asked. The ensign nodded, having been in the engine compartment during the battle. "If we dock anywhere," continued Rosen, "it's as good as giving up to them. No one can be trusted these days. So, we dock at platforms, where we can break free at any time."
"Seem's a shame," mused the ensign. Rosen regarded the ensign with a hidden smile. He was old enough to remember pulling into strange ports, unafraid.
"Sure is," he replied. A little bit of hope found its way to Rosen's heart. He looked at the ensign, seeing both himself and the past. He turned back to the sea, occupied with the business at hand.
Meanwhile, the helmsman had positioned Enabler fifty meters from the platform. A small boat left the platform carrying two important people: the platform's pilot and tax collector. The latter was deceivingly titled "Administrative Assistant." The boat came along side Enabler. Rosen left the bridge and walked to the stairs that the pilot and tax collector were now climbing.
"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" asked the tax collector. He was a small, balding man who spoke with a heavy Spanish accent. He moved like a man familiar with the sea but still uncomfortable with it.
"Granted," answered Rosen, putting on the fake smile he used for dock administration and Chicago politicians. "Welcome aboard."
"Thank you, Captain. I'm Administrator Juan Fernandez. This is our pilot, Catherine Theroux." Pilot Theroux stood almost six feet tall. The young woman wore a simple tan uniform, bering the insignia of the Gibraltar Ports Service. She nodded.
"Please show me to your bridge," she requested.
"Right this way," replied Rosen. He guided the two to the bridge.
"I give you control of the ship," he said to Theroux, changing his tone to the one he used with other people in the "business." "Please take us in." Theroux stepped to the helm, where the helmsman stood back to give her the controls. Fernandez tapped Rosen on the shoulder.
"Captain, do you have a place where we can talk." He raised his briefcase. "I'm sure your ship is in capable hands and we have some business to discuss."
"Right this way, Administrator." He led Fernandez to a small office just below the bridge. The commanding tone of Theroux's voice reassured Rosen that his ship was in good hands. They entered and Rosen tapped the intercom near the door.
"Major Goldberg, please report to the Captain's office." Rosen then offered Fernandez a chair and sat down behind his desk.
"Please give me a few minutes for my advisor to get here," requested Rosen.
"Of course, Captain." The two men sat in silence, both with smiles as genuine as cubic zirconium. After two minutes, Major Goldberg burst into the office.
"Sorry, Captain. I just got a communication from Chicago," he explained as he took a seat near Fernandez.
"No problem, Major. So," Rosen said, turning to Fernandez, "what can I do for you." Fernandez took a deep breath and spoke.
"As you know, we at the Port of Gibraltar have offered good services to shipping ever since the Collapse. However, now we're facing some, ah, troubles and require some assistance. As per our agreement with you're nation, we've set the fee at 15 standard units of uranium."
"Which we're perfectly willing to pay," interrupted Rosen, still smiling.
"Of course," continued Fernandez. "We have never had problems with you're people . . ." A shudder went through the ship as it docked. The intercom beeped. Fernandez remained quiet as Goldberg answered the intercom.
"We're docked, sir," announced the bridge officer."
"Very good." Goldberg turned off the intercom and returned to his seat.
"As I was saying," resumed Fernandez. He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Oh, yes. As I said, we have always looked favorably upon the people of Chicago. However, extreme situations have arose. I fear that we must demand that you sell us some of you're, ah, cargo." Upon seeing Rosen and Goldberg's faces drop, he resumed his speech. "Just a small amount," he reassured. "I'm sure you won't miss it." He smiled.
Rosen looked at Goldberg. He knew that he was out of his area. "Well, we do have an agreement . . ."
"I know, Captain, but these are extenuating circumstances," Fernandez interjected. Once again, Rosen looked to Goldberg, whose face was now like stone. The major turned to Fernandez.
"Sir, we have always held up our end of the agreement. We cannot be a party to its breach," he informed Fernandez.
"I realize this," began the administrator, "but an unfortunate occurrence has taken . . ."
"No, you do not understand!," roared Goldberg. Fernandez stared in surprise at the now enraged major. Rosen snapped his head to look at Goldberg, but was otherwise unaffected. "We have done business with you for several years now and never had problems. Now you're trying to undermine that. This is completely unacceptable."
