Hell Island (1)
Japan, Yokosuka US Navy Base. In the command room, as 7th Fleet Commander Admiral Kane stepped in, everyone snapped to attention and saluted before seamlessly returning to their duties as if nothing had happened.
"Get some shut-eye, sir?"
"Yeah. You guys catch any?"
"We've rotated shifts and gotten plenty of rest, so no worries there. You're the only one who hasn't slept in over thirty-six hours."
"Right. And our rescue ships that went out—they all made it back?"
"Yes, they all returned safely, but the survivor rescue at the distress site was a total failure. All fifteen merchant ships that sent distress signals, plus the three Taiwanese coast guard vessels that went out to help—they all sank without a trace."
No survivors. From small fishing boats to massive container ships, all sunk in that short time. Admiral Kane clutched his throbbing head, seriously wondering if the drowsiness hadn't fully cleared yet.
The massive disaster in the Taiwan Strait had prompted rescue teams from countless nations, but the results were zero. Taiwan's initial response teams had been wiped out. What the late-arriving international rescuers found were just debris floating on the sea.
Late-arriving or not, they'd made it relatively quickly considering the golden hour for maritime incidents. So how had everything sunk, without a single exception? Container ships, lifeboats—everything?
The most likely explanation was torpedo attacks. Indiscriminate submarine torpedo strikes. That had been the practical conclusion even before Admiral Kane went to rest, and now the question was whether it was the CCP fucking around or Taiwan staging a false flag.
Factions within the base were sharply divided: one side insisting no sane CCP would slaughter merchant ships, so it had to be Taiwan; the other snapping that everyone knew the CCP were lunatics, so it was obviously them.
"You woke me up, so there must be a lead."
"Yes, sir. Actually, we salvaged one fishing boat that didn't sink too deep. This is a photo of it."
A high-res photo hit the table. Admiral Kane donned his reading glasses and peered in, then recoiled.
The hull split clean in two. A jagged, messy cross-section. At first glance, it screamed classic torpedo hit, but zooming in on the enlarged section photo erased any doubt.
"What the hell is this...?"
The cut was uneven, ragged. Jagged at fairly regular intervals. Like it had been gnawed by a dense row of teeth.
A marine creature with teeth that massive? Unless Megalodon had come back to life, no such thing existed.
"Any torpedo fragments?"
"None found."
"Who knows about this boat and the photos?"
"Just the White House and us. No one else."
"The site's fully under our navy control?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Send it straight to the investigation team from HQ as soon as they arrive."
This needed a deep dive. No torpedo fragments so far, and no explosion-like sounds reported in the victims' final radio transmissions.
So not torpedoes... But some sea monster devouring fishing boats, container ships, rubber dinghies, coast guard cutters—everything? That made even less sense.
For now, it didn't add up, so they had to wait for the investigation results.
"Admiral, sir. Call from the Vice President."
"The VP?"
"Yes. He insists on connecting urgently."
"Everyone out except the admirals."
Admiral Kane's icy gaze swept the room, and the field-grade officers bolted. Left behind were the deputy commander and division commanders—all colonels wearing expressions of pupil-shaking bewilderment: Can I really stay?
Admiral Kane hit the intercom.
"Yes, Mr. Vice President. This is Yokosuka."
"Admiral Kane. Hard work out there. How's the situation?"
"Chaotic, but no major issues. No one but the admirals here. What can I do for you?"
Get to the point—I'm busy. The line chuckled dryly. Instead of the usual cheery presidential greeting, a grave, lowered tone came through.
"No investigation team. Tell your subordinates there's a staffing issue causing delays."
"What's going on?"
"Nothing major. His Excellency just doesn't want the truth of the Taiwan Strait incident out yet. From what we've pieced together, it's likely a Chinese navy sub, right? Even Taiwan lost ships and men. The media's howling for blood, so we'll probably need to launch ASW ops across the Taiwan waters under the guise of cleanup."
"..."
Only the White House and the US Navy had the fishing boat. Keep mouths shut, and to the world, it looked like CCP navy bullshit. Massive ASW ops under pretense of salvage and investigation weren't unreasonable...
