<<Warning! Warning! Structural Integrity Exceeds Critical Level! All passengers advice to evacuate to escape pod now! I repeat...>>
As the mechanical voice rang its warning, we hurriedly ran towards the cargo bay, my mother holding my little sister tight as we sprinted towards the escape capsule.
"Ma-mom!." My little sister, with a crying face, tightly hugged my mother as we opened the cargo bay door. Then, upon entering cargo area, she held my hand and put me inside the escape capsule with my sister. However, there are already some people there, and we can't fit together. Seeing this, my mother's face turned grim. Then she closed the capsule's seal. With the door closed, the capsule immediately became pressurized.
"Mom, what are you doing!?" I shouted and stood up while banging on the door.
"Don't worry, my dear. There's another escape capsule over there, I'll follow you later." She ran towards the computer, and began operating it. In the midst of the tremors inside.
"Mom! Mom!." Together with my little sister, we cried and desperately pleading to be with our mother.
She returns back, probably already finishing her preparation and bitterly smiled to us. "No mom!." I immediately understand what those smile meant.
"There's should be a ZAFT fleet in the southern Madagascar, we already sent a distress signal, they should be able to rescue you."
Then the door shut, separating us in the pressurized compartment as our escape capsule began to be dragged by gravity. Once again, the mechanical voice resounded inside the capsule.
<<Inertial dampeners activated, global positioning system all green, set course, -28.866736, 44.914903>>
Following that, a static noise and a familiar voice, it's our mom. "My little angels, please live..." That's the final word I heard from the radio before it cut off. I attempted to connect with our mother, but to no avail. Then, inside the escape pod, I saw our shuttle being momentarily shredded by consecutive hits of energy beams as it burned into the atmosphere. Creating thousands of debris, like falling stars in the sky.
We all cried in fear as the pod shook. The people with different faces were all the same - plastered with fear. Everyone - including children and women - had the same frightened. We all crawled and crowded to each other as the pod shook, screams and cries rang out as people tripped and tumbled across the cabin. The pod trembled violently and it seemed as if it might rupture at any moment.
The capsule landed in the ocean, shaking everyone as finally calming down.
<<Connecting to 35th submarine fleet... Sending distress signal, encrypted message received... SAR units inbound, ETA 870 minutes, please be seated and calm down>>
Mechanical voice of escape pod AI melancholy let out as people began to go on the windows in curiosity, watching the orange hue horizon.
"Sister." My younger sister clenched her fist as she clung to me with crying eyes. The people also wails in anxiety as they were in unknown waters, totally alien to majority of coordinators who only lived in plant. I steels myself by smiling to comfort her. I'm the older here, I must make her feel at ease.
I hum reminiscing our mother's song for us to sleep, calming her down. "We'll be safe." I murmur.
The sun sets in the distance, casting a golden hue over the endless ocean. On the horizon, a thin gray line can be seen moving steadily closer, but the crew on board the approaching ship show no signs of concern. They are simply doing their usual work, patrolling the waters with calm efficiency.
The ship is a Guided missile frigate P'AFNV Durban, one of the Pan-African Federal Navy's 14 city-class frigates. It's a derivative of China's Type-054A frigate, ordered as part of the Pan-African Federation's 2027 modernization initiative. As the ship moves through the water, the sailors man the autocannons and machine guns strategically placed around the vessel, but they do so with an air of routine.
The missile tubes amidship are fully loaded, and the 32 VLS (Vertical Launch System) is packed with an array of surface-to-air and anti-ballistic missiles. But there is no tension in the air, no sense of danger lurking around every corner. The sailors go about their business with a sense of calm, focused on their tasks at hand.
As the ship continues on its leisurely patrol, the sailors chat and joke with one another, passing the time with ease. The only sound is the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull and the occasional laughter of the crew.
This is just another day on board the Guided missile frigate P'AFNV Durban, a routine patrol of the waters, and the sailors are content to carry out their duties with the utmost professionalism, but no hint of concern.
"Captain," a fair-haired young man in his mid-20s called out, his voice hoarse from hours of shouting for help. He was dressed in a pilot suit, his clothes damp and clinging to his skin before finally getting a proper dry clothes. He stood at attention, his hand raised in a crisp salute, as he addressed the captain of the ship that had rescued him.
