"You have to choose, Kristy. I thought I could keep it at arm's length, but I was wrong. It's up to those of us who've been a part of this since the beginning. We know the big picture and we worked too hard to come this far. We can't let it fall apart now. We have an obligation."
"But I have orders."
"Then fire on my ship, Captain. Does that seem like the right thing to do? If it does, let's fight this out right here where there's no witnesses to see what fools we can be."
"I don't…I don't want to do that."
"It doesn't matter what you want," he corrected sternly. "What matters is what you have to do. It’s been that way since Trevor knocked on my door after the monsters came. If it was about what we wanted to do, then we would have stayed curled up in that lakeside house and let the world die. It's about what we have to do. Trevor knew that. Reverend Johnny knew that. Stonewall knew that. And you know that." Jon turned to Ross and ordered, "Forward, one-quarter." "Sir?" "You heard me. Forward, one-quarter."
Brewer returned his attention to the speaker and the Chrysaor.
"We're going now, Kristy. Put your planes back on your deck and get out of my way, or we're going to ram you. The decision is yours. Do what you have to do."
The Excalibur's engines thrust the gigantic ship forward on a collision course with the other titan.
Ross warned, "She can be stubborn, general."
Jon glared at the former football player and said, "So can I."
The silhouette grew in the bridge windows. Moonbeams reflected of portals and hatches, bulkheads and gun ports. Lori Brewer grabbed her husband's hand and while he kept a stoic picture painted on his face, he returned her grip hard.
The Chrysaor sunk beneath the bow descending more than five hundred feet in a matter of seconds. The jets stopped buzzing and returned to their flight deck.
Kristy Kaufman sent another message. "When they find out that I let you go, they'll just order Hoth to intercept you. He's not far away, and he won't be swayed by sentiment, General."
"I know," Brewer said.
Ashley asked, "You think General Hoth is a part of it?"
Jon glossed over with a simple, "No," leaving Nina to explain, "General Hoth is a good man, but he's by the book. Listen, as far as he's concerned, his orders come from Dante now. He'll follow those orders, no matter what."
The Chrysaor set a leisurely course west toward the mainland. The Excalibur traveled north by northeast.
– A fireball sun rose over the eastern horizon, its rays filled the bridge with a golden glow. Beneath that sun and the mammoth battleship nothing but calm Atlantic Ocean.
After taking a two hour nap, Brewer returned to the control center and met with Bear who had worked as the "brain" of the ship for hours.
"You need a break," Jon placed a hand on Ross’ shoulder as he stepped from the command module, relieved. "And thanks for everything, especially last night. I mean wow, it got a little close there."
"You don't need to thank me, sir. I'm your first officer. You say the word, and I'll jump."
Jon knew part of that loyalty came from the innate character of Woody Ross, maybe from his football days when team work and discipline helped his University of Miami Hurricanes win a national title. But he also knew that a man named "Stonewall" McAllister had left his mark on those he had pulled from the ruins during that first year; people like Bear Ross and Kristy Kaufman.
Ross and Brewer parted ways with the former headed toward the exit and the latter stepping into the 'brain' compartment. Before either reached their destination, the bright rays of sun shining into the cockpit flickered.
Shouts and curses rang out among the bridge crew.
Jon raised a hand above his eyes to block the rays and stared outside. There, at the tip of the bow, appeared two Witiko Stingrays bouncing up as if launched from springs below. They hovered in front of the Excalibur for a second then their lasers fired with streaming beams of energy hitting two spots at the front of the ship. Jon saw debris rise from the hull there and felt the entire dreadnought shimmy. The Stingrays raced forward, growing fast in the window. Stanton hauled himself out from beneath a control panel and shouted, "They’re going to take out the bridge!" Jon entered the command module and accessed a control screen, frantically pushing an icon on the touchscreen display.
The heavy duty bridge shield slid shut over the windows just as the Witiko lasers fired again. That shield glowed red, chunks of Steel Plus cracked and fell, a beam of sunlight and a gust of air blew in through a freshly burned hole. Had the shield closed a second slower, the entire bridge crew would have been killed.
Jon put on goggles and an earpiece, taking full control of the ship as "brain" in the command module. Displays relayed damage information, weapons readiness, and a visual image of the attacking ships, but the radar showed blank.
A series of warnings explained to Brewer exactly what the Witiko had hit with their first volley:
PRIMARY BATTERY ENERGY CONDUIT INOPERATIONAL; DAMAGE TO HULL PLATES 117, 118, 119, 130,131,132.
Jon knew the dreadnought schematics well enough to translate the computer gobbledygook into practical information. In their first volley, the Witiko had knocked out the topside "boppers" with two perfectly-aimed shots, causing tremendous damage to the ship’s fighting capability.
And they nearly took out the bridge with another shot.
A voice came through the communications array: "This is Chancellor D'Trayne of the Witiko. Your presence here is in violation of the treaty. Turn back or you will be destroyed."
– Evan sat on the veranda unwrapping the shell from a hardboiled egg with one hand and holding a portable phone with the other. A glass of Florida orange juice waited in front of the President alongside toast and a slab of fresh bacon. While he worked to peel the egg, his wife paged through the day's newspaper.
A clear sky and a light breeze made it an absolutely wonderful Sunday morning. The birds chirped. All seemed right in the world.
However, a phone call from Roos spoiled Evan's mood and-if that were not bad enough-the sight of Dante Jones marching toward him soured the President's peace completely.
First things first.
"Tell Tucker to give up. If he hasn't found the girl by now he's not going to find her. The locals have probably been running him in circles protecting the little rug rat. What? No. I want him and you back here for the Wednesday press conference. I need as many friendly faces around as I can get. Who? Keep Shepherd isolated for now. I won't be sure how I want to use him until later this morning. I'll let you know. Good bye, Ray."
"Trouble?" Sharon asked without looking away from the newspaper.
"Just a few rough spots. Nothing to fret over, my dear," he knew she would not fret anyway. Sharon had her revenge. Since Trevor's deliverance into agony she had grown bored. That boredom made Evan nervous, but he would deal with that later. Next came Dante.
"The Chrysaor didn't stop them," the President guessed before the Secretary of Defense could speak. "I doubted they would. Captain Kaufman may share your bed on occasion, but her loyalties lay with the original band of survivors. It's like an exclusive club or something."
Dante tried to make amends for the misstep: "I dispatched attack subs from shore patrol to track the Excalibur. They can't, you know, engage but they'll let us know what he's up to. They should catch them sometime this morning if their course holds."