Battleship (Movie Tie-in Edition)

  Meanwhile, the grizzled gunner who was waiting for the shell grinned in relief, smiling, and patted it lovingly as it rose into view. “Come to Papa,” he growled as he used a lever to slam it home.

  Hopper reached the flying bridge just as Ord said, “Thirty seconds.”

  Nagata said, “Shut up, Ord.” Ord looked as startled as if he’d been smacked across the face. Despite the dire nature of the situation, Hopper allowed himself a brief smile.

  “She’s hot and ready,” said the gunner over the radio.

  Hopper summoned an image of Sam to his mind, and thought, You better be out of there. Because if you die, I’m going with you. Even if I live, I’ll be dead. So save both of us, baby.

  His mouth was just in the process of forming the word “fire” when abruptly Ord shouted, “Shit! Look!”

  Despite his predilection for pronouncements of doom, this time Ord’s reaction was fully understandable.

  There was movement from the ruins of the flagship. Something was rising from it, some manner of launcher. And poised atop, clearly prepping to be deployed, were two familiar silver metal spheres.

  Shredders.

  Hopper knew that as bad as the last time had been, this was going to be way worse. The shredders were unstoppable, and this time they very likely wouldn’t settle for gutting the ship. This time, with nothing to lose, they’d annihilate everyone in sight. No one and nothing was going to get out alive.

  But they hadn’t launched yet. If the Missouri fired on them before they were airborne, chances were excellent that they would blast the lethal devices to pieces before they could pose a threat.

  Except then they’d have nothing to fire at Saddle Ridge.

  “We’ve only got one round left, haven’t we,” Hopper said, already knowing the answer all too well.

  “Yeah,” said Nagata.

  “Save ourselves … or save the world?”

  “Not much of a choice, is it.”

  “Sometimes there’s only one choice you can make.”

  And that’s what it comes down to, Sam. Good news. If this missile kills you … I’ll be along to join you way more quickly than I thought.

  “Fire on Saddle Ridge,” he said.

  Instantly the 16-inch shell leaped out of the launcher. It took off straight to Saddle Ridge, hurtling away at top speed, flying straight and true for the communications beacon.

  At that exact moment, the shredders launched …

  … and, turning at a sharp angle, went in pursuit of the shell.

  “No!” screamed Hopper. Because now it was a race. The shell had a head start, but there was no way of knowing how fast the shredders were. If they overtook the shell, they could cut it to pieces effortlessly, then turn around and come after the Missouri. Hopper and his crew would die on the eve of his planet’s destruction being assured.

  SADDLE RIDGE

  The Land Commander dies inside, even as he finishes putting the last touches on getting the power up and running on the communications grid.

  He feels the death of his hatchling mate, the Sea Commander. He senses that, with his last breath, his hatchling mate launched a final retaliation against these … these insignificant creatures that have dared to challenge them.

  But that retaliation will not be enough. Not in the slightest.

  Mere seconds remain for full power to be reached so that the signal can be sent and a full fleet dispatched. Once that has been accomplished, however, the Land Commander will have no more immediate duties. He will have no vessel—the troop transport had returned to the flagship during the night and by now was doubtlessly nothing more than scrap. He will have no warriors at his disposal—they are all dead.

  Still, there will be matters to be dealt with.

  First and foremost will be pursuing the humans who inflicted this damage that he is attending to. They are racing down the hill on foot. As soon as the signal is broadcast, he will pursue them. He will overtake them. He will destroy them.

  Then he will continuously strike from hiding, finding ways to harry and harass the humans, conduct ongoing guerilla warfare to make certain that they—

  That is when he hears a sharp, high-pitched whistling that is unfamiliar, and more sounds that are familiar.

  He looks up.

  He has just enough time to realize three things: a human-launched weapon is about to strike home just before sufficient power has been reached to send the signal; the Regents-launched spheres are not going to stop it in time; humans were really, really not worth this much trouble.

  Then the world explodes in white, and his hatchling mates welcome him.

