Chronicles X: The Fate of the Philosopher Kings

[Helmling]

"Fire!" the General called out.
His cavalry divisions had been decimated and the riflemen were routed. He and his men had been left desperately trying to defend a hill with cannons alone. They had withdrawn to the most inaccessible reaches of the hills—to crags and peaks that the cannons could be dragged to, but which the Philosopher King tanks could not scale.
“Fire!” he commanded again and shells went flying toward the city beyond, falling in clouds of black smoke on the evacuated outskirts.
“Sir!” one of his men approached, breathless. “Enemy forces are moving along the northern spur.”
“They can’t reach us up here,” he boasted. “Their over-reliance on their technology is their weakness. Even their infantry does not move without their vehicles.”
The breathless officer shook his head. “Sir, with respect. How is this a winning strategy? Every day grows colder. We do not have the supplies to last out a winter—“
“Reinforcements will come.”
“Again, with respect general, how is that possible? The Philosopher King fleet is mighty. We snuck by them once, but they won’t allow that again. Most of the fleet that brought us here was sunk the first week after our landing. We don’t know if any ships escaped.” The general turned to him now, growing furious, but the man continued. “I do not believe General Montcleure would have continued under these—“
“General Montcleure is dead, and I am in command.”
“This is futile.”
“You will take your post and hold the line against any—“
The General noticed something moving quickly through the air from the city. He raised his telescope. They were aircraft, but not planes. They clung tightly to the ground—and there were many of them.
“Incoming!” the General cried out. The other officer and all the men about them sprung to action trying to cover the cannons with foliage and other camouflage. This had become their best hope against air attack, to hide and let the planes pass by finding little or nothing.
This time, though, the aircraft did not swoop past them. The helicopter gunships rose slowly over the hills as the General watched from under cover.
“Dammit!” He scrambled up from the ground just as two of the helicopters opened fire on their position. Rounds thrashed through their camouflage and ripped one of the cannons to pieces, sending hot metal flying. Men wailed in agony as the shrapnel caught them in their backs.
“Fire!” the General shouted again, and men scurried out into the light and took aim with their rifles against the hovering helicopters. Their bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the gunships’ armor, and the massive warbirds spun—as if their rotor blades were attached to a string dangling from the heavens—and ripped through the men with their chain guns.
The General dashed back to one of the cannons and helped it crew ready it to fire.
“We can’t turn it, sir!” one of the men yelled in a panic.
“Get back!” he ordered. He pulled a grenade and let it roll under the wheel of the cannon and then he dove behind some rocks. The explosion blasted the cannon mount and left the weapon lying on its side, its barrel propped up by the rocks. The men returned to it and loaded the barrel in a rush. “Wait for it!” he said as they watched one of the helicopters moving along the hill top, spraying fire at the other men. “Now!” he shouted as the thing started to drift toward their line of fire. The men pounded in the shell and it shot out, catching the main body of the gunship and hurling it back over the hill where they heard it crash in a thunderous explosion.
The French soldiers cheered as the black smoke rose up from the lip of the hilltop.
The General’s satisfaction shone through and he rose from the ground to gloat over the kill.
Then, from behind him, he felt a rush of air.
He turned and there was another gunship, hovering close enough that he could see the pilot’s maliceless eyes behind its controls.
Beside him, his men raised their arms and came out into the open. He glanced over his shoulder to see Philosopher King infantry rounding up the rest of the surrendering French forces.
The General looked back to the Philosopher King pilot. He and his machine were so close…
The General reached for his side arm, but before he could raise his arm again the chaingun on the helicopter had expelled a dozen rounds in his direction.

