Earth Naval Base Pearl Harbor
June 6, 2055
6:00 PM
The echoing shouts from the US Navy Pacific Command building could be heard a kilometer down the pier. Officers and Enlisted Personnel, clutching digital tablets and printed reports, sprinted through the corridors. The entire base was in a state of controlled chaos. The sudden, inexplicable disappearance of a Carrier Strike Group during a routine peacetime deployment had ignited a firestorm of controversy, threatening to escalate into a full-blown international crisis.
Inside Admiral James Matthew's office, the atmosphere was thick with tension. He was engaged in a blistering tirade against Commander Robert April and Captain James Kirk, the officers directly responsible for the lost Enterprise Carrier Strike Group. Hours of relentless berating had left him in no mood for pleasantries; he was dissecting their professional failings with the precision of a surgeon.
The two officers, their faces slick with a cold sweat, weren't merely reacting to the verbal assault. The sheer gravity of losing a carrier and its entire strike group during a routine transit, with no prior warning, weighed heavily upon them.
"Can someone, for God's sake, explain this clusterfuck? Is this some kind of sick joke? How in the hell do you lose an entire Strike Group, a billion-dollar asset, off the Hawaiian coast? Just... gone?" Adm. Matthew paused, his chest heaving, before resuming his tirade.
"Do you have any idea how the public, the entire damn world, and our regional adversaries will react? The US Navy has just misplaced nine Warships, including a Japanese Destroyer and a Royal Navy Frigate! I can already hear the congressional hearings. I dread to think how they'll respond to the loss of a vessel costing hundreds of billions of taxpayer dollars! I refuse to be remembered as the Fleet Admiral who presided over the vanishing of a fleet in peacetime!"
Adm. Matthew's rage momentarily subsided, replaced by a chilling calm. He leaned forward, his eyes boring into theirs. "Please, gentlemen, tell me what actually happened out there. I want the truth, not some bullshit shenanigan nonsense. Just give me the truth of what transpired out there."
Commander Robert and Captain Kirk exchanged a quick, troubled glance, searching for a way to articulate the impossible.
Commander Robert took a deep breath, his voice steady despite the turmoil. "Admiral, it started as the fleet was transiting out of the Hawaiian operating area."
~Flashback Begins~
A Carrier Strike Group, its formation tight and professional, steamed westward, leaving the familiar silhouette of the Hawaiian Islands behind. The midday sun glinted off the metallic hulls of the massive vessels, a stark contrast to the azure waters of the Pacific. Under the tropical sun, the group's radar cross-section was momentarily obscured by the shimmering heat haze.
The Strike Group consisted of CVN-80 USS Enterprise, a Ford-Class Supercarrier; LHA-6 USS Essex, an America-Class Flight-I Amphibious Assault Ship; DDG-125 USS Jack H. Lucas, a Burke-Class Flight-III Destroyer; DDG-200 USS Laffey, a Laffey-Class Destroyer; DDG-179 JS Maya, a MayaClass Destroyer; CGN-76 USS Bunker Hill, a Lexington-Class Nuclear Cruiser; FFG-65 USS Lafayette, a Constellation-Class Frigate; FF-90 HMS Belfast, a Type-26 Frigate; and T-AKE 12 USNS William McLean, a Lewis & Clark-Class Dry Cargo Ship.
Beneath the surface, SSN-803 USS Arizona, a Virginia-Class Submarine, and SSN-856 USS Denver, a Gato-Class Submarine, patrolled the depths.
Admiral Christopher Pike stood on the Enterprise's bridge left wing, observing the steady rhythm of the ship, his pet eagle perched on his gloved hand. Inside, the bridge crew, a mix of seasoned veterans and fresh-faced ensigns, coordinated the route, their voices a constant hum of professional dialogue. The bridge hummed with activity.
Admiral Christopher Pike, a 65-year-old former Navy SEAL, was a legend in the fleet. He had risen from the enlisted ranks, and commanded the USS Enterprise for 25 years. He had risen to become a Carrier Admiral, his reputation built on unwavering competence.
A control panel operator, a young technician named Petty Officer Ramirez, tapped at a multi-function display, a frown creasing his brow. An officer passing by, Lieutenant Commander Evans, noticed.
"Having trouble, Ramirez?" Evans asked.