  USS MISSOURI

  A huge cheer went up from the crew as a great plume of smoke billowed from Saddle Ridge.

  “Target down!” Nagata was shouting with joy, proving, somewhat to Hopper’s surprise, that he was indeed capable of displays of emotion.

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. I saw the entire tower collapse about two seconds after the missile hit! And the explosion must have taken the shredders with it!”

  Hopper stared at his cell phone. Call me, baby. Just … call me. Let me know you’re okay. If you were clear of it, you would have seen it hit, and you’d be calling to tell me you’re okay. If you aren’t …

  If you aren’t, then you won’t answer if I call you. You won’t answer and I’ll be listening to that ringing, over and over; and worse, I’ll hear your voice telling me you can’t answer the phone right now, but you’ll call me back as soon as—

  The phone rang.

  He answered it immediately. “Hello?”

  “Did you miss me?” came Sam’s voice.

  He paused, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could. “In what sense?”

  “In both, I guess.”

  “Well, apparently, yes to both.” He paused when he heard people coughing in the background. “You were right there, weren’t you.”

  “Well, technically …”

  “And you say I’m crazy? Get your ass down that mountain.”

  “Roger that. And Hopper … I love you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Hopper?”

  He was staring at the horizon, his face going slack. “Gotta go. Love you.” And he hung up.

  The war whoops of triumph that had been erupting all over the ship turned to cries of alarm. Two small, familiar objects were moving in toward them from a distance.

  “Apparently,” said Nagata, “I was premature in saying the missile had destroyed them. They must have veered off at the last moment.”

  “And now they’re coming straight for us.”

  “ETA is ten seconds, I believe.”

  Slowly Hopper nodded. So instead of being concerned that he was going to have to live without Sam, she was now going to have to live without him. But at least it would be on a world that was safe from alien invaders.

  Totally worth it.

  He turned and, his back stiff, saluted Nagata. “It’s been an honor serving with you.”

  Nagata returned the salute.

  The shredders screamed toward the Missouri, and there was absolutely no escape …

  And then the nearest one exploded, blown out of the air by a Sidewinder missile.

  A sonic boom roared through the air and two F-18s whipped down and around, going in rapid pursuit of the second shredder even as pieces of the first one rained down into the ocean and black smoke wafted lazily skyward.

  The second shredder banked away from the Missouri and then hesitated, faced with too many targets. That single hesitation cost it, as one of the F-18s opened fire on it. The shredder might have been able to avoid another Sidewinder, since it was now aware of the F-18’s presence and undistracted. But there was nowhere for it to hide as the plane’s nose-mounted 6-barreled Gatling cannon strafed it, pumping two hundred rounds at it within seconds. The last of the shredders was itself shredded, torn to pieces before the astonished eyes of the Missouri’s crew.

  The F-1
8s did one more large circle of the area. Hopper watched them, and then, in the far, far distance, he saw a hint of other vessels, with a carrier that he was reasonably sure was the Reagan leading them.

  “Gentlemen,” he said into the PA, “I think it’s safe to cheer this time.”

  Which they did, for a very long time.

  HARBOR-HICKAM

  Hickam Airforce Base had been established in 1948 near Honolulu and served as a key launching point for operations during World War II. Eventually it had been folded into a combined base with Pearl Harbor, to become known as the Joint Base Pearl Harbor–Hickam. A variety of surface ships and subs were homeported there, including the USS Missouri in her heyday.

  Now the officers who had most recently, and most unexpectedly, pressed the Mighty Mo into service against an enemy that no one could have expected—much less expected to defeat—were lined up in their dress whites. Standing at stiff attention in the front row were Alex Hopper and Yugi Nagata. Ord, Raikes, Hiroki and others were lined up behind them, with Beast naturally towering over the lot. Even Calvin Zapata was there, dressed in a crisp, freshly pressed Hawaiian shirt.