The young man had been stranded at sea for eight long hours after his jet had gone awry and crash-landed in the ocean. He was exhausted, shivering from the cold, and relieved beyond measure to be alive.
The captain of the ship looked at the young pilot with a mix of concern. "Any problem on your body?."
"Nothing captain... my sincere gratitude for helping me." He said a smile.
"No worries," the young pilot replied, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
But the captain and the rest of the staff on the bridge were noticeably different from the fair-haired young man. The captain, in particular, looked intrigued.
"You're a migrant?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in interest.
The pilot nodded. "Yes, I am a second-generation captain. My grandparents migrated from eastern Europe to here in the 80s and subsequently naturalized."
The captain nodded, his expression thoughtful. While it wasn't uncommon for whites like the young pilot to be migrants, they were relatively in the minority. The crew on board the ship, on the other hand, was dominantly black and mixed with brown skin. In fact, the young pilot was only one of a small percentage of white people in the country, with the majority of the population being black, or mixed.
As one of the few stable countries in Africa without being involved in a series of civil wars that engulfed pretty much the entire continent after the end of colonialism in the second half of the 20th century, the country was still plagued by insurgencies at its borders or illegal migrants crossing in.
"How many times have those Chinese planes gone crashing at sea?" the captain asked, his tone laced with amusement.
"The ninth time if we include mine," the pilot replied with a chuckle.
Both of them stifled their laughter, knowing that China was the major arms supplier of the country. The West may have touted them as second-rate arms suppliers in terms of quality, but the country had still bought a bulk of military hardware ranging from guided missile frigates to carrier-based fighters, all of them Chinese.
"We might end up forced to ground the J-16 as we lost two of them in a year," the captain added, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.
The country had bought as many as 95 navalized single-seat 4.5-generation multirole strike fighter J-16EF and 25 J-16T double-seat trainers, a custom variant of the Chinese J-16. The J-16 was a development of the J-11, the so-called Chinese flanker, as it was a derivative of the Su-27, but with a strengthened undercarriage and structure, folding wings, and stabilizers, all optimized for carrier operations.
Despite being friendly with the Chinese, the country and its military had made some logical decisions at the same time. Like other neutral countries that had bought Russian and non-west-compatible equipment, the country had modified all of their Chinese arms to use western avionics and weapons. Even the vast tank armada of the Pan-African Federation was equipped with western tank guns and fire control systems, to the point that only the hull and engine were the only Chinese things remaining on their imported tanks.
"Still, there haven't been any words of our return," said the captain with a conflicting expression. A day ago, the country broadcasted that the outgoing fleet must remain on their patrol mission, extending for the next week, and Durban should be returning to Freetown, but they received an order to return and rendezvous with the 16th Support Flotilla in South Madagascar.
"Any word from civilian channels?" asked the pilot.
"Nah, not a word. Not even a radio transmission can be received, and my phone is also not working - no signal."
Both of them expressed bewilderment about why they were here for an extended period of time. Why did their government order that? For what reason? Was there an accident? If so, there would be no problem telling them as accidents are unavoidable.
Time passed by, and the captain and pilot looked at the serene sea in silence with nothing to do at the moment. Occasionally, sailors passed by and saluted the captain, but there was pretty much nothing for them to do until the unknown streak of light appeared in the sky. There was a moment of silence on the deck of Durban as everyone looked up in awe. Then, murmurs and whispers started to spread among the sailors as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing, looking up in the sky.
"What is that?" one sailor asked, his eyes glued to the sky.
"I don't know, but it looks like a meteor," another replied, pointing up at the glowing object.
The captain and pilot were also observing the scene, looking in curiosity and fascination.
The unknown object streaked across the sky, the sailors on deck continued to watch in fascination. Some whispered to each other about what it could be, while others simply stared in silence.
Eventually, the streak of light disappeared over the horizon, leaving the sailors to ponder what they had just witnessed. The captain and pilot conferred for a few moments, trying to determine if they needed to take any further action.
"Well, that was unexpected," the captain said finally, "A meteorites here in Africa, it's not even night."
"Agreed," the pilot replied.
As the Durban sailed through the calm sea, the radar operators were carefully monitoring the surrounding airspace, scanning for any unusual objects or anomalies. Suddenly, a blip appeared on the radar screen, catching the attention of one of the operators. The blip appeared to be a rapidly descending object, moving at an incredible speed.
