Global Strike

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The inverted bow of the USS Michael Monsoor cut through the dark waters of the Pacific Ocean, the ship’s distinct silhouette nearly invisible on the moonless night. A thin layer of scattered clouds allowed the occasional window of starlight to illuminate patches of sea.

“Any sign of them?” Captain Harris asked.

“Nothing yet, sir,” replied the officer of the deck.

The captain stood in the center of the dark bridge with a small watch team. They were surrounded by flat-panel video feed that provided them with an artificial 360-degree view of the outside world, dimmed down to the lowest level so as not to affect their night vision. Two petty officers steered the ship with a trackball, keyboard, and the click of a button.

The officer of the deck touched his headset. “Captain, the TAO requests your presence in combat.”

“On my way.”

Captain Harris hustled into the ship’s combat information center, the envy of most modern warships. Nearly a dozen personnel sat in four rows of multi-screen computer terminals, monitoring the electronic signals, passive sonar, and communications. The captain and XO had hand-picked the combat watch team, and the varsity players were on duty tonight.

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