But why? What the hell for? Admiral Kane tilted his head.
"Mobilize all available forces for ASW across Hong Kong waters and the entire Taiwan area."
"That's too broad. Exclude Hong Kong, and Pacific Fleet can handle a proper ASW."
"Hong Kong's the key—can't skip it. I'm not asking you to actually hunt subs. Just the show of ASW will scare off their boats and give us temporary sea control, right?"
"...Yes, sir. More than enough."
Aha. Admiral Kane finally got it. Scatter ASW planes and destroyers under cleanup pretext—could CCP subs hold? No way. They'd bail, handing sea control from Taiwan to Hong Kong to the US Navy.
Now, what to do with that control was the question.
"Prep a sub for up to thirty personnel. They'll start from the Philippines, transfer mid-ocean to a nuke boat, and you just ferry them to Hong Kong waters."
"Understood. Quiet, fast nuclear sub it is."
"Count on you for the op plan. Thanks for the hard work."
The call ended. Confusion rippled across the admirals' faces.
Transport up to thirty unidentified personnel via nuclear sub? Not even telling a navy major general meant non-military—Langley's Company people?
Oh, shit. It reeked of trouble.
"Forget what you just heard. Execute."
"Execute."
"Connect submarine command. This is gonna be one hell of a risky op."
Hong Kong waters were shallow and exposed to PLA threats. But drop 'em off and bug out—US Navy's hands were clean. Whatever those mystery thirty-odd "civilians" did in Hong Kong, win or lose, wasn't the navy's problem.
Handle it quick, dust off hands. Admiral Kane prayed the Hong Kong shitstorm wouldn't splash back on the navy.
"President Han. We've arrived."
"Ugh... uh... yeah. Finally here..."
Han Si-yeon blinked her bleary eyes and spat out the hair in her mouth.
Finally docking? Peering into the dark night sea, lit harbor lights came into view.
They'd run two-shift rotations with Cheol-woo, but couldn't really trust a greenhorn for full twelve-hour stints—switched after eight max. Even handing off the helm, she was busy checking engines and cargo holds. Four days of five-hour catnaps, and now solid ground.
"But the harbor looks off."
"Yeah. The operating company bailed. Remaining staff are gouging each other to run it—total clusterfuck."
Made sense they'd bolt. Ships queued to dock everywhere. But post-quake, over seventy percent of cranes and facilities collapsed, plus buchwaves of refugees swarming the piers.
The harbor was chaos: refugees screaming to board, merchants hawking essentials to the desperate.
"Don't worry. We've got a quiet pier assigned—no need to squeeze through that mess."
Han Si-yeon smiled, expertly wheeling the boat. Circling the madhouse brought them to the far side—a deserted pier.
Too deserted? Cheol-woo felt an eerie wrongness.
"Any military or cops securing the port?"
"Nope. Full anarchy here."
"..."
Word was Hong Kong crawled with those after the lab's "recipe." Where'd they hit first? If it were him, occupy the pier and ambush on arrival.
Braced for a fight on docking, but silence? Something was wrong.
"Okay. While we tie up, let's plan the route. We're here; the lab's inland, up in the mountains. Shortest is this road, but we don't know its condition. If quake damage is bad, mountain paths might be faster despite the distance."
"Um..."
"Speak up."
Yuri timidly raised her hand like asking teacher permission. Han Si-yeon sighed softly.
"Do we have to go by land? Can't we just chopper in?"
"Helicopter, huh. If we did... Ah, like that."
"...?"
Thwip-thwip-thwip—BOOM! A white chopper with a red cross streaked overhead. A rocket streaked from the pitch-black city, trailing fire, and slammed dead-on.
No emergency landing—the bird shattered mid-air, raining debris. Cheol-woo's eyes narrowed.
"Looks like we can assume nothing human's left in the city."
Those weren't people. Downing an ambulance chopper for a scrap of "recipe" data? Cheol-woo could gun down anyone he met downtown without hesitation or guilt.