"Sir," began Fernandez, regaining his composure, "you must reconsider. Those weapons are needed and we will pay well for them." Goldberg just stared coldly. Rosen looked on, almost amused by the exchange. "Otherwise," said Fernandez slowly, "there may be trouble."
"Are you threatening us?" asked Goldberg. "I would rather detonate this ship's reactor than give you those weapons. Just because you guys have it pretty good out here on the coast doesn't give you the right to exploit others." Fernandez looked shocked at Goldberg's accusation. Rosen had no idea what Goldberg was talking about. "And if you bastards don't give this up right now, the only time you will ever see a Chicago ship again is when it's firing at you."
Fernandez swallowed, regaining self-control. "Well, I can see that there is a difference of opinion. In the interest of Gibraltar-Chicago relations, we withdraw our request with apologies. Your regular fee will be quite appropriate." Goldberg nodded and turned away. Rosen stood and offered his hand to Fernandez.
"Thank you. I will transfer the uranium as soon as possible. No hard feelings?" Rosen smiled. Fernandez slowly shook his hand, staring at Goldberg through the corner of his eye.
"Of course not. Good journey." Fernandez turned to leave.
"Let me show you out." Rosen walked to the door and escorted the administrator off the ship. The pilot had already left. Goldberg remained in the office. After few minutes, Rosen returned to the office.
"I apologize, Captain, but that really got me angry," explained Goldberg. Rosen sat behind his desk, looking over to Goldberg.
"I didn't mind, Major, but I don't understand what you were talking about."
"Oh, that." Goldberg chuckled. "Just before you called me, I got an intel update. It seems that our friend's "emergency" is a war in Central Spain. Gibraltar is trying to get as much weaponry as possible to sell north for a tidy profit. They're even selling to both sides."
"Damn," muttered Rosen. He grinned. "I guess you dashed those hopes."
"Aye, I did at that," laughed Goldberg. "I guess being a bureaucrat can help at times." Rosen began to feel a bit guilty. "Well, I better be going," announced Goldberg as he rose and walked to the door. "I have to file a report with Chicago."
"Major Goldberg?" The major stuck his head back in the office. Rosen continued.
"Thank you. If it wasn't for you, I would have probably sold the weapons or worse."
Goldberg shrugged. "That's my job," he replied. "By the way, my name is Jack." He left.
Rosen leaned back in his chair with a faint smile on his face. He felt better than he had felt the entire trip. The respect between Goldberg and Rosen had just risen dramatically.
Along with the respect, a little friendship grew as well.
Enabler left at dawn the next day, the sun striking her stern as she crossed into the Atlantic. The first leg of the Atlantic trip was uneventful, lulling the crew into bored complacency. Monotony struck as the ship continued at half its usual speed. Several of the temporary patches in the hull broke, the only source of excitement on the journey. However, the ship was never at risk due to Engineer Sanders's team and the double-hull construction.
After what seemed an eternity to the crew, the ship arrived at the Azores, where Portuguese traders still kept a way station. Built to handle large ships like Enabler, the Azores provided food, replacement parts and a new coolant pump. After two days of work, Number One pump was replaced and Sanders guaranteed seventy-five percent.
After triple checks on everything on the ship, Enabler set out on the longest leg of its journey: the West Atlantic. The relatively calm Sargasso Sea was occasionally interrupted by a storm. The clouds that gathered were not always the ones that formed in the crew's fathers days. Too many had the red and grey tinge of radioactivity, products of the Nuke Wars in South America and Asia and the Nuclear Riots in Europe. Small stocks of atomic weapons were used by Brazil and Argentina in the South American War and by China in the Asian Econowars. As reports of the horrors of these wars reached Europe, paranoia about anything nuclear set in. Mobs raided nuclear plants across the continent, resulting in over a dozen meltdowns. Wales glowed with the light of nuclear science, completely uninhabitable.
During such storms, the entire ship had to be quickly buttoned up, completely sealed with at least a deck between the crew and the outside. Navigation was accomplished with Global Positioning Satellite gear and computerized charts from the engine room itself. Quarantine teams were kept on alert twenty-four hours a day. The only warning came from the tech boys in Chicago. They established control over several satellites that only partially worked due to abuse and neglect. Half the time, warning came early, allowing for careful preparation. Half the time.