  The families of those who had survived were seated nearby, including Vera and her kids, Nagata’s wife (Hopper had been briefly introduced to her but couldn’t remember her name) and Sam, who was smiling but in a measured way. It was wise of her to show restraint, because intermingled with them on this day of both celebration and mourning were many families whose loved ones hadn’t survived. They were somber, still looking shell-shocked, many eyes red from crying. Those who had made it through knew they were damned lucky. The families who were bereft of their loved ones kept their attentions focused on Shane, trying not to look at those who hadn’t suffered a loss. Because the inevitable question—Why do we have to suffer and you don’t?—would be reflected in their eyes, and there was no possible answer available.

  Shane’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker, causing some ear-splitting feedback. As he stepped away while sound technicians rushed to fix the problem, Hopper took a moment to inhale deeply and then let it out. He actually tasted the air as it passed through his lips. It was a typically gorgeous Hawaiian day, the sun bathing them in its rays, the breeze gentle. But there was something about surviving an experience such as what they’d endured—something about living to see another day when the prospects of doing so had seemed terribly unlikely—that just made the air taste better.

  Once he received a thumbs-up from the technician, Shane—who had been interrupted by the shrill sounds midsentence—stepped forward and tentatively said, “That the men and women …” When no further sound mishaps occurred, he continued with renewed confidence. “That the men and women who gave their lives are heroes is not in doubt. That we owe each and every one of them an unpayable debt of gratitude is undeniable. That we remain united, stronger than ever, with all the great nations of our world, is truer today than it ever has been.”

  He paused a moment, allowing that to sink in as a sop to those who had endured terrible tragedy. Then he continued, “I can’t single out each and every one of you for bravery, so I will instead single out a few for remarkable valor.

  “Commander Stone Hopper, deceased, the Medal of Honor.”

  He held up the framed medal and Hopper felt something catch in his throat. Shane looked right at him, a questioning eyebrow raised. The unspoken question was obvious: did Hopper want to come up there and accept it? Hopper shook his head ever so slightly and mouthed, Our father. Without missing a beat, Shane said, “It will be sent to his father, retired Captain Robert Hopper, who could not be here for this presentation.” True enough. Alex and Stone’s father had recently undergone a triple bypass and had been forbidden to travel. Hopper’s mother, taking care of him, had reportedly said, in that undeniable way of hers, that she’d be damned if she’d lose two of her men within days of each other. The ceremony was being broadcast through a naval feed, though, and Hopper had no doubt in his mind that they were watching it back home.

  It had been the Navy that had delivered them the news of the loss of their eldest son. When Hopper had finally gotten them on the phone, there was his mother crying, of course, and his father being as stiff-lipped as ever. Hopper had tried to launch into mea culpas, to tell them he wished he could have done more; his father silenced him with ten words: “You did what we needed you to do. You survived.” He’d barely been able to continue the conversation after that.

  Shane was now holding another medal in his hand. Next to him was the admiral of the Japanese fleet. In a formal voice, Shane said, “Captain Yugi Nagata: the Order of the Rising Sun.”

  Nagata strode forward with brisk, crisp steps. He bowed stiffly at the waist and Shane returned the sign of respect. The Japanese admiral took the medal and carefully pinned it onto Nagata’s jacket. Nagata bowed once more to both of them and stepped down from the podium.

  Shane shifted his gaze to Hopper and nodded, indicating that he should come forward.

  Hopper took a deep breath even as he walked toward Shane. His legs felt numb; he was worried he was going to collapse. Brace yourself. You know what’s coming now. Now Shane is going to say, “As for you, Mr. Hopper, you have a court-martial waiting for you. Take him away, men.” And they’ll escort you away to your court-martial, where they will, of course, find you guilty and drum you out of the Navy. And they’ll have a closed-circuit TV so your folks can be watching and your dad’s heart will just stop and your mom will blame you for dad’s death for the rest of your life …

  He stood in front of Shane, waiting, his back stiff, his eyes not meeting Shane’s but instead gazing just over his left shoulder. “Commander Alex Hopper …” Shane began, and when Hopper heard the title with his name spoken after it, he actually looked Shane in the eye. Theoretically he’d known this was what was in the offing, but he didn’t quite believe it until he heard it spoken aloud. And even now he was braced for Shane suddenly saying, “Psych! Fooled you! Take him away, men!”

