The Apostates (61 page)

Next struck were the battleships Illinois
and Kentucky. The Reverend was working its way systematically down the battle
line. One shell struck the Illinois below the water line at its port-side; she
immediately began to take on water below deck. The Kentucky took two glancing
blows: one severed its forward anchor chains, and the other shell struck the
angled-plane on the top of its forward turret, sending the round ricocheting
into the sky. The Wisconsin was struck by all three shots fired from the number
four turret on the Reverend Wilhelm. They were all well-grouped: scoring a
direct hit on the bridge, then on the ships turret number two. The last shell
barreled into the superstructure, coring it out and causing it to collapse. The
Wisconsin was cut in two and started to sink immediately.

“Shit! All battleships concentrate fire on
the Reverend Wilhelm! Aim all guns at the forward battery! We can’t keep taking
salvos like that!” Gale recognized the need to switch tactics, fast. Immediately
the order was relayed throughout the fleet to all the captains. Ravine-Gulch
and Hades-Perdition reached the bridge of the Iowa, after hunkering down for
impact from the previous volley. Both had a look of worry on their faces and
were about to deliver their advice for strategy how they saw it.

“Don’t worry. I got this shit under
control.” Gale had a look of determination on her face and judging by her eyes darting about she was busy analyzing data from the battle via here retinal H.U.D.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

“Doctor! Doctor!” Pale-Silence called out
to Blaze. He had been jarred awake by the sounds of the raging naval battle.

“What is it Pale? Are you hurt?” Blaze
came rushing over to his bedside.

“No, I’m stable. But, what is transpiring
outside the ship? I feared that the minions of the Dark Prince had returned to
this realm to reclaim my person,” the demon-man confessed.

“Oh no! It’s nothing like that. I’m afraid
Regime forces have caught us off guard!” Blaze informed
him.

“Oh, drat! I am quite useless in a
naval engagement. I do not possess much knowledge in nautical matters,” Pale
jested as lay there. He then coughed several times.

“No need to worry yourself. Just rest up.
I am sure Gale has the situation under control,” Blaze reassured him.

Just then the Hermes rocked violently. The
patients shuddered and panic set in. Cries of fear erupted across the ward.
Blaze steadied herself. She sent a message to the captain via her neural
implant and asked what had happened. The captain of the Hermes replied that the
ship had been hit by a shell below the water line. Lower decks were taking on
water and that damage control teams were sealing off compartments to stem the
flooding.

This worried Blaze: there were many
critically wounded on board. She wouldn’t be able to move them all by herself
if the ship began to sink. She coordinated with the captain to have the crew to evacuate the patients that could move on their own feet to the upper
decks. Before long, orderlies and other staff rushed into the hospital ward to
audit the patient list to determine which could be transported first. The most
lightly wounded were roused from their beds and were helped up the metal
stairwells toward the upper decks.

Pale-Silence caught sight of this event.
He tried to sit upright as best he could. He observed as all the lightly-wounded were evacuated. Why were they leaving the rest behind? Surely Blaze
would not leave him there? The helplessness of his state was too much for Pale
to bear. He was used to being on the other end: dealing the damage as opposed
to laying, helpless. There was nothing else he could do. Pale-Silence would just have to
trust in Blaze’s abilities to take care of her patients.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

“Goddamnit! I want that fleet sunk! Every
last ship sent to the bottom!” Keir Schrubb was raging on the bridge of the
Reverend Wilhelm. His anger was amplified by copious amounts of bourbon that he had
ingested. The crew, already under pressure from the battle, were further
rattled by his incessant shouts and tirades. The crew was experienced but
unorganized, mainly because their captain was a drunk, who instead of directing
the battle, spouted-off obscenities.

“You fucking, useless cowards! The firepower of this vessel is awesome, use it!” Keir Schrubb paced back and fourth at the Conn, shaking his fist and kicking his command chair. Ensigns on the bridge were busy coordinating with fire directors on which ships to target next when the concentrated barrage was let loose from the Apostate fleet.

“Brace for impact!” an ensign yelled over
the tantrum of their ineffectual Captain. The officers on the bridge hunkered
down and awaited impact.

