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?”
“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,
“Natsu Campu! Natsu…” He struggled to remember the English equivalent and then his face cleared as it partly came to him. “
“Summer campu?”
“
“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.
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
Nagata didn’t take his hand. Stirrings of the old animosity began to awaken in Hopper.
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 heading straight toward the
“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…”
