Battleship (Movie Tie-in Edition)

  “What are you getting at?” said Hopper suspiciously.

  “Simply that, at some level, you hated the decision you made. That you likely resented your brother for that decision, even though you’re the one who made it. You’re suffering from misplaced aggression. You really wanted to lash out at your brother or your father, but since you didn’t dare, you lashed out at others … including me.”

  “Yeah, well … you had it coming.”

  “Fortunately, you hit like a girl.”

  Hopper stopped in his tracks and stared at Nagata, who simply stood there with one eyebrow raised.

  Then Hopper laughed. Nagata’s face never moved a muscle.

  Hopper started walking again, Nagata falling in step behind him. “Whatever, man. Hell, the only reason I told you any of this was because we’ll probably both be dead by noon anyway.”

  “That’s very comforting.”

  “ ‘Rage issues.’ ‘Misplaced aggression.’ Jeez. What were you, a psychiatrist before you joined the Navy?”

  “No. But my mother’s one.”

  “She is?”

  “Don’t get me started on my mother,” said Nagata.

  Hopper didn’t.

  Once on the bridge, Hopper spread out navigation charts on the wide table and started tracing a line from their present location toward the island that was the target of his developing strategy. Nagata stood to one side of the table, Beast on the other.

  “When we round this point can you hold her here tight? Just off Diamond Head?” Hopper said to Beast.

  Beast studied it and was obviously running calculations through his head. “It ain’t gonna be easy. There’s an ass crack of a current in there. We get on its bad side, we’re gonna need a proctologist to pull us out.”

  “Then it’s elbows and assholes all around.” Hopper tapped the link and called up the CIC. “How close is the stinger to us?” he said as soon as he raised Raikes.

  “Seven miles and closing fast,” her voice came back. She was trying to sound unconcerned, as if an oncoming, swiftly approaching and seriously pissed-off alien vessel was just another day at the office.

  Hopper shifted his attention back to Beast. “No kidding around. Can you do it?” asked Hopper.

  “I can try,” said Beast. “Sir, I don’t get it …”

  I can try wasn’t good enough. “Can you do it?”

  Beast wasn’t going to promise something he couldn’t deliver. He stared at the map, at the area of the current, and he started to mutter a string of numbers. Hopper realized Beast was running engine revolutions through his head, making calculations. Finally he nodded. “I can do it.”

  Hopper wanted to sigh in relief, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he turned to Nagata. “Captain Nagata, how’s your aim?”

  Nagata nodded slowly. “Excellent.”

  Hopper looked back at Beast, who appeared somewhat dubious for some reason. “Problem, Beast?”

  “Permission not to be the one who has to tell Raikes that Captain Nagata will be handling guns … no offense,” he added quickly to Nagata.

  “We’re going to need her behind the 5-inch,” Hopper said. “I have something else planned for Captain Nagata. Now get down to CIC and get us heading in the right direction. Leave the rest to me.”

  “Yes sir,” said Beast.

  Nagata watched as Beast headed off. “He is not sure what you have in mind. But he does not question.”

  “Of course not. That’s not his job.”

  “Yes. His job is to obey you. And your job is to issue those orders.”

  “Are you telling me my job, Captain Nagata?”

  “No,” said Nagata mildly. “It is simply a pity that your brother is not able to see you do it.”

  “Yeah,” said Hopper. “Just think. If I hadn’t made the decision I did, it might well have been me on the Sampson. And Stone would still be alive.”

  Nagata studied him and then said, “You are blaming yourself for your brother’s death.” When Hopper didn’t respond, Nagata continued, “That is foolishness. You did not kill your brother.” His voice hardened. “They killed him. And yes, I will tell you your job now. Your job is to make them all pay. Do not lose sight of that.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. As for your survival … I suspect, Alex Hopper, that you would have managed to survive the Great Flood.”

  “We may yet have the chance to find out.”

  The human vessel is fleeing.

  They are under the impression that they can forestall the inevitable.

  They believe that succor is possible elsewhere. They think that the Regents will allow them to flee the field of combat. They are under the impression that they have a say in when, and how, the testing will be ended.