“What the fuck do you think you little shits are doing? Get back to you stations! Finish them—” Keir’s orders were interrupted by the first impact of the salvo from the opposing fleet. Shells flew into the stern of the Reverend Wilhelm, some glanced off the armor and were deflected into the water, other’s bit into the hull, prying open gaps with explosive force. Another shell ricocheted off the forward turret and was directed upward to hit the superstructure above the flag bridge. Keir was knocked to the ground as an explosion caved-in a portion of the ceiling; showering the crew with metal shards, sparks, and bits of wiring. A metal splinter grazed Keir on his left side, which tore flesh and fracturing a rib. The experience sobered him up quickly. He curled up in pain. Smoke filled the air in the bridge, and coughing and hacking were the dominant sounds. An ensign regained his bearings and looked over to his left. The radioman, who, sat beside him was dead, having caught shrapnel to the neck. Ventilation fans kicked in to clear the smoke from the bridge. Keir pulled himself to his feet; coughing.

‘Damage report! Now!” Keir shouted as he winced in pain.

“Sir, the forward number one turret is
completely destroyed. Secondary explosions confirmed. Multiple internal fires
are burning. Our Superstructure was hit. RADAR and targeting systems are down!”
the ensign reported.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?
Acquire targets manually, then!” Keir spouted at the ensign, who was startled
by the outburst. He scrambled back to his post to relay the orders. The
remaining turrets of the Reverend Wilhelm rotated to acquire new targets, but
this time estimation and calculating angles was done manually, which took
longer, giving the Apostate fleet time to also reload and acquire its own
targets. The gunnery crews aboard the Reverend Wilhelm prepared the turrets to
fire, and soon the order was given.

The five turrets of the Reverend all fired
independently and their gifts were sent off through the air to their
recipients. The Massachusetts, whose damage control crew already attempted
to contain a fire, was directly hit by all shots from the Reverend’s forward
turret. The superstructure of the Massachusetts exploded, throwing a fireball
high above the ship. The flaming ruin of a ship slowly began to take on water
and started to sink. Next to succumb was the Illinois, which had been damaged
in the previous volley. The entire port side of the Illinois was raked by
shells; blowing open gaping wounds in its hull. This caused the Illinois to
capsize to the starboard side. It wasn’t long before she went under the waves.

The last three turret’s shells were not as well-placed, but some still struck their targets. The Kentucky took another glancing blow off its stern that caused negligible damage, and two other shells were complete misses. The aft number five turret on the Reverend fired way off-mark. Its shells were sent screaming high over the Indiana and North Carolina. One shell found a target, however: the Hermes, was hit on its starboard side below the waterline again, which caused the hospital ship to take on yet more water and list to starboard. This complicated the already frantic evacuation effort aboard the ship.

With the Reverend’s second salvo spent,
the surviving battleships of the Apostate fleet reloaded and trained their gun
sights on the Regime’s super battleship. The guns of the Iowa, Kentucky, Indiana,
North Carolina, Alabama, and Missouri blazed away, sending hell to meet the
Reverend Wilhelm. The shells began to impact against the ship, and opened up
modest holes in the port side armor. The number six aft turret was struck by
multiple shells and blew sky-high, ripping the top off and sending its gun
barrels into the sea. A round struck the Reverend Wilhelm on the port side
adjacent to its bridge.

Keir Schrubb, despite his wound, had resumed his rants and raves, “How dare you incompetent fucks let the Apostate fleet out-gun you! You’re letting this ship go to hell! Kill them, kill them al—” When the shell struck, it sent white-hot fragments through the observation screen into the bridge to embed in the walls, furniture and bodies aboard the bridge. Keir Schrubb’s rant was interrupted by one of these shell fragments. By the time he had realized what had happened, his lower intestines had been removed, and firmly implanted into his leather command chair. Keir felt around his core but only found an empty chasm where his internal organs were once situated. He collapsed to the floor due to lack of muscular support; so much had been ripped away. He expired shortly thereafter.