 

[Helmling]

The old French artillery sergeant sat on a long bench with other wounded soldiers. His leg was extended outward from him, bandaged and immobilized in a white, plastic brace. As he watched, a Philosopher King tank returned rolled by the outside of the camp. He had known the end was near for days and he had been watching for signs of celebration among the enemy.
This time the Philosopher King troops had returned from the hills without any new prisoners. He dared to hope that the French were rebounding and that the latest enemy expedition had met with failure.
“Hey!” he called to a passing Philosopher King trooper carrying a hand-held computer. Before the man would reply, he walked up and waved a red-glowing wand over the tag they had tied to his wrist after they had treated him for his injuries.
“Yes, you needed something?” the young soldier asked.
“No new prisoners, eh? What happened?”
“Nothing,” he answered nonchalantly. “There are no more prisoners to be taken. The last artillery unit would not surrender. I'm afraid they were all killed.”
“Eh?”
“Didn’t you hear?” the young man asked. “It’s over.”
“What’s over?”
“Your invasion. All the French forces have been routed. Legal proceedings will be beginning shortly.”
“Legal proceed—what’re you talking about?”
“Eighty-two Philosopher King citizens were killed. You will each be tried for eighty-two counts of murder.”
“What? We’ve not murdered anyone! It was war!”
“What’s the difference exactly?”
“You can’t do this.” The man did not answer, but simply went on about his business. “We were soldiers. We were following orders!”
“You were part of a hostile action against the Nation which resulted in the deaths of eighty-two of its citizens. Did you think we would not try you like murderers?”
“We were following orders.”
“You can try to make that case through your lawyers,” he said as he walked away.

 

[Helmling]

Helmling rose to the podium. At once they were struck by the change in his countenance. All twelve Senators and one hundred and thirty-two Quorum delegates had come together in the Great Hall. Hundreds of other officials and key personages filled the remaining seats for the address. None had seen him so grave. Even a generation before, when the United Nations had failed in all his ambitions, he had not presented to them this face. They did not realize that he had not faced such a moment for centuries stretching back. Only their most distant ancestors had seen him face such a moment.
“Quorum Representatives, Senators, distinguished guest,” he turned to the nearest projection camera. “And to all the citizens of the Nation…I come before you in a time unlike any other that we have faced in the history of the Nation proper.
“For nearly two thousand years, we have known peace. For nearly two thousand years we have strived to stand apart from the world and its jealousies, its stratagems, its politics, and all the pettiness that leads nations to war. We have been an example—admired, envied, emulated, and resented. Such is the burden of what we have wrought together here on this continent, and now on Far Colony Isle. For two thousand years I have hoped to keep us safe from the brutal reality of nations clashing and conniving against one another. We have kept ourselves safe from the vices that corrupt the hearts of other men and other nations. Though we engaged in trade, we did not succumb to avarice, but sought only to enrich the lives of all through community. Though we trained for war, we sought to know the body and to know arms, and to learn control through that knowledge. Though we have expanded into new lands, we did so only when they were uninhabited and only to make bold new things possible through human ingenuity.
“Through this restraint, we have prospered. We have expanded the boundaries of human knowledge; we have elevated the standard of living for our people and for others around the world. We have lived true to the vision of your forbearers who forged this Nation of the Philosopher Kings.”
