Post

Alunya
Asthea
The Soviet States of Europe
Greater Saint-Paul

The ship rocked back and forth from the tidal current.

It began to steer off course, letting the ocean take it along, surrendering its massive hull to the grip of the waves. The fraction of light visible from the moon gleamed off the side of the ship, a giant mirror of light in the middle of a dark body of nothingness.

A large wave pushed the ship, hitting a large iceberg on the starboard side, causing an ear-splitting scraping sound within the hull of the ship, a large chunk of metal ripped from the hull. Water soon began to flood the walkway.

But no one came to mend the repairs. The once bustling walkways were empty, and most of all, flooded. Red lights and klaxons blared within the ship. Pressure gauges and warning dials were all over the place - yet no one came to mend the repairs.

If one were to shut off the sound of rushing water and the echoes of the klaxons within the ships hull, they might hear cries for help. And those cries for help came from the kitchen.

Culinary specialist Levin Jaroslav, 20, was the only crew of the destroyer YNS Verbatus left. Everyone else was either dead or drowned to their dooms in the vast expanse of the ocean. Levin, fortunately for him, had a small portable shortwave frequency radio, and since he was in the kitchen, all the food he needed - albeit a little soggy from the water. But at least he had food, right?

For what seemed to be centuries, Levin was desperately trying to contact someone - anyone - in the dire hope that his calls for help would be answered. But alas, he was most certainly going to perish in this damn ship.

Until…he heard…voices! Not from his head, no, but from the radio! There were people nearby!

Levin desperately tried contacting them on their frequency, hoping to be heard.

“Hello! Anyone! This is the YNS Verbatus!,” he cried. He began to madly shake the microphone in his hand, rage building up in his eyes. “Please, anyone, answer me!”

What he didn’t hear was the creaking of the flood doors to the kitchen. It began to buckle from the pressure. A bolt shot out from the door, nearly hitting Levin. He looked at the bolt, which landed next to him in the water-filled kitchen. Slowly turning around, he saw the kitchen flood door begin to break apart.

His only reaction left was to scream, but those screams were cut short when the door blasted at him, knocking him unconscious, as the water began squirming inside, like sheep being herded through a narrow fence line.

Levin would never see the light of day again.

The YNS Verbatus finally hit land, being the icy wastelands of the Antarctic. It was ten miles of course of where the original rondevu point was, but it was not alone. For the other three ships of the 49th Yugobatanian Amphibious Carrier Group were also there. The destroyer YNS Fuget, sister ship of the YNS Verbatus, the amphibious assault ship YNS Karlos, and the logistics and supply ship YNS Armedeous.

But they weren’t docked, to the ice, oh no. They were abandoned, lifeless, and full of holes everywhere. The lead ship of the 49th YACG, the amphibious assault ship YNS Karlos, was wrecked, its various aircraft and helicopters scattered across a glacial plain. Some of them were even floating in the water. As well as various bodies, rocking back and forth from the waves.

Many of them were missing limbs, either from decomposition, or from being preyed upon by the local wildlife.

In the distance, a figure watched the fleet in a mixture sorrow and anger. The figure picked up his knapsack, and walked off into the snowy night, determined to get to one place: the rendezvous point.

For he was Vice Admiral Vickers Anderson, former commander of the 49th YACG aboard the YNS Karlos, now a survivor within this Antarctic hellhole.

He was gonna have a lot of explaining to do - that is, if he finds anyone.

Location of the 49th YACG in relation to original rendezvous point:
https://imgur.com/bkqbU0Q