  Foolish humans. Only the decisions of the Regents commanders—the Land Commander and the Sea Commander—matter. The test is not over until the Regents say it is over.

  How wrong they are. How greatly they will pay for their underestimation of the Regents’ resolve.

  How utterly they will be destroyed.

  The Regent ship is in pursuit. The end for them will come soon.

  Diamond Head was a volcanic tuff cone, known to the natives as Le’Ahi, since the shape of its ridgeline was similar to the dorsal fin of an ahi tuna. British sailors had come upon it in the 19th century and, mistaking the calcite in its rocks for diamond, had dubbed it with the name it retained to this day.

  The John Paul Jones was now making for it with such speed that one might think actual diamonds were waiting for those who could get to it the fastest.

  The stinger was in pursuit and closing in as Hopper and Nagata hurriedly assembled a .50 caliber sniper rifle on the ship’s bow. Nagata glanced over his shoulder at the alien vessel as it drew nearer. “It’s not attempting to close the distance by jumping,” he observed.

  “Don’t you get it?” Hopper said. “They’re testing us. Pushing our limits, seeing what we can do. They figure they have us cold, so why not see how fast we can go and how long we can sustain it?”

  “Testing us because …?”

  “Because they’re sending more, like Sam said. That’s got to be it. They want to see how much of a challenge we present so that they can be sure to be prepared for it.”

  “And if we blow them all to hell?”

  “Then maybe they’ll figure they’re overmatched and look for easier pickings, like … I don’t know, whatever planet the tribbles come from.”

  Nagata’s eyebrows furrowed. “Trib … bulls?”

  “Never mind. Not important.” He adjusted the sights of the sniper scope. “If I’m right, their bridge window is three feet wide. It’s inlayed a couple of feet. A 5-inch can’t take it out. Still, that doesn’t mean Raikes isn’t ready to rock.”

  Nagata nodded and then glanced up at the bridge. Beast was behind the wheel, handling the John Paul Jones, as the point of the island loomed closer. “And your engineer is steering … why?”

  “Because the best man for the job got blown to hell, and Beast’s stepping in.”

  “Ah. Of course. I am … sorry.”

  Hopper’s eyes glazed over for a moment. The faces of all the men who had been killed by these creatures so far floated in front of him. The creatures would pay. They’d pay for all of it. He forcibly shook himself back to the here and now. “Beast and I go back a ways. He always gets me. It’s like we share a mind. When you’re in this kind of pinpoint situation, that’s who you need. Someone with whom you’re on the same wavelength.”

  Beast was grateful that the sea was relatively calm at the moment, considering the slightest surge of the ocean might be something that he couldn’t adjust for quickly enough. Tucking the John Paul Jones close to the shore behind Diamond Head, he glanced down at Hopper on the foredeck, setting up a second sniper gun.

  He looked toward Hiroki, who was standing nearby and watching events unfold with clear apprehension. Hiroki was accustomed to rooting around in the depth
s of the ship; being up top didn’t seem to be wearing well on him.

  Beast nodded toward Hopper and said, “Usually I get him. This time … not a clue. Is it the same way with you and your CO?”

  Hiroki stared at him and shrugged. Not a word.

  “Glad we could have this talk,” said Beast. “I feel like we’ve really bonded over it.” He glanced toward the horizon and frowned. Light was filtering over the ocean.

  The sun had risen.

  Beast noticed that the John Paul Jones was beginning to drift uncomfortably close to the rocks. If they were lying in wait here for the stinger to show, they couldn’t wind up losing their maneuverability—what little they had—by running aground.

  Judging by Hiroki’s reaction, he was seeing it as well.

  “Let’s do this,” said Beast briskly, and he handled the wheel with the finesse of a concert pianist.

  On the foredeck, Hopper and Nagata were side by side, eyes on scopes, waiting for the stinger to show its ugly face. Without taking his eye off the impending target, Hopper said out the side of his mouth, “How good of a shot?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Back in CIC. You said your aim was excellent. How good of a shot are you?”

