Search Results
ID: Ybars1bO/qst/6253377#6257358
6/13/2025, 12:31:26 AM
>>6253378
>(2) Recall and retask.
Conventional subs are ambush predators, not made for pursuit on the open seas. That sea monster is almost certainly hunkered down not far from where it first dived, waiting for you to leave. Unfortunately, however, you must - submarines have more patience than helicopters, and the hunt is tying down too many assets. After a terse message to Prinz to inform her of the change in plan and provide an updated heading, you call them off, and the Romeos begin their slow progress back. She’s a hair under 50 miles from you now; within Long Beach and Bainbridge’s Aegis umbrella, but not comfortably so, not yet, and far enough that sonar coverage is still spotty and limited to dropped buoys rather than the two cruisers’ deep-reaching towed arrays.
Local matters all seen to, you focus once more on Ruby Flight far away, and the unfamiliar stars fade to black, swiftly replaced by the harsh fluorescents of the Hickam hangar, momentarily blinding.
“Hickam, Enterprise, reporting in.”
The moment you speak aloud, Raleigh’s head pops up from among the folding tables, peeking out like a blonde meerkat, and she hastens back to her previous position.
“So, we’ve been going over that data you sent us, and we have some questions,” she says, and continues without waiting for a reply. “First of all, is what we’re seeing here right? That you detected Abyssal voice interference thirty miles from their aircraft?”
“Voice inter- oh, yes. The screams were causing problems from that far, and I detected them from over fifty. I take it that’s unusual?”
“This morning the *detection* range record was five miles from their planes, maybe twenty from surface units. And certainly not strong enough to make something the size of a Tomcat nearly lose control.”
“That’s what I faced, though. And I’m pretty sure my E-2 detected their ships from over two-hundred and fifty miles.”
Raleigh’s expression falls further, but before she can respond a middle-aged man in Air Force camo calls out from behind her. “Ma’am, what time was that?”
“Zero-zero-four-one hours and about forty-five seconds UTC,” you reply. “When my Phoenix salvo hit them.” It’s not hard to guess the reason for his interest - 250 nautical miles reaches well into low orbit, and any satellites in the area at the time might have picked it up.
Raleigh’s hand goes to her forehead as she looks at something on her tablet. “Well, that really throws a spanner in the works… and it looks like their anti-missile defences are better than we’ve encountered before, too. The good news there is that both problems can be mitigated pretty well by software changes, but those will have to wait until you’re on land, but…”
“But the Abyssals just demonstrated a generational leap in the course of a day, and in magical capabilities at that.”
>(2) Recall and retask.
Conventional subs are ambush predators, not made for pursuit on the open seas. That sea monster is almost certainly hunkered down not far from where it first dived, waiting for you to leave. Unfortunately, however, you must - submarines have more patience than helicopters, and the hunt is tying down too many assets. After a terse message to Prinz to inform her of the change in plan and provide an updated heading, you call them off, and the Romeos begin their slow progress back. She’s a hair under 50 miles from you now; within Long Beach and Bainbridge’s Aegis umbrella, but not comfortably so, not yet, and far enough that sonar coverage is still spotty and limited to dropped buoys rather than the two cruisers’ deep-reaching towed arrays.
Local matters all seen to, you focus once more on Ruby Flight far away, and the unfamiliar stars fade to black, swiftly replaced by the harsh fluorescents of the Hickam hangar, momentarily blinding.
“Hickam, Enterprise, reporting in.”
The moment you speak aloud, Raleigh’s head pops up from among the folding tables, peeking out like a blonde meerkat, and she hastens back to her previous position.
“So, we’ve been going over that data you sent us, and we have some questions,” she says, and continues without waiting for a reply. “First of all, is what we’re seeing here right? That you detected Abyssal voice interference thirty miles from their aircraft?”
“Voice inter- oh, yes. The screams were causing problems from that far, and I detected them from over fifty. I take it that’s unusual?”
“This morning the *detection* range record was five miles from their planes, maybe twenty from surface units. And certainly not strong enough to make something the size of a Tomcat nearly lose control.”
“That’s what I faced, though. And I’m pretty sure my E-2 detected their ships from over two-hundred and fifty miles.”
Raleigh’s expression falls further, but before she can respond a middle-aged man in Air Force camo calls out from behind her. “Ma’am, what time was that?”
“Zero-zero-four-one hours and about forty-five seconds UTC,” you reply. “When my Phoenix salvo hit them.” It’s not hard to guess the reason for his interest - 250 nautical miles reaches well into low orbit, and any satellites in the area at the time might have picked it up.
Raleigh’s hand goes to her forehead as she looks at something on her tablet. “Well, that really throws a spanner in the works… and it looks like their anti-missile defences are better than we’ve encountered before, too. The good news there is that both problems can be mitigated pretty well by software changes, but those will have to wait until you’re on land, but…”
“But the Abyssals just demonstrated a generational leap in the course of a day, and in magical capabilities at that.”
Page 1