Days passed, filled with the frustrating inaction of storms and tense anticipation of the klaxons that preceded them. Sterling strained to create jobs for the crew, combating the boredom and stress that both he and Rosen feared. Games and movies became more numerous as the men and women of Enabler sought escape from the chaos that they had little control over. Morale sunk faster than the pirate sub.
Finally, just as conditions reached their worst, relief came in the form of one word:
"Land!"
The single syllable had the same effect it must have had on Columbus's crew over five hundred years ago. Throughout the ship, the crew rushed to the deck to view the thin line that marked their liberation. A great cheer was picked up by the entire crew. Rosen and Sterling smiled as they heard it. One word was on the mind of everyone on the ship: home.
Enabler proceeded to the mouth of the St. Lawrence River. Cutting through Quebec, a former province of Canada, the St. Lawrence served as Chicago's lifeline to the rest of the world.
"Prepare for river operation. Mount all weapons," ordered Rosen through the PA system. The crew rushed to attach guns and armor to the deck.
"Why are we doing this?" asked a new seaman of his commanding officer.
"Because we may have to fight raiders," she answered.
"But why now?"
"Because," she replied, her patience strained from giving this explanation every trip, "the guns could be damaged on the ocean. Besides, against another ship, the guns are useless. But here we may be attacked by river raiders. And they don't like these very much." She patted a fifty caliber machine gun affectionately, a smile growing on her face.
Enabler entered the St. Lawrence with a crew full of hope and the capability to inflict much despair.
Enabler sailed down the St. Lawrence with little trouble, her bristling weapons and Chicago flag scaring away the few raiding parties that approached. Rosen wondered which one was doing the most scaring.
She emerged on the relatively calm waters of Lake Ontario. Rosen ordered a course that kept them as far away from the coast as possible. The endless void of the lake and the sky calmed the crew. Both conversation and dreams turned homeward as Chicago transmissions became clearer. The tired crew performed their duties to the best of their ability, knowing that they were steadily eating away at the hours and miles that separated them from loved ones.
Northern New York appeared on the horizon. Rosen ordered an around-the-clock alert, guns ready. The threat of raiders did not dampen the spirits of the crew however, with home so near.
Details slowly became clearer, marking the ruins of what was once Buffalo, NY. Toppled buildings and bombed-out warehouses were visible through the telescope. Canadian forces, in attempt to keep plague refugees from New York on the U.S. side, bombarded Buffalo with a heavy barrage of artillery and aircraft ordinance. Fortunately, they recognized the need for the Welland Canal, which connected Lake Ontario and Lake Erie. Chicago forces had established a chain of small forts four years ago, to protect the St. Lawrence - Great Lakes Seaway. Outpost Three, located on the Ontario side of the canal came into view, its 155mm artillery and five inch guns insuring safe passage.
"Enabler to Outpost Three," hailed Rosen over the radio. "Preparing to enter the Welland Canal."
"OUTPOST THREE TO ENABLER," came the reply. "YOU ARE CLEARED TO PASS. BE ADVISED: BRIGANDS SIGHTED IN THE AREA. TAKE PROPER PRECAUTIONS."
"Thanks for the warning, Three. Enabler out." Rosen turned to Goldberg. "Outpost Three reported raiders in the area. I suggest we refresh our gun crews now, Major."
Goldberg consulted his watch. "Yes, they've been on for several hours. I'll get the new crew on." He saluted and left. Rosen consulted the charts and thought a moment. He snapped his fingers to get the attention of an ensign.
"Yes, sir?"
"Bring us to general quarters," ordered Rosen. The ensign ran to the PA system and pressed a button. A wail filled the ship as the general quarters klaxon rang for several seconds. He then picked up the mike and spoke.
"General quarters," he announced, the static disguising his youth. "All gun crews are on full alert. Off-duty personnel return to quarters." He clicked off the mike and looked expectantly at Rosen. Rosen nodded and the ensign returned to his station, satisfied.
Enabler passed through the lock system that allowed ships to pass Niagara Falls. The crew was tense as every scanning device the ship had examined the coast for raiders. Gun crews sat ready, replaced every hour to insure alertness. Finally, the waters of Lake Erie were visible. A collective sigh of relief was felt throughout the ship.
