Six (6) days after recorded First Contact

(Encoded transmissions between [CVN-78] and [Firebase CP] from 1820 hours to 1920 hours)

[CVN-76]: Major Thomas, this is Captain Henderson. Have you come up with a plan of action?

[Firebase]: ... Yes sir. I have communicated with Captain Volkov, and together we have come up with a suitable target for the offensive. Sending the information now.

[CVN-76]: ... Information received. What are the drawbacks and benefits to this target?

[Firebase]: It's located on a large island, so any vehicles will have to be loaded onto transports and brought over. The Russian team flew over it in their escape, so our arrival will not be a surprise. However, it is located on the ocean, with extensive port facilities. Being that it is an island forty kilometers in diameter, we will run into no problems with space, and an island itself is relatively easy to secure.

[CVN-76]: What about potential resources? However much I would like to avoid it as a primary reason, that is part of why an offensive is being launched in the first place.

[Firebase]: The Russian team's flyover was able to gather radar data of the terrain, and the SPI system on the Lake Erie has helped us gather an estimated population. All of this is attached in the report that we sent.

[CVN-76]: ... Thank you for your efforts, Major. I just wish that there was some other way.

[Firebase]: So do I, sir. Firebase out.

[CVN-76]: Gerald R. Ford out.

Sokolov slowly set the Mi-24 down on the deck of the Sevastopol, sighing to himself as yet another load of soldiers jumped out. After they were gone and the doors were closed again, he increased the power and took off, banking towards the shore again.

In the past half hour, he had ferried almost a hundred men from the camp to the Mistral-Class Amphibious Assault Ship just offshore. He had been surprised to learn that they had a spare Mi-24, only to learn that the crew that flew it was off-duty. Needless to say, he was being very careful.

A massive Mi-10 flew past, a single T-90A secured underneath it. Even for the behemoth of a helicopter, it was heavy load, and so the massive transport was restricted to an altitude of a few hundred feet.

All that Sokolov knew about what was happening was that an offensive was being planned. A bare 1,200 Russian Army soldiers were being left in the camp. The American forces, the British, and most of the Russians were being loaded onto various ships via helicopters. The two Aircraft Carriers in the makeshift fleet were being crowded by vehicles, taking up space on the flight deck and in the hanger areas.

A major reorganization of the fleet was underway, with a reprioritizing of all command elements underway. With three nationalities represented in the fleet, and with one of them split in two, combined with multiple classes of ships their designers had never imagined would be working together, the situation for whom would command whom was in utter chaos. Captain 1st Rank Volkov and Captain Henderson both led the fleet due to their popularity, and due to the fact that the Russian Admiral aboard the Admiral Kuznetson deferred his authority to Volkov due to the latter's combat experience and the former's age.

He only hoped that it would come out right in the end. He did not want to be stuck under the insufferable command of Colonel Degtyarev any longer than necessary. The sole reason he had been put in charge of the Riga 2 in Moscow seemed to be because he had the political pull to make it so, and by all rights he would have been dead had it not been for the air support he received.

Likewise, the only reason he had been put in charge here had been because there was no other senior officer who could challenge him. Sokolov, however, had heard that the two Captains as well as the commander of the American unit were slowly taking control from him in response to something. Sokolov hoped it was soon: To be forced to listen to the arrogant bastard even more would be torture.

"You alright there, Sokolov?" His co-pilot Bogdanov asked. "You seem out of it."

"Just thinking." Sokolov replied as he sent the helicopter into a left bank while decreasing the power. The Mi-24 slowly lost altitude, setting down on a small pad under his careful control.

Once the large helicopter was fully loaded again and the doors were shut, Sokolov increased the power and watched as the ground slowly shrank underneath him. As he banked back towards the ship, his thoughts again turned back to recent events, pondering again all that had happened.

The lone, unmanned MQ-4C Triton soared above the sea, its camera looking down at the island below. With the sun just above the horizon, the city on the edge of the island was lit with a stunning array of brilliant oranges and dark shadows, providing a good contrast for the camera. The computer aboard the small aircraft was already comparing what it was seeing with real-time radar images from the E-2C Hawkeye controlling it, forming them into a fully three-dimensional map that would be used extensively in the upcoming attack.