"Sir, the MFD is acting up. Getting some weird ghosting and flickering. Thought it might be a loose connection, but the diagnostics are clean," Ramirez replied.
"Think it's a hardware issue?" Evans asked.
"No, sir. This ship was overhauled last year. This is her first month of deployment after a year-long overhaul. We've been running diagnostics on this panel since her shakedown cruise, and it's been rock solid," Ramirez replied, equally perplexed.
Admiral Pike, noticing the subtle shift in the bridge's atmosphere, approached. "What's the problem, Lieutenant Commander?"
"Sir, Petty Officer Ramirez is reporting some anomalous readings on MFD 3. Diagnostics are showing no faults, but the display is glitching," Evans reported.
"Glitching, sir. We don't know why," Ramirez added.
"Maybe it's a Chinese cyberattack?" a Crewman suggested, his voice laced with suspicion.
"If the Chinese were penetrating our network, we'd have alarms blaring, firewalls tripping. And Cortana would be all over it before they got past the outer layers of security," Admiral Pike said, his voice firm.
'This kind of defect should have been caught during acceptance trials. Could it be a sophisticated zero-day exploit... or have the defense contractors become complacent again?'
His thoughts were interrupted as the monitors and control panels across the bridge began to flicker erratically, displaying garbled data and error messages.
Captain Kirk approached, his expression grim. "Sir, half the ship's control panels are malfunctioning. The chief technicians say the hardware and software are intact, and there's no trace of intrusion or malware."
"Not a software or hardware malfunction," Pike murmured, his gaze fixed on the chaotic displays.
"What could it be, sir?" Kirk asked.
"Admiral, you have a priority call!" a Communications Officer shouted, holding out a secure comms unit. Admiral Pike took the unit.
"Admiral, this is Commander Robert. The radar arrays and sensor suites are glitching like crazy. The Chief Technicians say it's not a software or hardware issue. They're calling it a fucking 'phenomenon.' We're getting reports of similar issues across the Strike Group."
"Any further details?" Admiral Pike asked, his voice calm despite the growing alarm.
"Negative, Admiral. Just... static and scrambled data. It's like something's jamming everything, but there's no identifiable source," Robert replied.
Admiral Pike issued an order to the Strike Group. "All ships, this is Enterprise. Condition One. Weapons tight. What is our weapons posture? I want all weapons loaded and ready."
Alarms blared, their sharp tones cutting through the confusion, as sailors and officers rushed to their battle stations.
The F/A-25 Hellcats were all scrambling on the carrier's deck, their engines roaring to life with flare. Four F/A-25 Hellcats launched into the air, their sleek forms cutting through the clear sky.
"Are we facing a hostile engagement or some kind of... alien event?" Captain Kirk muttered, his voice tense.
"I hope it's neither," Admiral Pike replied, his voice low and serious.
The same chaos erupted on the other ships of the Strike Group. Monitors and Control Panels glitched, alarms blared, and battle stations were manned.
JS Maya
"Is this another readiness drill, Captain?" JS Maya's Commanding Officer asked, his voice sharp.
"Given the severity of the glitches, sir, it's more likely a hostile event," JS Maya's captain replied, his eyes glued to the flickering radar display.
"I see. Sound the general quarters alarm!"
USS Essex
Marines, clad in full battle gear, moved with practiced efficiency. F35B Lightning IIs were launched in rapid succession, their vertical takeoff a testament to the ship's adaptability. Marines manned .50 caliber heavy machine guns, their eyes scanning the horizon, awaiting orders.
AEGIS Ships, their radar arrays rotating, prepared for hypersonic and subsonic threats. Technicians worked frantically to troubleshoot the glitches, their tools flashing in the dimly lit compartments. Radar Operators, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of their displays, scanned for aerial threats.
Inside the Carrier, Pilots discussed the situation with a mix of apprehension and professional detachment.
"Who the hell starts a war at 8:00 AM?" Pilot 1 asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
"I don't know. Chinese, North Korean, Russian, or Iranian—I'm out of fucking countries to blame with," Pilot 2 said, his voice flat.
"Maybe North Korea, they were the ones always hot in the news." Pilot 3 suggested, his voice tentative.
"Maybe the Chinese invaded Taiwan?" Pilot 4 chimed in, his voice laced with anxiety.