  As if he could read Hopper’s mind—a talent that Hopper wouldn’t have put past him—Shane reaffirmed, with a slight smile, “That’s right … Commander—the Navy Cross.” He pinned it onto Hopper’s jacket. It felt heavy, like the weight of the world was now on his chest.

  No. It was the weight of responsibility, something that—to various degrees—he’d been dodging his entire life. It felt …

  … good.

  “And your own command,” said Shane. “You’ll take the USS Benfold out to sea.” Then he lowered his voice so that only Hopper could hear him. “Don’t screw it up.”

  “No, sir.” Hopper saluted and Shane returned it briskly. Then they shook hands. It felt odd and Hopper realized he’d never actually shaken the man’s hand before. When Sam had first introduced them, Shane had been seated at his desk, going through paperwork. He’d looked Hopper up and down—seemingly dissecting him with his mind as he did so, judging him and finding him wanting—and then said curtly, “I’m busy. This is a bad time.” He had gone back to work. Sam had escorted a shaken Hopper out the door and assured him in a low voice, “Don’t worry. He’ll warm up to you. Everything will work out.”

  It had only taken an alien invasion to do it. Hopper reasoned that he’d better not get back on the admiral’s bad side; otherwise he might have to save the entire galaxy in order to find his way back to the man’s good graces.

  He returned to his spot and his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He extracted it and saw a text message from Sam: No better time to ask him. He glanced toward her and saw her nodding encouragingly and giving him a thumbs-up.

  Suddenly facing shredders and alien invasions didn’t seem so bad.

  Hopper had waited on the parade grounds until Admiral Shane was finally not surrounded by various officials and well-wishers. He’d approached him tentatively, thanked him once again for this incredible opportunity and then hemmed and hawed about things that didn’t matter all that much until Shane finally got fed up and said, ?
??What’s your point, Hopper?”

  Now or never. Wait: let’s consider the many advantages of “never” in the—

  “Sir,” and he pushed the words out of himself with about the same amount of force a woman used to push out a child, “I want you to know that I love Sam …”

  Words failed him for an instant. It was the moment when he would normally cut and run, but then he took a deep breath, looked Shane dead in the eye and spoke from his heart.

  “… and I want to ask for your permission to marry her.”

  He exhaled then. He’d gotten the words out, and that had been the challenge, hadn’t it? That had been the toughest part of all this.

  “No,” said Shane.

  “Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll …” His voice trailed off as Shane’s answer sank in. “What?”

  As if there was simply no further need for discussion—question asked, question answered, on to the next thing—Shane turned and started to stride away.

  “But … but I just saved the world!” Hopper called after him.

  “The world is one thing, Hopper. My daughter is quite another.”

  Hopper was in utter shock. “But … but …”

  Shane paused just long enough to say, “No means no, Hopper. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for lunch.” And as he walked off, he tossed over his shoulder, “Think I’ll get a chicken burrito.”

  Hopper stopped in his tracks as if he’d been hit in the face with a frying pan as the last two words registered. “Wait,” he said, slowly realizing, “Are you—are you messing with me?”

  Shane glanced back at him, and there was a twinkle in his eye that might have been delightful if it wasn’t tinged with pure sadism.

  “Don’t do that!” Hopper cried out. “Why would you do that? Did Sam put you up to this? Oh my God, she did, didn’t she!”

  Gesturing that he should follow him, Shane said, “Come along, Hopper. Let’s discuss the terms of your surrender over lunch.” As Hopper ran after him, Shane continued, “And if I’m a little light on cash, I’m sure you could just knock over a convenience store by climbing on the roof, right?” He draped an arm around Hopper’s shoulder as they left the parade ground.