As the sun started to sink below the horizon, darkness already starting to cover the land, the MQ-4C noted that numerous lights had sprung into being across the city. Its camera panned across the city, noting several areas that were clearly full of industry, along with the dozens of square miles of farmland outside of the city. The entire island itself was dominated by a massive mountain, with several massive ridges running away from it, themselves spawning smaller ones that formed miniature valleys. The city lay between two of those large ridges, the area encompassing almost a sixth of the island.

A light blinked on the screen in front of the technician, warning telling him that he had enough fuel to loiter for a little over twenty hours at the current speed. Blinking, he sent it into an orbit over the city and laid back, confident that it would continue gathering information.

USS Lake Erie
2300 Hours

The darkened bridge of the Lake Erie was home to the most sophisticated combat system in the fleet, all coordinated by the crew on the bridge. The massive AN/SPI-1B radar was able to see a little over a hundred miles in these conditions, day or night. It was this crew that first detected three faint signatures, coming from the north-west and headed at a speed of twenty-four knots.

"Sir, you have to see this." One of the crewmen manning the radar station said, urging the officer on deck over.

The officer's eyes went wide when he saw the screen. "What in God's name is that?"

There was no reason for any sort of radar contact other than the fleet. The SPI radar automatically filtered out anything that was determined to be a flock of bird, a city, or the terrain, so three clear contacts was unlikely. Considering that the Equestrians seemed to have only wooden ships, confirmed by recent questioning, it was not likely to be Equestrian in origin.

"Getting a signal from the north-north-west. Decoding and transmitting now..." One of the men on the bridge said.

A full minute later, the man's eyes went wide and he turned towards the officer. "It's a transmission in Russian. I'm patching it through to this 'Net' unit, sir."

The officer quickly put on the basic earpiece that was handed to him by the technician. His facial features went from confused to joyful in seconds as he heard the full portion of the transmission.

"Все те неподалекукоторые получают это сообщение: Пожалуйста, ответьте. Это Петр Великий Российской Федерации. Мы были потеряны в море в течение семи дней, наряду с двумя кораблями мы были с в то время." [All those nearby who receive this message: Please respond. This is the Petr Velikiy of the Russian Federation. We have been lost at sea for seven days, along with the two ships we were with at the time.]

The officer quickly ordered several men to wake the captain, who arrived at the bridge within five minutes, tired but awake. By that time, the vessels had closed to ninety miles away.

"What's happening?" Captain Wright asked as he walked onto the bridge.

"Captain on deck!" One of the men shouted, with the bridge crew snapping to attention.

"At ease." The captain said, taking a seat on his chair. "Now will somebody here tell me what the hell is going on?"

The officer went up to the Captain and saluted. "Lieutenant Campbell, reporting. About seven minutes ago, we detected three unknown contacts on the edge of our radar, to the north-west. A transmission in Russian let us know that it is the Kirov-Class Battlecruiser Petr Velikiy, along with two other ships accompanying it."

"And I suppose I will have to initiate contact." Captain Wright said, walking over to the station that controlled the radio, and the technician manning it handed him a full headset. Thus equipped, he waited until between the repeat of the broadcasts before transmitting a message in English.

"Petr Velikiy, this is the USS Lake Erie. We copy your message."

Moments later, a voice came over the radio, responding. "слава богу! Thank God, American. I thought that we were lost for sure. Why are we here, and why can we not contact any satellites?"

"More on that later. What are the other ships with you?"

"One is a Borei-Class Submarine, the Alexander Nevsky. The other is a Zubr-Class, the Mordovia. If you do not mind, where are we?"

Captain Wright smiled as he heard this before replying. "Russian, have we got a story to tell you. Close to fifty Kilometers and find the 'Net' connection that we have, because this will take a lot of explaining..."

Author's Note

Written under the heavy influence of Canned Pears and Orange Juice. Read at your own risk... Oh wait.