Now the room came to its feet. They applauded solemnly and would not retake their seats for some time.
“But now,” Helmling continued when he was able. “Now things are different. That rough world out there has intruded into our affairs. The French invasion was bold, brilliant, and desperate. We should admire these things in our enemies. It was also callous and ultimately, doomed. It is my constitutional duty to report to you that at this hour, the French invasion force has been utterly defeated and that not one hostile bears a weapon upon our soil.”
Again the room applauded, but with grave faces to match his own.
“On the seas from here to Far Colony, we have engaged the French fleet and completely routed them. I say to you with confidence that at this hour the French pose no threat to our Nation or our people.”
This time, the applause did not last as long, because all knew what message he brought them next.
“Now, though, we face a more serious threat,” he said, placing his hands forward at each corner of the podium, as if to brace himself up. “To defeat the French, our battleships were forced to move through Mongolian territorial waters. The Mongol government—despite all official assurances—has called this violation of their sovereignty an act of war.
“The Mongol fleet is mobilized. Their armies are on high alert. Though the Philosopher Kings have launched no attack, we are nevertheless in a state of war. The French invasion was doomed from the moment of its conception. Against these Mongols, though, our advantage is not so absolute and they will not strike at us from half a world away, but from just across the channel. Though we are already beginning to create new aircraft and weapons and to train new soldiers to defend our homeland, their weapons are not crude cannons and outdated warships, but sophisticated ships and modern troops. It is my choice to pursue the French fleet with all of our available resources which has led to this war, and so I am responsible for engaging us in a quagmire from which we may not escape without a significant toll in human life.”
He inhaled deeply.
“As your President, I must stand responsible to all the people and so tonight I prostrate myself before your elected representatives. I call for a vote of no-confidence in the execution of my own office.” There were audible gasps from the gallery, but the Senators and Quorum representatives themselves seemed to have been expecting this. “Under the constitution, I must step down from this seat during the censure proceedings. I yield the floor to the Honorable Dromeus of the city of Jenn.”
The room was silent as Helmling—unable to face anyone—walked to his seat.
“Let the record show that I assume the Presidency at 8:13 on this the 43rd day of 1893 NE,” he said upon taking the podium. “At this time I would like to propose a vote that, under Senate provision 701, we waive the investigatory phase of the censure proceedings and move directly to a summary vote on the issue of no-confidence in the Presidency. Can I have a second to this motion?”
“I will second the motion,” several Senators said at once.
“Very well, the motion goes to vote.”
The Senators and Quorum delegates raised their keypads and entered their responses to the vote.
The screens beside the Teal banner of the Nation showed the tally. One hundred and twenty in favor and twenty-four against.
“The motion carries,” the acting President announced. “We will move immediately to the no-confidence vote.”
Once again the Senators and Quorum representatives entered their votes.
One hundred and forty-four votes appeared in one column.
“The no-confidence vote has failed. I hereby close these censure proceedings. Let the record show that I yield the Presidency at 8:21 on this 43rd day of 1893.”
“There you have it,” the Senator beside Helmling said when it was done, though he still would not look up. “We respect what you’re trying to do, Helmling,” she continued softly. “But now, more than ever, it is you who must lead us through this difficult hour.”
He looked at her, nodded and rose to return to the podium.