  “Ah.” Nagata allowed a touch of pride in his normally dispassionate voice. “Champion rifle competition, Natsu Campu.”

  “Natsu Campu?”

  “Correct.”

  “Natsu Campu?”

  “Correct.” Clearly Nagata wasn’t accustomed to having to repeat himself.

  “What is …?” Hopper tried to say it but was having trouble with the enunciation.

  “I’m not sure how you say it in English.”

  “Nutso … campus—?”

  “Nat … su … Cam … pu.”

  “You are the champion of …” He paused, working on getting it right so that he wouldn’t piss off Nagata. “… Natsu Campu?”

  “Yes.” Nagata seemed relieved not to have to say it again. “In Hakone.”

  He waited for Nagata to further clarify, but the officer said nothing. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore and, taking his eye off the scope, said in irritation, “What the hell is Natsu Campu?”

  “Natsu Campu! Natsu …” He struggled to remember the English equivalent and then his face cleared as it partly came to him. “Summer campu!”

  “Summer campu?”

  “Hai. Yes. Correct,” said Nagata.

  “Summer camp?”

  “Yes. The 1991 Champion Summer Camp. Long Rifle.” He said it with such pride that it was as if he were telling Hopper about the Olympic gold medal he’d picked up during the biathalon in 2004.

  Hopper became aware that he was staring openmouthed at Nagata, and then suddenly he realized from Nagata’s reaction that their target had just come into sight. “Remember,” he said quickly, the words all in a rush, “we’ll have to be both accurate and quick. The first shots will be for punching through the shields. Once that’s done, we’ll carve them to pieces.” He took aim, and his finger tightened on the trigger. “Let’s get her done,” he said, and he opened fire.

  His .50 caliber gun cut loose, as did Nagata’s. The rounds ripped into the shields on the stinger’s command deck. As expected, he saw the shields flare up, and at first they were able to hold back the weapons fire. But then they began to crack and, within seconds, blew out.

  He had a clear view of several of the aliens in the bridge, none of whom were wearing helmets. They threw their arms in front of their faces, their mouths open in what he was sure were screams of pain. They tried to escape the glare of the newly rising sun, like vampires seeking shadow, but there was none to be had. It was flooding every inch of their bridge, blinding them, sending them scrambling for helmets.

  Along Waikiki Beach, Hopper noticed that tourists and locals, up and around to watch the sun rise and maybe even catch some waves, were getting way more than they bargained for as they watched a once-in-a-lifetime battle unfolding in front of them, courtesy of the U.S. Navy. Your tax dollars at work, he thought with grim amusement as he flashed a quick thumbs-up to Beast.

  It wasn’t merely a congratulatory gesture. Instead it was the signal Beast had been waiting for. Immediately he radioed down to CIC. “Raikes! Cover target point, alpha with guns and birds.”

  “Hello, there,” Raikes’s voice came over the radio, and Beast knew what that meant: She had the stinger in her crosshairs.

  Hiroki, with a pair of binoculars, watched one of the aliens fumbling blindly for its helmet. “Hit him!” said Hiroki.

  Raikes’s gun started firing. So did the guns of the other officers. Every available weapon on the ship was hammering away at the stinger.

  The alien vessel tried to come about, but was hit by a broadside of 5-inch shells. It was clear that systems were failing all over the ship. Shields flared once again, trying to keep the ship impervious to attack, but after numerous shots the ordnance was getting through, punching into the ship’s shell, ripping the stinger apart. A blast tore apart the supports of one of the stinger’s starboard pontoons, ripping out the entire leg. The mortally wounded ship toppled sideways into the water. It started to slide beneath the surface.

  “Oh no you don’t, you bastard,” said Raikes, moving to the missile station. “No quarter asked or given. You don’t get away that easy.” She targeted the sinking vessel faster than she’d ever targeted anything in her life. “Been saving one for ya,” said Raikes, and she fired.

