Last Crusade: Operation deep horizon

The bridge of the USS Valkyrie, a Gerald R. Ford-class aircraft carrier and the flagship of the Pacific Naval Command, was bathed in the soft glow of radar screens and operational displays. Vice Admiral Elias Graves stood at the center, hands clasped behind his back, watching the endless stretch of the Pacific through the reinforced glass. The air carried the faint hum of machinery and the steady murmur of crewmen coordinating fleet movements. It was another night of routine patrols, another night ensuring the world's most powerful naval force remained vigilant. But something felt wrong.

Graves took a moment to glance at the fleet status display on the bridge's tactical screen. The Pacific Carrier Strike Group, one of the most formidable naval forces ever assembled, sailed in tight formation under his command. Alongside the USS Valkyrie, the USS Independence, a second Gerald R. Ford-class carrier, steamed ahead with its own contingent of fighters and strike aircraft. Four Arleigh Burke-class destroyers—USS Valiant, USS Thunderbolt, USS Sentinel, and USS Reaper—formed a protective screen, their Aegis systems watching for any sign of airborne or seaborne threats. The USS Defiant, a Ticonderoga-class cruiser, maintained a position to provide long-range air defense and missile capabilities. Several submarines, including the USS Montana, a Virginia-class attack sub, patrolled the depths unseen.

"Sir, we're picking up unusual sonar readings," Lieutenant Harris, the fleet's sonar specialist, reported from the operations console. "Deep, about 9,000 meters down. Too large to be a whale, no seismic activity recorded."

Graves turned, his brows furrowing. "Could it be an uncharted seamount?"

Harris shook his head. "Negative, sir. It's moving."

A cold weight settled in Graves' stomach. The Pacific was vast, but not unknown. A moving object of that size with no known classification was troubling. "How fast?"

"Slow… around 10 knots, but erratic. Almost like it's—"

"—studying us," Commander Renee Carter, his executive officer, finished grimly. "Notice the way it moves? It's not just aimlessly drifting—it's adjusting course based on our fleet's positioning. Almost like it's probing us, testing our response times."

Graves exchanged a glance with Carter. The Pacific was home to some of the most advanced submarines on Earth, but none could operate at those depths. The thought of an enemy sub operating unseen in his waters set his teeth on edge.

"Send USS Valiant and USS Thunderbolt to investigate," Graves ordered, referencing an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer and a Zumwalt-class stealth destroyer, both specializing in anti-submarine warfare. "Deploy sonar buoys and maintain active sonar sweeps. I want answers."

"Aye, sir."

Moments later, encrypted communications crackled as the two destroyers acknowledged orders and began their approach toward the disturbance. The USS Valiant adjusted its course, cutting through the waves at 30 knots, its sonar arrays actively scanning the abyss below. On the bridge, Lieutenant Commander Eric Dawson, the ship's executive officer, monitored the readings alongside the sonar operators. "Keep those pings steady. I don't want any blind spots."

"Aye, sir," replied Petty Officer Ramirez, eyes glued to his console. "Sonar is clean so far, but the water temperature anomalies are making it tricky. It's like something is dispersing the sound waves."

Meanwhile, the USS Thunderbolt, a Zumwalt-class stealth destroyer, maintained a parallel trajectory, deploying autonomous underwater drones to enhance their search grid. Commander Lisa Hendricks, standing near the drone operations station, studied the telemetry feed. "Send two more drones to grid seven-alpha. I want a full sweep. If something's down there, we'll find it."

The ocean ahead remained deceptively calm, the moonlight reflecting off its surface as if nothing lurked beneath. But the tension among the crews of both ships was palpable—every officer and sailor aboard knew they were heading into the unknown, and whatever was down there had already proven elusive.

Thirty Minutes Later

The Valkyrie's combat information center (CIC) was filled with quiet urgency. Officers moved between workstations, heads bowed over monitors displaying sonar and fleet positioning. The atmosphere was tense but controlled—this was a fleet used to operating under pressure.

"Valiant reports all sonar buoys deployed," an ensign announced. "Passive sonar sweep engaged. Thunderbolt is running active sonar now."

