Chapter 1: The Fog of War
December 26th, 2025, North Cape 5:30 pm: The heavy squall hung low over the foreboding horizon: the sound of thunder was approaching closer every few minutes. The crepuscular rays were increasingly being obscured by the cumulonimbus clouds heading in from the east. Alone, amidst the windswept oceanscape, the Atlantic Dusk, a lone fishing supertrawler broke the surface. It had been on a journey two weeks out, and was hauling, under great secrecy, what the fishing industry called ‘precious cargo’. The haul this time of the year was exceptionally good. This was the Atlantic Dusk’s third sortie in two months. There was cheer on board, and the crew were celebrating with some Château Mouton Rothschild and Poker.
“Check.”, said Philippe.
“What are ya saving your pennies for, Phil? Its gonna be payday soon! Gamble like a man!”, yelled Chad across the table. “I raise ya 20.”
“Well, in his defense, he is only losing very slowly. He might outlast you, Chad”, said Finn, putting his chips in the pot. “I call.”
“You’ve been in there forever, boss! Are we not gonna get anything to eat today? I’m so hungry I could dig into our own catch and make some sushi.”, said Chad, looking towards the kitchen.
“It’s almost done. But you are gonna be the last one to eat.” came in the voice from the kitchen.
“The hell I am.”, grunted Chad, putting out his cigarette butt on the table.
“Call”, said Phil.
The last card opened up. Chad cursed.
“I fold. Looks like all my luck went into the catch., I’m gonna get some air. Here, Erik, take my place”, he gesticulated to the tall guy who had just entered the room.
Chad opened the hatch and stepped out onto the deck. The squall was almost up on them. He had been a veteran of 26 years at sea: he could tell that this evening was going to be bumpy. He leaned against the railing, just as the first drops of rain struck his face.
That was when it happened.
He briefly caught the screaming sound of something heavy travelling at blazing speed right over his head, like an aircraft’s engine, before the ship was rocked by a massive explosion that knocked him down. He felt the shockwave moments later, it penetrated to his very spine, like it would almost dislocate every bone in his body. Temporarily deafened, he saw the silhouette of the superstructure, that was on fire, with broken glass everywhere, and his crewmates pouring out to see what had happened.
He looked around wildly, eyes wide open in every direction, and then he saw it: 3 projectiles streaking across the evening sky, right towards their vessel. One landed on the bow cranes, and another massive explosion rocked the ship, setting the bow ablaze.
“What the hell is happening?” someone screamed and shook him. It was Erik.
“I… I don’t know”, he managed to gasp, then tried to compose himself. His brain was running wild “Someone is attacking us.”
Erik pulled him up, and they leaned on the railing for support, looking in the direction from where the shells came. That was when they say it: the silhouette of another large vessel swiftly moving towards them, about 10 miles away.
“Pirates!”, Eric shouted.
Chad knew this wasn’t a pirate ship: It was too big. Pirates usually operated in smaller, overcrowded vessels, which they could ditch after hijacking a bigger vessel, if need be. This was too big, too noticeable, and what was more, seemed to have heavy artillery. He knew of no piracy syndicate that had such ships, and he had seen his fair share of them.
Suddenly his eyes darted towards something in the water: they widened in shock.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!”, he gasped.
A massive fountain of water erupted on the Atlantic Dusk’s starboard side, almost tilting and capsizing the ship. There was a loud explosion from the underwater belt. Chad was thrown off the railing into one of the life rafts. Many of the crew fell overboard, into the freeing water, screaming at the shock of hypothermia. There was pandemonium on deck.
“ERIK!” yelled Chad, “ERIK!”
He got out of the life raft and looked around. Among the few bodies on deck, he saw Erik, impaled in the leg by a piece of metal that had detached from the lifeboat crane. He was moaning in agony, half conscious, half in shock.
He looked around: more projectiles made their way, bolts of pain screaming their way across the evening sky. This time they missed, as the Atlantic Dusk started to maneuver to port. Apparently, Bruce, the captain, had seen the aggressor and was determined to put distance between them. The ship could do a respectable 20 knots per hour and would reach the Norwegian coast in a few hours. The ship seemed to still be afloat, which was a good thing. He needed to tell Bruce what he saw.
“I’ll be right back Erik. Do not try and remove this. The shaft will stem the blood flow for now. I’ll return with first aid.”, Chad said, and opened the hatch into the ship. The mess was empty, with broken crockery and askew ladles and pots.