"Maybe," they all agreed, their voices tinged with unease.
"What are you doing, ladies! Get to your planes, now!" a Plane Captain yelled, his voice cutting through the tension.
The Pilots rushed to the flight deck, climbing into their planes as the flight deck crew armed them with precision and speed.
Beneath the Strike Group, the Submarines lurked, their sonar operators straining to detect any anomalies.
USS Denver
"Sir, we received a 'Condition One' order from the Strike Group," A Communication Officer reported, his voice tense.
The Submarine's Commanding Officer and Captain, their faces grim, ordered the crew to prepare for potential hostilities.
In the Torpedo Room, Submariners loaded MK48 Heavy-Weight Torpedoes into the tubes, their movements precise and efficient. Sonar Operators listened intently, their ears straining for any acoustic signature of an enemy submarine.
Admiral Pike entered the Enterprise's Combat Information Center (CIC), the room bathed in the flickering light of malfunctioning displays. The SPY/6 Radar was functioning, but the system glitches persisted, a frustrating enigma.
"What's the situation, Commander? Did you inform Pacific Command?" Admiral Pike asked Commander Robert, his voice calm but firm.
"Sir, the ship's systems are approximately 80% operational, but the glitches are widespread. Pacific Command is investigating and has alerted Pacific Bases and allied forces. There are no other reports of cyberattacks or system malfunctions in the Pacific Theater," Commander Robert reported.
"So, we're the only ones experiencing this 'phenomenon,'" Admiral Pike said, his brow furrowed.
"Affirmative, Admiral. It appears so," Commander Robert replied.
"Admiral, we received a report from the Bush Strike Group.
They'll rendezvous with us in approximately 30 minutes," A Communications Officer reported.
Suddenly, the CIC was plunged into darkness, the displays turning black, and red emergency lights illuminating the room. Seconds later, power returned, but the glitches persisted.
Admiral Pike contacted the Nuclear Reactor Chief Technician.
"Chief, what's the status of the reactors?"
"Umm... Admiral, the reactors just... shut down. Both of them," The Chief Technician stammered, his voice filled with panic.
"What do you mean, 'shut down'?" Admiral Pike demanded.
"I don't know, sir! There are no indications of malfunction or damage. We're still trying to determine the cause," The Chief Technician replied.
The Submarines, USS Denver and USS Arizona, activated their Emergency Blow Systems, ascending rapidly to the surface as their Nuclear Reactors shut down.
"Sir, we're receiving reports from USS Bunker Hill, USS Denver, and USS Arizona. They're experiencing similar reactor shutdowns and are operating on backup generators," a Communications Officer reported.
"Tell them to—"
"Sir, we're receiving reports from JS Maya, USS Essex, USS Jack Lucas, USS Lafayette, USS Laffey, and USNS William McLean. They've lost propulsion and are operating on backup generators," another Officer reported.
"What in the God's name is going on?" Admiral Pike muttered, his voice laced with frustration.
"Eleven vessels losing propulsion simultaneously. This suggests a coordinated attack, sir," a Junior Officer said, his voice tense.
"Admiral! You have to see this," an Officer said, bursting into the CIC, his face pale and his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"What is it?!" Admiral Pike demanded, his patience wearing thin.
"There's something on the flight deck. They're calling it a tesseract," the Officer reported, his voice trembling.
"Tesseract?" the other Officers echoed, their voices filled with confusion.
"Yes, sir. A tesseract," the Officer confirmed, his voice barely a whisper.
Without hesitation, Admiral Pike strode out of the CIC and onto the bridge. A Sailor pointed towards a commotion on the flight deck. The entire flight deck crew was gathered around a strange object in the center of the deck. He grabbed a pair of binoculars and focused on the object.
Admiral Pike stared through the binoculars, his eyes widening in disbelief. A "Blue Cube" hovered above the flight deck, seemingly defying gravity, surrounded by shimmering, iridescent rings.
"What the hell is that?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.
The Flight Deck Crew, their faces a mixture of awe and fear, were snapping pictures and recording videos of the object. The "Blue Cube" floated serenely, as if suspended by an invisible force.
Admiral Pike quickly scanned the other ships. Each vessel, from the deck of the Amphibious Ship to the deck of the Destroyers and the submerged Submarines, had the same "Blue Cube" hovering above it.
