Three months earlier:<br/><br/><em>Fleeting images of blurry faces above navy-blue uniforms milled about a flight deck at different paces. Some seemed to move at an alarmingly unnatural speed while others drifted far too slow for casual movement. It was impossible to identify any individual by their appearance, yet each figure evoked a sense of familiarity. The sun sat too high above the horizon for how dark the sky had grown. The silence was nearly audible: it seemed to lend a sense of density to the air that embraced that open space in an almost gelatin substance. A crowd of shadowed figures sat huddled in one corner of the open hangar bay, and while each of their expressions were shrouded in shadow, he could feel their accusing gazes pierce right through him. A deep breath was drawn through his own flared nostrils, and with it his surroundings swelled in imitation of his lungs.<br/><br/>And suddenly, the world sat still. An unearthly, muted howl sounded somewhere in the distance. Its voice rasped with a metallic shrill as it continued to grow steadily in pitch and volume. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and just as that howl became almost too much to bear ---</em><br/><br/>SLAM<br/><br/>Petty Officer Aiden Reaux collided with the bunk across from his own before landing face first on the deck. That howl had chased him out of his nightmare. Only now, that metallic scream was accompanied by the wail of alarms and buzzers sounding from the level below: the engine room. He pushed himself up with a groan that failed to compete with the chaotic sounds echoing throughout the vessel.<br/><br/>The berthing area was pitch black -- even the soft red lights ment to preserve night vision had been extinguished. Extended hands met with the cold metal of rows of coffin racks as Reaux pushed his way towards the exit. The sound of of the door slamming into the bulkhead as he kicked it open was punctuated by the passe’s wildly flickering overhead lights. His black, steel-toed boots carried him towards the next hatch. He had fallen asleep fully dressed after the mid-watch he had stood only hours ago.<br/><br/>Hatch after hatch exposed empty pass after pass, and suddenly the Petty Officer could feel his stomach drop to his knees.<em>Where the hell is everyone?</em>The heel of his hands began to bang against the bulkheads of neighboring berthing areas as he continued to lumber forward. “GET UP, GOD DAMNIT! EMERGENCY WATCH STATIONS, EMERGE--” Another violent shutter caused his body to slam against a door leading into rec-deck 3. A quick grab at the door’s knob kept him upright, but the sight nearly knocked down again: empty. A quick shake of the head forced him back into reality and he quickly made his way up the stairwell leading to the main pass.<br/><br/>On his right sat a large, bright red hatch that lead directly to the engine room. The back of his hand pressed against it for only a moment before retracting with pain: its surface was hot enough to sear human flesh. A string of curses were swallowed up by a deafening groan resonating off the of port bulkhead. His knee hit the deck as he scrambled to pull up on the lever meant to discharge the Halon fire extinguishing system directly into the ship’s main turbines. Another jolt to this vessel's interior caused the lights to shut off again. The sailor pushed through the dark towards the hatch that would open up to the starboard’s exterior.<br/><br/>The night air was warmer than expected, but a clear sky allowed a full moon to reflect its beams across the ship’s white paint. The Atlantic Ocean lay dead ahead, but the sight to his left caused him to stop dead in his tracks.<em>The Hamilton</em>, his vessel, was colliding with a massive, concrete bridge -- a bridge that was in no way capable of allowing the ship to pass unscathed. The howling he had heard was the portside bulkhead being ripped open by its massive pillars.<br/><br/><em>76 mm cannon shells, fuel and more 50. rounds than I can cou-</em><br/><br/>The crunch of the wheel house’s glass windows being pulverized by the low lying bridge yanked him out of his thoughts. The dual smoke stacks would be next on the chopping block if the bridge didn’t come down right on top of him. Time slowed to a crawl as he turned to make a full blown sprint towards the fantail. More collisions and their audio aftermath caused his ears to ring until muffled silence held his sense. His right foot kicked the capsule containing the inflatable life raft overboard before diving in after it.<br/><br/>It took most the night for BM2 to finally reach shore.<em>The Hamilton</em>had blazed for hours like a beacon in the darkness. They had been steaming in excess of twenty-eight knots an hour, even the bridge and the termination of engine power couldn’t stop its momentum. The first grey of dawn was heralded by a roar and a flash of light in the distance.<br/><br/>Long Island.<br/><br/>They had been moving East along Long Island’s South shore when he had been relieved from his watch. The finger of land was all but foreign to him. He knew there were small boat stations along its coast: two of his buddies from A school had been stationed there. It was time to find someone --<em>anyone</em>-- with a higher rank than his own, and figure out what the hell had happened.<br/>