 

[Helmling]

God...I just reread that last part. Boy howdy is it over the top.

Oh well, I'm too tired tonight to continue. More tomorrow.

 

[ToV]

God...I just reread that last part. Boy howdy is it over the top.

Oh well, I'm too tired tonight to continue. More tomorrow.

I've come to expect over the top, actually. It was intresting how Hemling (you) would put his (your) presidency on the line. I cannot wait for the confrontation with the Mongols!

 

[phoenix_sprite]

This game was on Prince...oh, and the game itself has been completed. So I know how the story's going to end.

Love your quotes, by the way.

Thanks a lot!

 

[phoenix_sprite]

Magnificient!

Even though the Mongolian Gouverment in your game are radical and quick to juge and jealous, that doesn't mean that the restaurant Mongolian Village is still good!

 

[Helmling]

Um...ok...you feeling alright there, buddy?

 

[Helmling]

In the distance, black shapes dotted the horizon. One was stationary, a thick blockish shape fixed in the water. Moving toward it were thinner, longer shapes riding the waves.
As the Achilles approached, her main guns fired and a moment later, the closest of the long shapes was transformed by the violent impact. The lead Mongolian escort ship was replaced by a burning wreck.
The rest of the Mongolian destroyer group turned, aiming her guns toward the Achilles. Puffs of smoke rose into the still air before the oncoming ships and seconds later a great fountain erupted out of the water ahead of the Achilles.
“They’re closing, sir.”
“Slow to one quarter screws,” the Captain ordered. “Keep ‘em at a distance.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Target the main destroyer,” he ordered. “Let’s get their big guns out of this fight.”
The next shot grazed the largest Mongolian ship. After the hit, black columns rose off its port side and the ship seemed to list to the right in the water.
“Again!” the Captain ordered.
With the resolution already locked in, the next shot also found its mark, destroying the tower of the enemy ship and leaving only a smoldering hull drifting in the water.
“Target destroyed. The other ships appear to be breaking off.”
“Don’t let them, fire at will. Power up to intercept.”
The Achilles moved towards her prey, chasing down the remaining elements of the destroyer battlegroup and ripping them to pieces with long-range shells.
“Status of enemy fleet?”
“Eliminated, sir.”
“Excellent,” the Captain said, pacing across the bridge. “Iasonides, what’s the disposition of the rest of the Mongolians?”
“Aerial recons from the Perseus and the Agamemnon indicate a larger fleet presence to the Northwest.”
“The Perseus has already engaged one destroyer group, but she’s putting in for repairs now,” the deck officer added, casting her eyes on Lt. Iasonides with something like suspicion. As Iasonides had ingratiated and impressed the Captain, she had been watching him carefully for signs of weakness or ingratitude.
“That leaves us too light between here and the cape,” the Captain concluded. “Comm, order the support ships to remain here and take station around the oil rig. We’re going after those destroyers.”
Iasonides’ eyes shot open with concern. He saw that the deck chief did the same. In a strange moment of synchronisity he saw her look at the captain with doubt, though usually her allegiance to the old man was unshakable.
“Captain,” she said gently. “Should we separate ourselves from our air support that way?”
“We’ll be fine,” he assured her.

 

[Helmling]

Night had fallen over the ocean as the Achilles tore on into night in pursuit of the Mongolian destroyers it had tracked fleeing out of Philosopher King waters. The crew had celebrated an uneasy New Year’s as they crossed into enemy territory. Ender Iasonides stood at his station on the dimly lit bridge. The Captain slept below, and the Deck Officer had taken the night shift.
“Report, Lt?” she asked as she walked past his station.
“Well,” he said looking at his display. “With only one helicopter on patrol, and it being one with the least effective night-time scopes, I have very little to report, mam.”
“Thought so,” she said with a smile. “The old man took some of your thunder when he left the rest of the group behind, eh?”
“I just hope we’re not going to miss the rest of our helicopters from the smaller ships if we get into an entanglement,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” she answered. “The Captain said we’re not authorized to go much further. We’re to avoid all coastal engagements. We don’t want a wider war.”
“Right,” he agreed.
“Commander!” the sonor operator called out suddenly. “I have objects in the water ahead of us. Computer analysis gives us 82% probability of enemy mines.”
“Sound battle alarm,” she ordered storming toward the forward consoles. “All reverse engines.” She turned back to Iasonides and they shared a thought—the mine-sweeping gear was on one of the support ships.
“Commander, the enemy destroyers have turned.”
“Dammit, they led us into these mines.”
“They probably activated them as they passed by the field,” Iasonides speculated. “By radio.”
“Lt,” she said, turning to him. “Do you think the helicopter could do anything about those mines?”
“Not in a hurry, no.”
“Situation?” the Captain barked as he stormed onto the bridge.
“We’ve encountered enemy mines dead ahead, sir. The Mongolian destroyers have turned back toward us.
“They’re trying to box us in.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do we have targets?”
“In the dark, sir, it will be harder.”
“Iasonides, get the helicopter to light our targets for us.”
“Yes, sir, but the little bird has only one laser sight. It’ll take time for her to line up on each target.”
“Tell us as soon as you have a firing—“
The ship rocked suddenly as the first shell from the enemy landed just off her bough.
“Dammit, that’s close! Return fire!”
The cannons rocked the ship as they thundered back at the enemy ships in the dark.
“Hit?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Iasonides?”
“Almost, sir.”
“Continue firing!”
Again the vessel shook with the booming cannon fire.
“Hit, sir.”
“Which ship?”
“One of their lighter cruisers, sir. The main destroyer is still dead—“
This time the falling enemy shell felt different coming down—different than anything any of them had felt before.
“Sir, we have been hit!”
“Damage report!” As the captain turned, though, he could see through the windows in the aft that his battleship was on fire, right above his engine room.
“Sir,” Iasonides shouted. “Little bird has the target lit.”
“Fire laser-guided missiles!”
The foredeck of the battleships was suddenly lit brilliantly as guided missiles rocketed out of their compartments behind the main guns and streaked through the night toward the enemy ship.
As they watched the forward screen for confirmation of the hit, though, they saw the destroyer fire its main guns again. Then for a second they saw the enemy destroyer erupt into a fireball—then the screens went dead and the Achilles trembled as the last shot from the enemy ship hit its mark.