"What the hell is this? Some kind of science fiction space magic?" Admiral Pike muttered, his voice filled with disbelief.
"Is DARPA or the DOD fucking with us?" Captain Kirk asked, his voice laced with suspicion and anger.
"I think that thing is causing all the glitches, Admiral," the Lieutenant suggested, his voice trembling.
On the Deck of the USS Essex
A Young Marine, his curiosity overcoming his fear, reached out to touch the floating "Blue Cube."
"Don't!" his Sergeant barked, his voice sharp with authority.
All the Marines distance themselves at the "Blue Cube" Rifles raised, their finger itching at the trigger. Some bought heavy weaponry for reason of what unknown may come out.
USS Jack H. Lucas
The Captain of the USS Jack H. Lucas, observing the "Blur cube" from the ship's bridge, shook his head in disbelief.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he muttered.
"Maybe it's some crazy alien shit, sir," a Crewman suggested, his voice hushed.
"Say that again, and I'll throw you overboard," the Captain growled, his voice filled with anger and frustration.
"Yes, sir," the Crewman stammered, quickly retreating.
Carrier Deck
The Sailors and Officers on all the ships watched the "Blue Cube" floating above them, their fear and curiosity battling for dominance. No one dared to approach the object, fearing the unknown consequences.
Suddenly, the "Blue Cube" began to glow with an intense, otherworldly light. Marines and Sailors instinctively raised their Rifles, their fingers tightening on the triggers.
"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" a Marine yelled, his voice cutting through the tension.
The "Blue Cube" slowly descended onto the deck, passing through the solid metal as if it were air. The crew watched in stunned silence, their minds struggling to comprehend what they were witnessing.
".... Umm... what now?" a Sailor whispered, his voice filled with trepidation.
A "Blue Grid Line" spread across the entire ship, inside and out, like a spiderweb of energy. The Crew scrambled to avoid it, their faces etched with fear.
"Jesus! What the fuck!" a Marine yelled, his voice echoing across the deck.
The same phenomenon occurred on the other ships. The commanders, their voices filled with urgency, sent out distress signals as their vessels were enveloped in the "Blue Grid Line."
Then, the USS Enterprise began to dematerialize, its massive form flickering and dissolving into the surrounding air. Admiral Pike, his eyes wide with disbelief, issued a final, desperate order.
"Abandon ship!"
Life rafts were deployed, their inflatable forms hitting the water with a splash. Sailors, their faces etched with fear, jumped into the churning sea, their bodies hitting the water with a series of resounding thumps. The scene was chaotic, a desperate struggle for survival.
The same scene played out on the other nine vessels. Alarms blared, their shrill cries echoing across the water. Life rafts were deployed, and sailors and officers jumped into the ocean, their voices a mix of panic and desperation.
"Abandon ship! Abandon ship!"
The order echoed across the radio waves, a chilling testament to the impossible situation.
Four F/A-25 Hellcats, responding to the emergency transmission, raced towards the location of the Strike Group. Their advanced avionics systems began to malfunction, displaying garbled data and error messages. The Pilots struggled to maintain control, their hands flying across the control panels.
"This is Viper. I've lost control of my aircraft. I repeat, I've lost control of my aircraft," a Pilot reported, his voice tight with fear.
The jets spun out of control, their powerful engines sputtering and failing. The pilots, their faces pale and their hearts pounding, ejected from their aircraft, their parachutes opens.
"Shit! There goes my career," a Pilot cursed, watching his milliondollar jet plunging into the ocean.
The 6th Generation Jets, like the ships they were launched from, were enveloped in the "Blue Grid Line" and vanished into thin air, leaving no trace behind.
"The fuck was that?!" The Pilot yelled.
Within a minute, the entire Carrier Strike Group, a symbol of American Naval Power, had vanished from the face of the Earth. The crew, now adrift in the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, faced the daunting task of survival.
Admiral Pike, his aging body unable to withstand the impact of the fall from the Carrier's Bridge, hit the water. He lost consciousness, his body sinking beneath the waves.
The sudden disappearance of the massive ships created a vacuum in the water, a void that was quickly filled by the rushing ocean. The Crew Members who had not yet abandoned ship were sucked and subjected to the crushing force of the imploding water, their bodies tossed and battered by the violent currents.