"Helm," announced Rosen, "bring us to . . ." Rosen's voice trailed off. His eyes concentrated on several flashes of light deep inland of the west bank where the sun had disappeared twenty minutes ago. Sudden realization hit him.
"Mortars!" he screamed, bracing himself on the plot table. The bridge crew barely had time to turn around when the first round hit.
BOOM! A round exploded ten meters above the deck, blowing a gun crew overboard. Several other rounds fell near the ship, one coming close enough to blast a piece of the outer hull away.
"Open fire!" ordered the gunnery officer. The starboard side of the ship erupted in the light of tracers as Enabler's guns raked the shore. The distant lights flickered again as the mortars sent another salvo. Rosen yelled at the gunnery officer over the din of combat.
"Cease fire!" he ordered. The officer looked at him in confusion. "You're just drawing their fire. We can't hit them from this distance." He pointed at the lights that were illuminating for a third time.
BOOM! Another round exploded, clearing a bow gun crew. Shrapnel hit the loader of a nearby gun in the back, sending him sprawling. His screams brought the attention of his gunner only after the gun jammed and the gunner could hear.
The gunnery officer began to yell for a cease fire through his megaphone. The guns continued, unaware. Goldberg ran down to the deck, tapping each gunner on the shoulder to stop them while the officer kept shouting. Meanwhile, Rosen ran to the radio station and grabbed the mike from the stunned radio operator.
"Get me Outpost Three," he ordered. The operator did not move. "NOW!," he screamed. The operator jolted forward and hit several keys in rapid succession. Rosen turned to the navigator. "Triangulate those guns." The navigator calmly set to work on the plot table. The radio operator looked up a Rosen and signaled readiness.
"Enabler to Outpost Three," he began, trying to calm his voice. The sound of machine gun fire slacked off, leaving only the occasional mortar boom. He turned to the helmsman. "Flank speed," he ordered.
"Raiders!" yelled one of the bridge crew. Rosen turned to see her pointing at a small flotilla of boats. He turned to the gunnery officer, with new orders.
"Targets on the starboard bow! Open fire!" ordered the gunnery officer. Rosen was cut off by a response from Outpost Three.
"OUTPOST THREE TO ENABLER. WE'RE PICKING UP FLASHES ON OUR CAMERAS. ARE YOU HAVING DIFFICULTIES?"
"Fuckin' A!" answered Rosen. "We're under attack by raiders with mortars." Another mortar hit, doing only superficial damage. The raiders were detonating their rounds high, avoiding damage to the ship's cargo. "Request fire suppression at . . ." He looked to the navigator.
"Kilo and Lima 38," supplied the navigator. Rosen repeated the map coordinates into the mike.
"STAND BY." Rosen looked out on the water. The raider flotilla was in a machine gun duel with Enabler's gunners. Despite the volume of fire, the raiders steadily advanced, closing in on the bow. Mortar fire burst around the ship, raking the deck with Shrapnel.
BOOM! A shell detonated near the bridge, cracking the plastic viewport. Fragments were blown in, injuring several bridge officers. Rosen was blown back by the blast. He reached out and grabbed the radio station, stopping himself. His head hung inches from the corner of a metal box. He rose and steadied himself. The microphone cord dangled loose, ripped from the console. He ran to the now-fractured window. The wind ripped around him as he examined the situation.
Advance elements of the flotilla had reached the bow and were launching ropes under the cover of machine gun fire. The starboard guns poured as much as they could into the advancing boats, regardless of personal danger. Rosen watched, horrified.
After a few minutes, he noticed that the mortar booms had stopped. Looking west, he saw red streaks from the north shoot across the sky and land near the mortar position. His eyes jerked back to the raiders. The fact that they had finally cleared the canal dawned on him.
"Hard to port!" he ordered. He could barely make out the small motorboats that raced alongside Enabler's bow. The ship swung left, exposing its entire starboard side to the raiders. The stern guns now had line-of-sight to the flotilla and opened fire.
