Part 3: Session Three: Like that thing with the thing
Session 3: Like that thing with the thing...then I awoke. Again.
Another nightmare? The phone is ringing... I pick it up... I'm on autopilot for a few moments...
What's happening to me? It's not my imagination. This is the same day. It's like that movie with that smug guy... but I never saw it, because it didn't come out on Betamax. Now I wish I had. Curse you, SVC, you screwed me yet again.
What am I going to do?
---
CO: This better be important.
XO: Good morning, sir. We just received urgent traffic from from COMSUBLANT.
Okay, sound it out... Com... sub... plant. Something to do... with submarines...
I got nothing.
---
(From this point forward, I will begin cutting out portions of the game that are not relevant to finding our way through the game, depending on where we've gotten so far. That doesn't mean that where I cut to is immediately important. This should hopefully keep the repetition to a minimum, but still keep the exploration alive.)
(Also, bonus points to CronnySockett for guessing the overarching narrative joke first. You win nothing. Congratulations.)
VOTING RESULT: 3
CO: I'll be right down.
XO: Aye, sir.
I want to explain what's happening... but I think better of it. It's clear he won't understand. It will just cement their view that I'm unfit to be in command, and they'll mutiny.
XO: Skipper's on his way.
Cook: Mornin', Cap'n.
CO: Morning.
Oh, thank god, some coffee. I haven't had a cup in days. *sip*
Master Chief: EYES ONLY. Could get exciting.
If you only knew...
Master Chief: Captain's on the Conn.
The conn feels different. Maybe it's just me. It's clear no one else knows what's going on. Neither the enemy submarines nor this time... loop... thing. Still, I think they can tell that I'm terrified and exhausted... even more than usual. A real captain could keep his cool, inspire his men. But I'm not fit to captain a fajita wagon.
Crud, and now I'm hungry.
Master Chief: Morning, Captain.
CO: Gentlemen.
XO: Morning, Sir. Mister Wheeler just got this off the VLF Wire.
Ugh, I still don't know what that is, but it might as well be the VBN Wire; the Very Bad News Wire.
Hey, I wonder if the V stands for Very, like VIP? How many other V words are there?
I don't even know why I bother signing it. I could sign is Washington Irving for all the good it's going to do in a few hours.
CO: Ahem. Excuse me.
Wheeler: Oh. Sorry, sir.
Completely identical. It's completely identical...
XO: Orders, captain?
Oh, jeez, I don't even remember what I said last time.
---
VOTING RESULT: 2
CO: Let me look this over, then I need to see the two of you, and Mr. foster in the wardroom in five minutes.
XO: Aye aye, Captain.
CO: EYES ONLY: Compromised patrol area Yankee Victor, okay. Seventy-two hours ago, Libyan Kilo submarine effected exit of Med gained open sea. Though tracked by US forces, Kilo has broken contact. Subject sub is believed to be headed north at patrol area Yankee Victor. At present time, threat to your mission and platform is considered slight. You're advised of this developing situation so you may take appropriate action. Disclosure of this message to your officers, men left to your discretion. Continuation of your deterrent patrol considered paramount. All other considerations secondary, SUBLANTS and et cetra etc.
It's the same. There's no denying it now. We are in serious danger, and I can't escape it. What am I going to do?
XO: Here ya go, Skipper.
Foster: Captain, XO.
Master Chief: Got the nav materials you asked for skip.
I still don't remember asking for any like that...
Foster: This is the passage charts, sir. This is patrol area Yankee Victor. Our current position via VLF nav fix is here, waypoint lisa. Our current heading is 045. Our speed is 5 knots.
Okay...that still makes no sense to me. What's the nautical word for "run away like a girl"?
---
VOTING RESULT: 2
CO: I want to amend our patrol route. I want to turn north.
Foster: Very good, Sir.
Don't condescend me.
Master Chief: Just how far north are you going to want to go, skipper?
I guess I can't just say "enough," can I?
---
VOTING RESULT: 2
CO: Maximum possible. Get us as far north as the patrol box will allow and I want to advise the Battle Group of our intended movement.
Foster: I'll have the course laid out and in the main control room in twenty minutes, Sir.
Terrific.
XO: No good.
I mean, no good.
XO: I need it faster than that, and try to keep the cavitation to a minimum.
Yes, of course, keep... that to a minimum. Don't you know anything, Ensign?
Foster: Aye sir.
That's how I feel every day.
---
MEANWHILE
ELSEWHERE
Commander: How's our hyperactive friend doing?
Danny: Akula's making 30 knots. He's moved into the surface layer, but he's still hauling ass.
Commander: Why doesn't he care who hears him?
Danny: He must have heard you talking, Skipper. The Akula's slowing down. Changing course. Coming out stead on 190. Target's gone to all stop.
Commander: Alert the Battle Group.
Danny: Already bursted it to them, Sir.
Commander: What's this guy up to?
---
Wheeler: Captain. LF signal. It's the Battle Group requesting you contact them on the SATCOM.
Ooh, I never get phone calls.
---
VOTING RESULT: 1
CO: Very well. My intentions are to come to periscope depth. Sonar, do you hold any contacts at this time.
Foster: Nothing, sir. Sonar holds no contacts at this time.
XO: Officer of the deck, come to periscope depth. Deploy SATCOM mast.
OOD: Come to periscope depth. Deploy SATCOM mast. Aye.
XO: Very well.
I wonder what they want to warn us about.
MEANWHILE
Ensign Neff: Were at bingo fuel. We gotta head back.
Commander: I concur. Take us back to the boat, young Ensign Neff.
Danny: Akula's making noise. He's flooded all his torpedo tubes.
Commander: Give me the stick, Brucie.
Neff: Look, Commander. We've got negative fuel numbers.
Danny: Target is opening outer torpedo doors. His sonar's gone active. He's setting up a torpedo shot.
Commander: You sure?
Neff: He's fixing to fire on the Idaho.
Danny: Akula's about to go hostile.
Commander: Don't psych it, Danny!
---
Foster: Conn, Sonar. Hydrophone effect. Surface impact. Bearing 004. Range 300 yards.
Oh, for the love of all that is coffee.
Master Chief: He's closing on us.
It's happening again... but everso slightly different.
Foster: Impact in 3, 2...
Man, how can an ensign be so calm when counting down to his own death?
Foster: ...1...
XO: Who the hell dropped a torpedo on us?
I could tell you, but Foster's about to anyway.
Foster: Conn, Sonar. New contact designated Sierra-27. Evaluated to be Russian Akula class submarine.
Master Chief: Whoever invented the rocket-delivered torpedo should have got a medal.
Foster: Range is 72 miles.
Yeah yeah, torpedo, medal, blah blah blah.
XO: Guy wasn't even in our time zone and he boned us.
He's clearly upset, but it's a little different this time. I think he wonders why as a commander of this vessel that I seem so dejected, so resigned. That I need to hold myself to a higher decorum. Really, I'm just too shocked by the nearly identical circumstances to last time... I'm really stuck in some kind of time loop, and no one knows it but me. It's undeniable now.
Cold water around my ankles shakes me out of my stupor. I try to get to my cabin, but we're sinking too fast to reach that part of the ship. As the frigid brine fills the vessel, I still can't bring myself to intentionally breath the seawater to make it end. Ten terrifying minutes pass... then finally, darkness.