 

[OzzyKP]

Helmling, have you ever heard of Diplogames?

Its like a multiplayer version of what you are doing. We play online and write stories based on our games, but since there are multiple people the stories end up intertwining and being collaborative. The interplay between different players, and different stories and different characters is quite interesting.

Plus we have real diplomacy as we work out deals and treaties and alliances and such between each other.

I think you'd be quite interested in getting involved in a diplogame. Perhaps your readers would be interested in following along with one too.

The current one started two months ago and is called History of the World V. It is going quite strong. We've reached our first major war in the game. Things are definitely heating up, and its getting incredibly fun.

Please, if you're interested, check out this thread:

http://apolyton.net/forums/showthread.php?s=&threadid=148492

 

[Helmling]

Thanks Ozzy, but I don't actually have a computer capable of running Civ 4 anymore. This will be my last Civ story...at least until the Mac version of Civ 4 comes out and I get a Mac capable of running it, but hopefully my last until Civ 5 lures me back in.

Thanks for the invite, though.

 

[Helmling]

“Report,” the Captain said weakly. He sat against the far wall of the bridge, clutching a wad of gauze to his bleeding forehead.
“We have restored some computer functions, sir,” the head of the damage control team reported.
“What do we have?”
“Sonor is operational, but computer automation is offline. The engine room took heavy damage and we have no propulsion, sir. The last hit knocked out the tower, so we’ve lost primary communication.”
“Weapons?”
“All batteries are functional. Only three missile launchers are online. They took some hits during the firefight with the smaller ships after the bridge was hit.”
“The bridge was not hit, Lt,” he corrected. “They just grazed us. You get that straight, Mr.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“It’s important, Lt. The bridge gets hit and people lose heart. This ship is operational, you understand?”
“Operational, yes sir.”
“Excellent.” Iasonides leaned heavily against his now-useless console as he listened in. Deck Officer Semele was fussing over a shorted control panel behind one of the display screens, but Ender could see she was listening closely just the same. “Lt. I want you to order your men to restore propulsion at quickly as possible. We’ve got to get out of here for more extensive repairs.”
“Yes, sir,” the damage control officer replied with a stiff salute. Iasonides shot a look to Semele, who had looked up from her work on the screen.
“Sir?” Iasonides spoke up. “Sir, with all due respect, I think restoring communications should be our primary goal.”
The Captain looked up in shock, lowering the gauze from the jagged cut on his brow. “Lt. Iasonides, the com tower has been completely destroyed.”
“But our aft antennae could be repaired,” he countered, pointing back at the aft of the ship where dawn was just illuminating the blackened deck of the ship. “We could concentrate our repairs there, sir.”
“We are in enemy waters, Lt.”
“Exaclty, sir. The fleet will not know our final position. The Agamemnon must be moving to search for us now that we’ve lost contact, probably the rest of our support fleet also.”
“We’re sitting ducks now, Lt.”
“Yes, sir, but propulsion will undoubtedly take longer—“
“Lieutenant,” Semele hissed. “The Captain has issued his orders.”
“Easy, Commander. I respect your temerity, Lt. However,” the Captain replied. “Our priority is propulsion first.”
“Sir—“
“That’s enough, Iasonides. Your station is offline, Lt. I suggest you assist in the medical bay, see if you can be of any use there.”
“Sir, please—“
“You’re dismissed, Lt.”
Ender dropped his head, answered, “yes, sir” and excused himself.
As he moved down the smoky metal stairs, he heard his name called out. He turned to find the Commander following him down.
“Iasonides, you had better watch your tone when addressing your superior.”
“With due respect, mam, my tone was appropriate.”
“You questioned the orders of your Captain!”
“You know damend well I was right to.”
“You swallow that, Mr!”
He drew in close to her. “He’s not thinking strategically. All he sees is the tactical situation—us with no engines. But strategically, air power could protect the ship from attack—“
“The Captain knows what he is doing, Lt.”
“He’s thinking in obsolete terms and you know it. This is the wrong repair priority. The antennae could be replaced in a few hours. We’ll be stranded for days before that engine can be brought on line.”
“They’ll both be fixed, but the Captain knows what he’s doing, and if you breathe one more word that suggests otherwise, then I will have you in the brig!”
He opened his mouth, but stopped himself. She stormed off back to the bridge.