The raiders, now outclassed, began to rout. The rear of the formation was the first to go, followed by the main body. After several seconds of receiving all of the Enabler's fire without any cover, the advance element broke off, abandoning several raiders who clung to the ropes. One by one, they dropped from Enabler, splashing in her wake. Some disappeared under the bow. Their fate would be the subject of horrible conjecture for the rest of the journey.
A great cheer followed the retreating raiders. Medical teams rushed on the deck, joining those few who had braved the steel rain earlier. Rosen ran down the stairs to join them.
As he stepped out, his senses were overloaded. Fumes from the burning craters assaulted his nose, causing his eyes to water. Screams from the injured crew tore at his ears and he felt a brief panic that required all of his will to suppress. The wind whipped around him, threatening to blow him overboard.
As he walked out, two crewmen with a stretcher rushed past him. The body being carried was mangled beyond recognition. Rosen stared at the corpse, wondering whose name would have to be written on the official notification letter. The two crew men rushed past.
As he turned away, he heard a sharp, metallic ring. A small object had fallen from the stretcher, unnoticed by the crewmen. Rosen scooped it up and yelled after the crewmen. After they failed to respond, he opened his fist and looked.
It was the oak leaf of a major.
After briefly licking its wounds, Enabler continued on toward Chicago. The three compartments that had been breached were already sealed off and were left alone. Damaged guns were replaced by guns in the shipment. Likewise, injured crew were cared for as others took their duties. The hole in the bridge's window was patched by a thin piece of transparent plastic.
The dead were less easily dealt with. Enabler had received its first casualties this mission and, for many of the crew, this was their first taste of battle. The corpses were stacked in black plastic bags in a freezer. The stack slowly grew as the mortally wounded let go. The dead haunted the entire crew. Most put it out of their minds. Many prayed. One took his life.
Rosen felt the greatest burden. As commanding officer, it was his responsibility to look out for their safety. While no one else blamed him, his own guilt was enough to keep him in depression. Every so often, his mind would wander and search for decisions that could have made things better. The fact that he never found any failed to relieve his misery.
Sterling suffered stoically after seeing the bodies of fellow merchant cadets disappear under the zipper of the chemically-lined bags. He became quieter and less full of energy. Former crew members say that one who stared at him could still hear the screaming of that night. Unlike the rest of the crew, details of his actions that night never passed his lips. No one could remember seeing him, either. The John Sterling that left Chicago was not the one who now returned to it.
Enabler sailed unchallenged across Lake Erie. Pillars of smoke were visible on the coast of Ohio, now populated by nomadic tribes born of twentieth century motorcycle gangs. The plants and factories of the rust belt were alive with the rumble of engines and the screams of helpless victims. Fortunately, these thoughts did not enter the minds of the disheartened crew.
Near Michigan, Enabler turned north and passed through Detroit. The almost completely African-American residents of Detroit let her through without question, as per the agreement with Chicago. Much like the Jews, African-Americans had gathered from across the country in Detroit. They extended across Southeast Michigan, forming a self-sufficient state with the industry of the city and the agriculture of the country. Both Detroit and Chicago fought skirmishes with the Klu-Klux-Klan in Southern Indiana. It was an alliance of necessity, but one that had not been broken.
Under the watchful eyes and guns of Detroit, Enabler followed the coast of Michigan north, avoiding the waters of the Algonquin Confederation as stipulated by their treaty with Chicago. She occasionally encountered trawlers from Detroit, loaded with fish to feed the huge city.
After Detroit, Michigan became a collection of insular communities of survivors. Rosen ordered a five mile buffer between the ship and the often paranoid coastal towns. The weather quickly grew cold as Enabler encountered strong winds from the north. Gun duty became less and less popular, resulting in a record number of requests for kitchen duty.
The course slowly drifted west as Enabler approached the Straits of Mackinac, which separated Lake Huron from Lake Michigan. The occasional pocket of early snow could be seen glistening on the shore. A sighting of a buck brought much excitement to the crew, whose knowledge of nature only extended to the devastation they contended with daily. The majestic animal served as a good omen, erasing some of the mental damage done by the raider attack.
