Battleship (Movie Tie-in Edition) (35 page)

Hopper remembered the first time he’d heard his father talking about big guns with their 16-inch shells. Hopper, not more than eight or nine at the time, said that although sixteen inches was kind of big for a bullet, it didn’t seem that scary as far as a missile shell was concerned. His father, laughing, had explained that a 16-inch shell was sixteen inches in diameter, stood three feet tall and weighed several hundred pounds.
Unless you’ve got a few bodybuilders on hand, you’re not going to be taking one of those babies anywhere
, his father had told him.

Well, they now had to move one of those shells up to where it could do some good, and aside from Beast—who met them there, as instructed—they didn’t have any bodybuilders on hand.

“Four minutes, sir,” said Ord, reminding him of their rapidly closing window of opportunity.

“Got it, Ord,” said Hopper.

Beast slapped his hands together, squatting like a sumo, getting a grip on the shell. He hoisted, grunted, and the others got in there with him. It took a few moments to sort it out so that they weren’t in one another’s way. Soon they all had their hands on the shell, grabbing and straining to lift it, wrestling it out of the hold.

They struggled with it through a series of passageways and ladder-like stairs, at one point losing their grip on it
completely. It slid down the ladder and nearly crushed Beast, knocking the wind out of him. But he recovered quickly and got his hands back on it, aiding the others as Hopper, through clenched teeth, kept a steady stream of directions going: “Turn here, hold on, slow, together, watch your angle there.” He felt like one of those guys who directed a rowing team.

They finally made it to the immediate destination: a single, long passageway that ran the length of the ship. There was a sort of monorail there, like a zip line for moving cargo, with a series of webbing straps hanging down. “Three minutes,” said Ord.

“Not helpful, Ord,” said Hopper as they slid the shell into the webbing straps and then looped a chain through it. They made damned certain the shell was secure in it—the last thing they needed was for the weapon to slip loose. Then came the trickiest part, the men grunting and screaming with effort as they lifted the shell onto the trolley hoist hook.

“Put your shoulders into it, boys! Let’s take it down Broadway!” They proceeded to do exactly that, running like linebackers as they sprinted the length of the ship to get the shell where they needed it to go, so they could fire it where
it
needed to go.

Two minutes later, Hopper, Nagata and the others—drenched in sweat and exhausted—made it to the gun turret and shoved the shell into the loading elevator. As it hauled the missile upward, Hopper and the others scrambled to reach topside.

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.

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
.

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-18s 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.

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.