He moved swiftly and took a couple of flight of stairs and crossed the long corridor, making his way to the ship’s bow. He climbed another flight of stairs and entered the bridge.
“Bruce…”, he said, looking around.
“Bruce is dead”, said a voice to his right. It was first mate Jenkins. “What the hell is going on?? What ship is that?? Are they pirates?”
“I don’t think so”, Chad sighed. He liked Bruce. He was one of the few people on the ship he respected. Bruce would discuss a lot about ships with him: a subject that they both were knowledgeable about. The Atlantic Dusk had been his retirement plan.
“They have heavy artillery. Cannon of sorts. Not sure what kind, but I do not think we could take much more of that. And they torpedoed us. It is a miracle we are still afloat. Just run.”
Jenkins nodded. He was sweating, despite the cold.
Chad sat down with his head in his hands, right on the floor. His temple was throbbing, and he could feel the warm gush of blood staining his palms.
“There are sailors on deck that need help. Erik… Erik looks bad. Send someone to help them”.
Chad got up suddenly.
“Jenkins lend me your binoculars”. He said urgently. Jenkins took them off his neck and gave them to him.
He looked out. The other ship had disappeared amidst the squall. Apparently, it seemed to be a blessing, giving them the breathing space to turn and run. And the high waves would make it difficult to land accurate shots. But he felt curious. Warships today did not have artillery: they had guided missiles, not cannons. It was too large to be a destroyer, it was surely not an aircraft carrier, and was definitely not coast guard. They were too far away from the shore, away from territorial waters. Piracy seemed to be the only logical conclusion.
“Chad, sit down, you have a good knock on your head. Let us look at it”, Jenkins motioned to one of the men in the room, while he peered out of the bridge. He took the binoculars back and looked at the horizon through them.
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6:54 pm: An hour had passed. They were moving along, although at a slower speed of 16 knots, because the torpedo hit had damaged the power plant, and it had taken in ocean water. They were still repairing it in the decks below. 6 of their men were reported missing, including Philippe. Erik was on marijuana, because they didn’t have morphine. The shaft would have to be taken out when they reached land. The squall raged on, with no signs of ebbing.
Jenkins was talking to the Norwegian coast guard over the wireless. He came over to Chad.
“Definitely wasn’t them.”, he shook his head. “I need you to tell me what I saw.”
“Meteors streaking through the sky”, Chad said “Only much lower, and much louder.”
“Did you get a good look at the ship?”, Jenkins raised his eyebrows.
“It was hazy.”, Chad said “But I could tell you that their ship was bigger than ours. And reinforced.”.
Chad became quiet for a while, then said “Could it be a TransStar vessel?”
TransStar Marine was a rival company to Beachen Inc, for which Atlantic Dusk ran frequent sorties. They were the ‘bad boys’ in the fishing industry, openly flouting international conventions and Corporate Laws. With Arctic cod stocks dwindling, it would not be surprising that TransStar Marine would attempt to poach on vessels and their catch. The company was notorious for being funded by, among others, the Yakuza through shell firms. But they would have to log the ship with the government, and it would be public knowledge.
“Captain!”
Chad was shaken out of his reverie. He got up and looked out. He did not need his binoculars this time: what he saw made his blood curdle.
Their attacker was less than 3 miles away, clearly visible despite the squall. It was moving in parallel with them, easily keeping up. It looked weather beaten, like a ruin come to life. It sat low and long in the water, as if designed for speed. Chad could distinctly make out the outline of three massive gun turrets, slowly turning towards the Atlantic Dusk. The funnel on the ship was billowing black smoke. Smoke? No, that couldn’t be right! No ship in any country’s navy he knew of had those traits. He looked on, petrified and mesmerized, like a deer looking into the eyes of a lion. His eyes lingered on towards the bow, which sank in and out of water, with a German flag…
Wait! That is not Germany’s flag! But he recognized the distinct corrupted Swastika immediately. But this could not be. It was impossible, that ship had been sunk years ago…
“Scharnhorst!”
The Scharnhorst’s guns roared, and 9 shells ripped into the Atlantic Dusk’s hull, punching holes, and starting massive explosions on the ship. One of the shells blasted a hole through the bridge, killing everyone in there. Many sailors jumped into the water, as more and more of the Atlantic Dusk became a smoldering wreck under relentless assault by the German Raider. Slowly flooding, the ship began to tilt towards port and sunk by the bow. The Scharnhorst disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived, back into the squall. No survivors from the Atlantic Dusk were found.
Chronosphere 