A number of the bridge crew had been
killed or wounded. The bridge was a twisted ruin, and blood coated most
surfaces. The remaining officers that could still function looked to one
another.

“What the fuck? The captain is dead. We
aren’t going win this one. Let’s surrender!” one officer exclaimed.

“We are officers of the New Megiddo Navy!
We can’t hand over the flagship to Apostates!” one portly ensign argued.

“Nonsense! We have no chance here. If we surrender they may let us return home in time for the B.A.G.!” another ensign argued. After some back and forth, it was agreed that they would surrender the ship. So, a radioman set to raising the Apostate fleet to offer a surrender message.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Gale-Whirlwind had given the order to reload the Iowa’s turrets. The remaining battleships of the picket line were doing the same: queuing up for another salvo. Gale felt victory was at hand. The Reverend was a large battleship, but it had been outnumbered and outgunned from the start of the battle. She had surmised it would be a matter of time before the Apostate fleet gained the upper hand. She prepared to give the order for another volley, but an ensign announced they had received a message from the Wilhelm. He handed her the printout.

“ATTN: Apostate fleet. Flagship Iowa. The
N.M.N. Reverend Wilhelm’s captain, dead. Surviving officers wish to surrender.
Require assurances of safety for the surviving crew. Please respond,” the
printout read.

“What does it say?” Hades-Perdition asked
Gale with anticipation.

“It says their captain is dead and they
wish to surrender. They want assurances that they will be treated well when in our
custody,” Gale told them.

“Do you think it’s trustworthy? It could
be a trick,” Hades theorized.

“I doubt it. Their vessel is in ruin. They can’t fight much longer,” Gale surmised. At that moment, an ensign announced another incoming message. This one was from the Hermes hospital ship. It required urgent assistance in evacuating the patients because the ship was taking on too much water and was slowly sinking.

“I’m heading to the Hermes, to help with
the evacuation!” Ravine rushed off the bridge to organize an assistance effort.

“I’m going to accept their surrender
offer. I don’t want any more killing today,” Gale resolved.

“Okay, I support your decision then,
Gale,” Hades deferred to her leadership.

“Ensign! Please send a message to the
Reverend Wilhelm. We accept their surrender offer. They are to disarm and
scuttle the vessel immediately. We will pick up their men when they abandon
ship. They will receive respectful treatment while prisoner aboard our ships,”
Gale ordered.

“Very good Ma’am, right away!” the ensign
rushed off to relay the message to their defeated opponents.

On the weather deck of the Iowa,
Ravine-Gulch hastily collected volunteers together to go help with the Hermes
evacuation effort. The men descended a rope ladder draped down the starboard
side to an awaiting motorboat. Before Ravine could climb down, Angel-Seraphim
came running after him.

“Ravine! I want to help as well!” Angel
shouted after him.

“Fair enough, we need the help!” He
welcomed her along and the two descended to the motorboat. The boat shoved-off
and made a course toward the sinking Hermes.

“Pale-Silence saved me when I was dying in
the desert. I owe him, and, Blaze is my friend! I want to help.” Angel was
overcome with worry, and tears formed in her eyes.

“Hey! Don’t fret! That’s what we’re
going to do. We’re going get them off that ship!” Ravine placed an arm on her
back, trying to reassure her. The motorboat shredded the water as it traveled
onward.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

“What a shameful day this has become for the New Megiddo Navy. Our last battle before the Second Coming—lost to a group of Apostates,” one ensign lamented. They had read the surrender acceptance message and were preparing to destroy sensitive material on the bridge, and to relay the order to disarm the remaining turrets.

“Yes, it is shameful, but I will be
relieved when the fighting is done. I only desire to be with my Lord now,”
another officer added.

“Here, here. The only thing that matters now is being swept into Paradise by Jesus Christ,” an officer mentioned. The men removed themselves from their stations and piled the dead off to one side of the bridge.

“Subjects of the Church of New Megiddo!
This is truly a sorrowful day for the forces of the Righteous! You presume you
can just give in to the enemies of the Faith!” a female’s voice cried out.

“What? W-who are you? You aren’t part of
this crew!” I do—” Prelate Inoguchi interrupted his questioning.