~20 Minutes Later~
The Bush Strike Group, responding to the distress calls, arrived at the scene. The vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean was now littered with life rafts and floating debris. A massive rescue operation was launched, the ships and helicopters of the Bush Strike Group combing the area for survivors.
Sailors, their faces pale and their bodies shivering, yelled for help, their voices hoarse from exhaustion and fear. Many were in a state of shock, their minds unable to process the impossible events they had witnessed.
Most of the crew, especially those who had fallen from the higher decks, had drowned, their bodies lost to the depths of the ocean. The surviving officers, mostly in their 30s and 40s, were pulled from the water, their faces etched with trauma.
The Bush Strike Group Admiral, his face grim, demanded answers. "What happened to the Enterprise Strike Group?! Where's Admiral Pike?!"
"Admiral, the entire Strike Group just... vanished. Without a trace," a radar operator reported, his voice filled with disbelief.
"How could an entire Carrier Strike Group just vanish? It's impossible!" The admiral's voice was filled with disbelief.
"Sir, we don't know. We have no explanation," The radar operator replied.
"Order the Submarines to search for wreckage! Deploy sonar, underwater drones, everything!" The Admiral barked out orders.
"Yes, sir!"
~Flashback Ends~
Commander Robert finished his harrowing account, his voice heavy with the weight of what had transpired.
The three officers in Admiral Matthew's Office were in a state of stunned disbelief. The loss of an entire Carrier Strike Group was an unprecedented catastrophe, a political and military nightmare.
"A ship vanished without a trace... It's like some alien bullshit," Admiral Matthew muttered, his voice laced with disbelief.
The two naval officers looked down, their faces grim, knowing that their careers were likely over.
The door to the office opened, and a Naval Officer entered, holding a report. "Admiral Pike is dead. The cause of his death is the injuries he receives from the falls his body could not handle the injury of falling from the height of 150 feet." he reported, his voice somber.
The mood in the room grew even more somber, the weight of the tragedy pressing down on the officers.
Captain Kirk, his face contorted with grief, turned away from the others and punched the wall, his fist hitting the plaster with a resounding thud. He sank to his knees, his body wracked with sobs.
Admiral Matthew, his face etched with sorrow, muttered, "We lost one of the most capable admirals in the fleet, and now we're facing the loss of an entire Carrier Strike Group."
"The people in Washington aren't going to like this news," Commander Robert murmured, his voice heavy with dread.
Admiral Matthew asked, his voice sharp, "Have any other Strike Groups experienced the same 'phenomenon' as the Enterprise Strike Group?"
"Sir, there are no reports of any similar incidents. The Enterprise Strike Group appears to be the only one affected," the Officer replied.
"Understood. You're dismissed."
The Officer saluted and left the room, leaving the three men in a heavy silence.
The night in Naval Base Pearl Harbor was unusually silent, the news of Admiral Pike's death casting a pall over the base.
~The Next Day~
All Carrier Strike Groups were recalled to their home ports and friendly ports, a precautionary measure taken to prevent the "phenomenon" from spreading. The news of the disappearance of the Enterprise Strike Group spread like wildfire, igniting a wave of panic and uncertainty across the globe.
In mainland US, protests erupted at the Capitol, as family members demanded answers about the fate of their loved ones serving aboard the missing ships.
America's rivals, emboldened by the perceived weakness of the US Navy, began to make aggressive moves. China, however, reacted with caution, recalling all PLAAN ships from the open Pacific to the safety of their man-made islands in the South China Sea. They suspected an alien threat, having observed the disappearance of the Strike Group through Satellite Surveillance.
NATO Member Nations also recalled their fleets, seeking refuge in their home ports and friendly harbors. Civilian and Commercial Shipping Companies rerouted their vessels, avoiding the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, fearing they might suffer the same fate.
The US Navy deployed a fleet of research vessels and submarines to the site of the disappearance, hoping to recover any wreckage or evidence. ROVs and underwater drones were deployed, their cameras scanning the ocean floor.
Scientists and Professors around the world debated the "phenomenon," their theories ranging from an alien attack to some form of unknown energy or "space magic."
The world was left in a state of uncertainty, grappling with the impossible events that had transpired.