After several hours playing nurse, Ender was dismissed on the chief surgeon’s orders. “We both need to get some sleep, young man.”
Ender, though, disobeyed. Another thought had worked its way into his head several hours into his shift in the medical bay. When the doctor dismissed him, he went barreling into the belly of the hull to the main sonor array.
“Iasonides, what did you need, sir?” Only one tech was left working on the computer relays from the sonor rig. The rest had undoubtedly been assigned to fire control and repairs in the main engine room.
Ender didn’t answer. He scurried down to the manual control panels. “Sir?”
“Where’s the specs on the Mongolian sonor?”
“What?”
“Isn’t there an intelligence report around here somewhere? Giving their minimum frequency range?”
“What do you want that for?”
“I want to ping, but I want to ping outside their detection range.”
“What?”
“Here we go,” he said as he fumbled with a bound document the sonor control officer had shown him the week before.
“What’re you doing, sir?”
Ender tapped out a sequence of pings, which the active sonor ring pulsed off into the water.
“Sir?”
“If one of our subs is looking for us, they should pick up a low frequency wave like this for miles,” he answered. “but the Mongols couldn’t tell it from a whale.”
“Oh…did the Captain order that?”
Iasonides didn’t answer; he merely climbed back up onto the gangway and started toward the stairs.
“Wait a second, sir…that was authorized, wasn’t it?”
“Just don’t interrupt that repeat command.”
“But—“
A tremendous creaking sound cascaded through the hull around them.
“What was that?” Ender asked.
“A hit!”
His eyes shot open and he tore up the stairs at a full sprint. He squeezed past men and women moving around the ship in complete panic and dissaray.
“What’s happening!” he shouted.
“Destroyers!”
He dashed past them.
“Why aren’t we returning fire?” he asked someone else as he dashed by, but the crewmen just coughed out the smoke they’d inhaled from another compartment.
Ender finally bounded onto the deck. There was smoke everywhere. Peering through it, he saw the shape of a Mongol destroyer to the port and aft of the Achilles. He looked up and saw that the bridge had been hit. The command tower was in ruins. Black smoke poured into the sky and fire engulfed what remained of the structure.
“Dammit,” he said quietly. He ran toward the front of the ship. He found a fire control team spraying their hoses toward the armory. “Who’s in command?” he shouted.
The three seamen looked him up and down, then one lifted his gas mask and shouted over the din of the fire, “You are!”
He looked about him. The enemy destroyer was closing. They weren’t firing. He realized they wanted to recover what remained of the superior Philosopher King battleship.
“Stop!” he ordered the men.
“We can’t. If it blows—“
“Give it up,” he said. “Get off the ship.” Ender lunged toward a vox unit on the nearest wall. He pulled it off and checked the button for power. It worked. “This is Lt. Iasonides. I am assuming command. All hands abandon ship.” He heard his words resounding over the speakers nearby. “I repeat, all hands abandon ship!”
“Sir!” the fire team commander said, pointing upward. There were shapes moving on the command tower.
“Go!” he said, slapping the man on the shoulder in the direction of the life rafts as he sprinted toward the tower.
As he scaled the command tower, he felt the metal under his hands growing hotter with each rung of the ladder. At the top he found Semele pulling a badly burned crewman down the stair. Her own leg was badly wounded.
“Commander.”
“Help me,” she coughed.
“You can’t take those stairs.” He helped her to her feet and they propped the wounded man up between them. They scurried toward the starboard side. Ender pulled one of the liferafts from its restraints and yanked its inflation cord. The bright red raft expanded into a balloon-like shape. “Get inside.”