  The missile flew straight and true and struck the stinger just before it could disappear beneath the water. It was possible that the ship offered no further threat. It was also possible that it was trying to get away so it could regroup, quickly repair itself somehow and come at them again. Either way it didn’t matter, as the missile struck home, blowing the stinger to pieces. The explosion was massive, a gigantic spout of water leaping skyward.

  Some of the spray fell upon the bridge, where Beast endeavored to fist bump Hiroki. But the diminutive Japanese officer was so convulsed with joy and excitement that he returned the bump with force that seemed insanely out of proportion to his size. So much so, in fact, that he wound up slamming Beast’s fist back into his face, causing the much larger man to stagger and almost fall over.

  The civilians on the beach screamed in joy as the ocean water rained down on them, dancing around, shouting, “U.S.A! U.S.A!” It was likely they didn’t fully understand everything that was happening. But as far as they were concerned, if a Navy destroyer was blowing some other ship to smithereens, then the other guys were up to no good and were enemies of the United States.

  Hopper watched from the foredeck as the stinger burned furiously. Then he turned to Nagata. “What was it again? Mitsubishi?”

  “Natsu … cam—”

  “Right, right. Natsu campu. Are you kidding me?” He stuck out a hand. “That’s some damn fine shooting, my friend. I give it up to you, Nagata, I really do. I—”

  Nagata didn’t take his hand. Stirrings of the old animosity began to awaken in Hopper. Are we back to this? Are we back to dissing each other and—? Then he realized that Nagata wasn’t even looking at him, but instead past him. “Captain,” Nagata said slowly, “we have a problem. Something’s coming our way.”

  The time of testing is over, and the Sea Commander is deeply furious. The pilot of the guardian vessel is his hatchling mate … was his hatchling mate. He is the best of the best, and now he is gone, thanks to the test subjects.

  The Sea Commander will not tolerate this insult. Nor does he see any reason to prolong the encounter. He orders the top bay doors opened and the spheres launched.

  That should attend to them.

  Hopper stared at four whirring globes hovering in the distance nearby that strange alien structure, as if determining where to go. “Those things again?”

  Ord’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

  The globes were heading their way. Whirling blades had extended all over them, spinning away, and they were he
ading straight toward the John Paul Jones.

  “Can … can the hull withstand those?” Hopper asked Beast.

  “Captain, I don’t know what those things are, or what the blades are composed of, but if I had to guess, I’d say they’re going to shred us.”

  “Not to mention,” Nagata added with his customary sangfroid, “even if the hulls were capable of withstanding the assault—which I suspect they aren’t—the crewmen …”

  Oh my God. “Beast! Get below on damage control! Keep us afloat for as long as you can! Ord … just get the hell out of here!” As the two men scrambled to obey, Hopper hit the shipwide PA system and shouted, “Brace! Brace for …” He groped for a word and, remembering what Beast had said, shouted, “… for shredders!”

  Using the defense systems was simply not an option. The shredders were too fast and too small.

  The shredders fanned out, two of them coming in from the port side, the other looping around to the starboard. Fore and aft, a coordinated attack, leaving the ship nowhere to move and with no means of defending itself. They tore into the John Paul Jones, sliding down the length of her, tearing deep furrows in the metal.

  Within the ship, crewmen who had moments earlier heard the captain’s warning and said to one another, “What the hell is a shredder?” cried out and jumped back as glistening blades tore through the bulkheads, slicing through the ship like a laser beam. The shredders dug into the John Paul Jones, jackals ripping into a crippled lion, tearing up everything they could get near.

  On Waikiki Beach, the jubilation from mere moments earlier now seemed nothing but a distant memory. Tourists and natives alike stood there in horror, many of them screaming, but their screams were drowned out by the shrieking of the metal as the shredders tore through it.

  The shredders crisscrossed the ship with such elegance that it almost seemed choreographed. Once each of them reached the far end of the vessel, they simply doubled back, creating more gigantic gashes in the hull. The John Paul Jones trembled and shuddered under the assault, helpless to return or slow the attack, helpless to do anything except take it for as long as it could. And that wasn’t going to be much longer at all.