Enabler cleared the Southern Peninsula of Michigan, giving the crew a view of the Mackinac Bridge and Lake Michigan beyond. Like Buffalo, the Canadian government had demolished the bridge as a quarantine measure. The same expedition that established control of the Welland Canal had blasted sections of the fallen bridge away to make it passable for ships. Sections of bridge jutted out of the water, sparkling with ice. They looked like the broken pieces of a child's toy. The ends of the bridge were jagged with the signs of explosives and erosion. Rosen stared at it ominously.
"Problem, sir?" asked Sterling.
"There could be a thousand raiders hidden out there," conjectured Rosen. "Or it could all be my imagination."
"We could send scouts," offered Sterling.
"No, John. That wouldn't accomplish anything except risk lives. We must get through here. Get everyone below deck except the gun crews," he ordered. Sterling rushed to comply. "All ahead full," he told the helmsman.
Enabler surged forward, racing through the gap in the bridge. Without warning, dozens of small figures appeared on the bridge sections nearest Enabler. They assaulted the ship with arrows and stones. A few even had guns.
"Savages!" yelled a gunner. The figures were dressed in the rags of pre-Collapse clothing. Driven to insanity by plague, radiation and the pressures of anarchy, these people had gone thousands of years back to primal instinct. No one knew exactly what had triggered it and no one was crazy enough to try to find out.
The gunners opened fire, guiding the green streams of tracer bullets across the savages. The enraged attackers kept up their assault, however, using primitive weapons to pointlessly mar the titanium hull and injure the body-armored gun teams. Rosen gazed upon the savages with his binoculars. He saw barely human figures clad in shredded business suits, overalls and jeans. As he lowered the glasses, he felt pangs of guilt for the carnage that his gun crews were now enacting.
After two minutes of one-sided combat, the remaining savages slowly broke off. Enabler stopped firing and continued into Lake Michigan, the inhuman growls of the savages slowly fading in the distance.
Rosen left the bridge and gazed east, watching the receding band of savages. Suddenly, he came to the realization that he felt more remorse over the dead savages than the dead raiders. He shuddered.
It was not because of the cold.
Enabler continued south-southwest, skirting the coast of Wisconsin. The storm had passed, allowing the sun to thaw the frozen ship. The crew talked excitedly of home as they drew closer to Chicago. Even Rosen allowed himself the occasional hidden smile. Unluckily, Sterling did not.
"Sir, there's a message from Chicago," the radio operator informed Rosen.
"Put it on the speaker." Rosen smiled, lifting the spirit of the entire bridge crew. Rosen's gruff nature seemed to thaw with the ship, slowly but surely as they approached Chicago.
"WELCOME BACK, ENABLER." The three words seemed to have a magical effect on the crew as they all recalled their entire journey. One by one they realized what they had done and a cheer rose that spread to the rest of the ship.
"IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG, ENABLER?" queried Chicago.
"Nothing at all," laughed Rosen into the mike. "I guess we didn't realize that we were done until now."
"WELL, YOU DID GOOD, CAPTAIN . . ." The rest of the message was drowned out by a warning klaxon and shouting on the deck.
"Hold on, Chicago. Something's happening," said Rosen. he dropped the mike and rushed out of the bridge to see what was happening.
"Shit," said Rosen. A large force of attack boats had appeared off the coast of Wisconsin. They were heading on an intercept course with Enabler. Unlike the raiders at the Welland Canal, they were modified for more than speed. Thick armor and miniguns were evident along with more than a few torpedo tubes.
"Open fire!" yelled Rosen and the gunnery officer simultaneously. The starboard guns opened up, raking the advancing flotilla. Several boats exploded. However, more deflected the rounds with no more than a scratch.
Rosen ran into the bridge and yelled to the helmsman. "All ahead full!" The helmsman rushed to comply. Rosen then picked up the fallen mike. Chicago was urgently requesting information.
"Enabler to Chicago," he began. "We are under attack by heavily armed raiders. Request assistance."
"I'LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO. CHICAGO OUT." Rosen tossed the mike to the surprised radio operator and ran back outside.
The attacking formation changed course with military precision, sailing almost parallel to Enabler. At this range, Rosen could make out the ships. They were made of old U.S. Army and Navy equipment, modified to operate in the post-Collapse world.
The attackers and Enabler's guns continued their deadly duel, inflicting little damage on each other. The flotilla slowly drifted closer, their details becoming clearer.