"Alright, let's see what we've got," Graves said, leaning over the console.

The first sonar pulse went out. A faint return echoed back—a deep, distorted signature.

"We've got a contact," Harris reported. "Three hundred meters across… but something's off. The return signal is… warping."

"Define 'warping', Lieutenant," Carter interjected, her tone sharp.

Harris adjusted his display. "It's not a solid return, ma'am. The energy is scattering—like it's being absorbed. That's why it's fading in and out."

Graves' jaw tightened. "You're saying it's actively countering our sonar?"

"Yes, sir. It's like… it knows it's being scanned."

Before Graves could respond, the CIC screens flickered.

"Sir! Valiant is transmitting an emergency broadcast," a communications officer called out. "Patching it through now!"

The transmission came through, garbled and broken by interference.

"…It's…down here…Massi—…moving—…GOD!"

Then, silence.

"Valiant, respond!" Graves barked. "Thunderbolt, do you have visual?"

"Negative, Admiral! Valiant just disappeared from our sensors! It's gone! One second it was there, next second—nothing!"

A dead hush fell over the CIC. Two hundred sailors, gone in an instant.

Carter exhaled sharply. "Sir… we just lost a destroyer."

"Launch a UAV over their last known position," Graves ordered, fighting down the wave of dread clawing at his gut. "I want satellite imaging. And put me through to Pacific Command."

Before anyone could respond, another alert flashed across the screens.

"Sir," Harris whispered. "Satellite infrared just picked something up. A thermal signature… rising from the deep. Fast."

Graves turned to Carter. "How fast?"

"At least seventy knots and accelerating."

That was impossible. No submarine on Earth could move that fast.

Then the comms lit up again.

"Admiral! Unidentified aerial contacts breaking the cloud layer! Multiple bogies inbound! No transponders—descending fast!"

Graves locked eyes with Carter. "Sound general quarters. I want every ship at battle stations. Now."

The klaxons blared as sailors scrambled to their posts. On the flight deck of the Valkyrie, deck crews worked with practiced precision, signaling and preparing the next wave of aircraft. The catapults engaged with a deafening roar as F-35Cs and F/A-18 Super Hornets were hurled into the night sky, their afterburners cutting streaks of fire through the darkness. Electronic warfare aircraft, EA-18G Growlers, followed close behind, their sensors primed to scan the unknown threat. Below deck, weapons crews armed defensive missile batteries, releasing safety locks on CIWS and ESSM launchers. The fleet was coming alive for battle.

Something was in the Pacific—and it was watching them.

Across the fleet, tension crackled like a live wire. Crews aboard every ship scrambled to battle stations, locking down watertight compartments and manning their respective posts. Fire control officers ran final diagnostics on their missile systems, ensuring every VLS cell was primed and ready. Sonar operators on every vessel fine-tuned their systems, desperately searching for any sign of the phantom that had already claimed two ships.

On the USS Defiant, the Ticonderoga-class cruiser, Captain Malcolm Reeves barked orders. "Bring up all Aegis systems! I want every radar and sensor sweeping for hostiles! Get me firing solutions on any unregistered contacts!"

Aboard the USS Independence, Captain Rachel Donovan observed the flight deck from the bridge, watching as the final batch of strike fighters were launched into the dark sky. "Keep the squadrons on combat air patrol. Any unidentified craft gets one warning—then we shoot to kill."

Meanwhile, in the Valkyrie's CIC, Admiral Graves gritted his teeth as he tried once again to reach Pacific Command. "This is Valkyrie, emergency priority! We have multiple contacts engaging the fleet—repeat, enemy engagement imminent! Requesting immediate strategic response!"

Only static answered him. Communications were being jammed.

Carter swore under her breath. "Sir, we're being cut off. We're on our own."

Graves inhaled deeply, his voice calm but edged with steel. "Then we hold the line. We fight."

Outside, in the vast darkness of the Pacific, something massive stirred beneath the waves.

And it had just taken two of his best destroyers without a trace.

Now, it was coming for the rest of them.