The operator quickly alerted the captain and relayed the information to him. "Captain, we've detected an anomaly on our radar," reported the operator.
"What kind of anomaly?" asked the captain.
"It's a rapidly descending object at an altitude of 100,000 feet, sir. It's about 10 kilometers to the east of our current location," replied the operator.
The captain, along with the pilot, rushed to the radar room to see the anomaly for themselves. They watched as the object rapidly descended, its speed slowing down as it approached the ocean's surface.
"What if it's a missile?" The pilot whispered to the captain.
"Then we'll shoot it down before it hits us," the captain replied confidently.
Upon entering the bridge, everyone saluted as one of the officer proclaimed "Captain in bridge!."
"Prepare for potential impact, raise combat level to 3," ordered the captain. "Keep a close eye on it and update me immediately if there are any changes in trajectory," he ordered.
The trajectory of the object was almost ten kilometers away from the ship and slightly deviated from where the meteor was first seen. The captain quickly ordered the crew to prepare for any potential impact and instructed the radar operators to continue monitoring the object's movements.
The sailors began moving in and out of the ship like ants, as words of "Combat alert 3, all units, this is not a drill" echoed throughout the ship.
As the object came closer to the surface, it rapidly slowed down, and the radar readings became more stable.
"What now?" asked the radar operator.
"Send a helicopter to check it out," said the captain.
"Affirmative," replied the operator.
After a few minutes, the helicopter departed and the pilots confusingly reported back, "It was a boat, or a pod."
This caused a wave of confusion on the side of the Durban. "Pod of what? Those of cruise ships?" asked the captain. But the helicopter pilots clarified, "It was a reentry pod."
Much to the further confusion of the rest of the crew as the sun had already disappeared and the stars were plastered on the cloudless sky.
"Sorry kid, are you drunk?" said the captain, suspecting his men were drunk flying the helicopter.
"No, captain, I'm sober. It's actually a reentry pod from a spaceship to drop astronauts back to Earth. There are even people here, there are even those windows and a parachute entangling the reentry," said the helicopter pilot in response to the captain's voice of suspicion and to break the awkward silence. "No kidding, there are actual people here. We'll begin contact, over."
Everyone in the bridge looked at the comm officer as if asking for confirmation, but shrugged it off.
"Be careful. We'll be sending in rubber boats," said the still-skeptical captain.
It was later confirmed that it was a reentry pod and the people were rescued. The captain instructed the crew to drag the reentry pod to Durban to observe and inspect it more closely.
As the Durban sailed through the calm waters of the Indian Ocean, little did they know that they were being closely monitored by an unknown fleet in the southeast of Madagascar. The fleet consisted of two cruisers and four destroyer-class ships, with their sleek and advanced design indicating a level of technology that was far beyond anything the Durban crew had ever seen before.
In the bridge of the lead cruiser, a person in a decorative uniform leaned forward and spoke in a low voice to the crew around them. "We must find those survivors," they said, their tone urgent and commanding.
A person in the decorative uniform turned to the crew member and spoke in a cold tone, "Innocence is irrelevant. Our world must remain pure at all costs. The escape pod must be captured, and anyone who stands in our way must be eliminated."
As they approached the location of the distress signal, one of the crew members reported, "Sir, we have identified the source of the signal, and confirm it, it's identical to frequency we're we searching for. It's an escape pod, transmitting on an old ZAFT frequency."
The person's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Finally, we have found them. Set course for the pod, full speed ahead."
The crew members scrambled to comply with the person's orders. However, as they closed in on the location of the escape pod, they spotted an detected unknown ship towing the pod away, it's clearly be seen in the radar, and the pod was moving on the direction of the ship.
The second-in-command spoke up, "Sir, a ship is not on our registered merchant ship or IFF. It must be a passing commercial or fishing vessel from African Union unknowingly helping them."
Person's expression turned smirk. "No matter. All filth must be purged, for the preservation of our blue and pure world. Engage that foolish ship and destroy it — oh, no survivors might be there, it's troublesome, close the distance and order them to handover those abomination."
He grinned in the horizon and added, "And make sure to capture the survivors, they're valuable. But for that ship after getting what we need, kill everyone but the survivors."
Durban crew remained oblivious to the danger that was rapidly approaching them, and soon they would find themselves caught in the crossfire of an interplanetary war of the scale they never imagined.