His gaze dropped to see a thin line of figures run across the deck carrying meter-long cylinders. Sterling was in the lead, lining them up along the starboard side. The crew raised the cylinders to their shoulders and waited for a signal from Sterling. He gave it.
A roar erupted along the line as the cylinders disgorged anti-armor warheads. The missiles struck the flotilla broadside, scoring several direct hits. Fountains of flame and debris shot up to the sky, eliciting a cheer from the rocketmen, who hurried back to safety.
"Way to go, Sterling!" shouted Rosen from outside the bridge. Sterling looked up and smiled.
Rosen re-evaluated the attackers. They were down to a score of boats, but kept coming. Their guns sliced across the deck, occasionally scoring a lucky hit on a gun team. At this rate, Enabler would surely lose. Rosen's elation at Sterling's attack died down.
"Choppers!" yelled a lookout. Rosen's heart sunk further as he followed the lookout's gaze to two dots in the sky, coming east from Wisconsin. He brought up his binoculars to get a better look.
"We're dead now," he muttered, low enough so than no one else heard him. He picked out the choppers and analyzed them. They were painted the dark green of the U.S. Army and mounted little pods under stubby wings. They started to turn a little, giving Rosen a better view. He watched helplessly as they changed course to fly right at Enabler. Suddenly, Rosen's entire universe flipped.
His eyes locked on the white rectangle emblazoned on the side of the helicopters. He quickly examined it to confirm his hopes. The blue lines, the red stars and the blue star of David in the center. It was the Chicago flag. The cavalry had arrived.
The helicopters dropped low, speeding across the lake. Rosen was able to identify them as Apaches belonging to the 1st (and only) Air Cavalry Regiment, the "Maccabees." The pods under the Apaches erupted in flame, firing rocket after rocket at the flotilla. The Apaches flew over the ships, leaving destruction in their wake. Eleven pillars of flame shot up from the lake. As the Apaches came around for another run, the remaining ships broke off for the coast. The helicopters slowed to join Enabler instead of pursuing the enemy. Rosen ran back into the bridge.
"Get me those Apaches," he ordered the radio operator.
"Enabler to Apache flight," spoke the operator into his headset mike. "Do you read, over?"
"ROGER, ENABLER. THIS IS ECHO LEADER. YOU BOYS LOOKED LIKE YOU COULD USE A LITTLE HELP."
Rosen picked up another mike and replied. "Better believe it, Echo Leader. Thanks for the assist."
"WE'LL ESCORT YOU IN. WELCOME BACK, GUYS. YOU'RE DONE."
This time, Rosen believed it.
Enabler continued south with helicopter escort. Without further incident, she sailed the rest of Lake Michigan. She passed downtown Chicago, its skyline the final proof that they were home. The crew latched on to familiar landmarks with their eyes and their hearts.
The final Apache patrol broke off and was replaced by the boats of the Lake Patrol. Enabler formed the center of a beautiful formation that pulled into Calumet Harbor.
Rosen gazed out over Chicago from the bridge. He had given the conn to Sterling, who along with the crew and the harbor personnel, slid the travel weary ship into dock.
Rosen could hear a great cheer from the dock. He turned to see a huge crowd of the crew's friend's and relatives gathered with banners and balloons. He looked around the bridge and saw smiles on the faces of everyone, even Sterling.
After several minutes of securing, the job was done. Relief crews flooded the ship, relieving the entire crew of duty. Rosen joined his exiting bridge crew.
Rosen stopped just before the ramp that led down to the dock. He could see that the weapons were already being unloaded by dockworkers. He wondered if they were worth the lives of the men and women that had been lost.
His gaze fell on his wife and two children, who were waving with the rest of the crowd. He momentarily forgot his question and hurried down the ramp to meet them.
"Welcome back, Daddy," greeted his son. His wife just put out her arms for hug. He gladly complied. His eyes fell on Sterling and his young wife. Most of the old John Sterling seemed to return in that moment, as if his wife held the key to his inner mind.
After a long embrace, he turned back to the off-loaded crates. The weapons that would protect his family seemed less ominous now. He silently thanked those who had died to bring them here.
His daughter tugged at his sleeve. Rosen picked her up and followed his wife and son away from Enabler.
His job was done.