“What?”
“Trust me.”
“We’re a hundred feet off the water!”
“Trust me!”
She pulled the wounded crewmember inside. Ender positioned the other two rafts nearby, and pulled out his service knife. He made some quick, strategic cuts in the material of the other two rafts and then climbed inside their own.
“Iasonides, what the hell do you think you’re doing. Even if the ship sinks and the water gets this high, the fire will—“
He didn’t let her finish.
“Hang on…really tight!” He looped his hand around one of the lines inside the raft and then reached back outside. He yanked both of the inflators on the other two rafts, letting two jets of compressed air launch their raft off the side of the ship.
What followed was a confusion of red fabric, crashing bodies, and the quick rush of salt water. When the world was right side up again, Semele clawed her way onto the overturned raft, gasping desperately for air.
Ender popped up out of the water, holding the unconscious sailor’s head above water. She helped him pull the man up on top of the raft and the two of them panted together in the water.
The lapping water pushed them away from the burning wreck of the Achilles. Night was coming again, and they watched on helplessly as the ship sent a column of smoke high into the darkening sky.
Then they saw that the Mongolian destroyer was moving toward the myriad of bobbing red shapes in the water. It seemed to be plowing straight toward the life rafts.
Then, as they watched, the side of the Mongolian ship blew outward and the whole thing tipped over into the water with a colossal splash.
The little radio still clipped inside the raft buzzed and hissed. Ender dove down, and swam into the raft to retrieve it. He handed it to her when he reemerged and she yanked it up to her ear.
“PKS Intrepid to Achilles, come in.”
“The Intrepid?” she said aloud.
“Interceptor sub,” Ender laughed. “they heard…”
“PKS Intrepid to Achilles, come in.”
“This is Commander Semele, PKS Achilles,” she said. “We hear you, Intrepid.”
“Achilles, what is your status?”
“Unknown number of crew in the water, we need immediate retrieval.”
“We’re tracking no further enemy targets, can you confirm?”
“Cannot confirm, negative,” she answered.
“We’ll surface anyway, over.”
“Affirmative, Intrepid. We have wounded in the water.”
“Achilles, what is your overall status?” the comm officer on the sub repeated.
She looked at Ender with a woeful expression he would never forget. “The Achilles is lost, over.”

 

[Darwin420]

Bravo! Very excellent! I must reiterate that this is probably the best series ever to be based off Civ!!

 

[phoenix_sprite]

Um...ok...you feeling alright there, buddy?

relax, didn't mean to weird you out, I just said what went through my mind, because I had just come back from Mongolian Village, sorry. Sesame seeds are horribe. Anyway I've got to read the new parts of your story (You should seriously think about published something of this sort).

 

[phoenix_sprite]

This is a joyfully addictive story, excellent! You get a A++ Helmling!

 

[Helmling]

Bravo! Very excellent! I must reiterate that this is probably the best series ever to be based off Civ!!

You are far too kind, sir!

 

[Helmling]

relax, didn't mean to weird you out, I just said what went through my mind, because I had just come back from Mongolian Village, sorry. Sesame seeds are horribe. Anyway I've got to read the new parts of your story (You should seriously think about published something of this sort).

Oh, my friend, if I could get something published, believe you me, I would--although this silly little diversion would hardly be my first choice.

 

[omni_paul]

It must be funny to have CIV4 groupies

 

[Helmling]

It must be funny to have CIV4 groupies

Hey man, I'm just glad to be read.