Season 3 chapter 54
The Intercepted Frequency
The heavy maintenance hatch in the floor bulkheads of the DNV 36 hung open, exposing the smashed radio tubes and the intentionally severed copper cables of the ship's primary communications array.
The DI'an Commander practically collapsed against the central console, panting heavily. His uniform was entirely soaked in cold sweat, his chest heaving as he stared out the reinforced bridge glass at the towering, solid steel wall of the Zumavian armada holding them at point-blank range.
The Vice-Captain looked down at the ruined cables, entirely chill, and lazily reached into his coat.
"Okay," the Vice-Captain muttered nonchalantly. "Let me try this once."
The Commander wiped the heavy sweat from his forehead, staring at him in pure, breathless panic. "The physical wires are really damaged! How are you gonna call this? How... how are you gonna use this phone?!"
Nonchalantly, without a single trace of fear, the Vice-Captain pulled out a bulky, experimental short-wave cell phone.
"Sir, I am not going to use the main board," the Vice-Captain stated smoothly, extending the thick brass antenna. "I have a spare phone, but I don't think so it is going to work. But yeah, let me try."
With a perfectly relaxed expression, he cranked the side-dial of the heavy handset, attempting to punch through the local interference to reach the mainland. Static heavily hissed over the receiver. Then, with a sharp click, the line connected.
But instead of the authoritative voice of the DI'an Naval Command answering the distress call, an incredibly upbeat, overly cheerful commercial voice chimed over the bridge speaker.
"Welcome, sir!" the voice greeted enthusiastically over the heavy static. "You have reached the direct line for Hulli Hulli Insurance! H-U-L-L-I, H-U-L-L-I, Hulli Hulli Insurance! Right now, we are offering an exclusive twenty percent off on EMIs! So, do you want to have some kind of insurance with us today? We are offering all kinds of insurance—health insurance, life insurance, and marine insurance!"
The bridge crew froze. The panting Commander's jaw dropped in sheer, unadulterated shock.
"Given your current situation," the cheerful insurance agent continued smoothly, a dark, knowing amusement underlying his tone. "I think so the marine insurance would be the best for you."
A cold chill swept through the room. The other naval officers exchanged horrified looks—the telemarketer knew exactly what situation they were in. It was a complete syndicate setup.
Still, the Vice-Captain remained entirely relaxed, leaning comfortably against the console as he spoke into the receiver.
"Actually, I was preferring for some kind of marine insurance," the Vice-Captain conversed casually. "I would be willing to talk about a marine insurance, but can you please help us communicate with the mainland? With the main authoritative DI'an Naval Command? Can you please dial this number so that we can have contact with the mainland? You are our only hope."
Across the line, the overly cheerful persona completely vanished.
"No, sir. Absolutely not," the operator replied flatly, his voice dropping into a cold, mocking deadpan. "I am not here for anything else. And just the thing I want to tell you is that you are fucked up."
CLICK. The line went dead.
Frowning slightly, the Vice-Captain immediately gripped the dials again. He frantically cranked the frequency generator, trying several times to redial the number, call anyone else, or reconnect to the agency line to trace the signal.
Hiss. Click. Silence. He tried again. Absolutely nothing but empty, hollow static.
The Vice-Captain lowered the handset, shaking his head. "I don't think so this phone is ever gonna work again, because it is only connected to the one line which is to this insurance company, and there is no other option left."
Another naval officer standing near the plotting table looked up, his face pale and deeply distressed. "Sir, what can we do?! What should we do right now?! No time is left!"
The Commander gripped his head, sweating profusely as he paced the deck in absolute despair. "I don't know! I am also thinking, but we are entirely cut off!" He pointed a shaking finger at his second-in-command. "And look at him! The Vice-Captain is not taking this seriously! I don't know what happened into him, but he's literally treating it like a joke!"
"I don't think so, sir," the Vice-Captain shrugged nonchalantly.
Before the Commander could scream back, the massive military loudspeaker from the Zumavian flagship violently screeched across the freezing ocean once again.
KRRRR-GZZZZT!
"DI'an patrol vessels," the cold, ruthless voice of the Zumavian Admiral boomed across the dark water. "Hey, just an announcement to tell you that your five minutes are almost over, and only one minute of yours is left."
The Final Minute
The loudhailer feedback from the Zumavian flagship hung heavily over the freezing, choppy waves. Inside the bridge of the DNV 36, the countdown was suffocating.
Despite the sheer, terrifying reality of hundreds of heavy iron cannons pointed directly at their hull, the Vice-Captain casually picked up the acoustic hailing mic again. Leaning back against the central console, he blew a stray piece of dust off his sleeve and broadcasted back across the water with absolute, unbothered nonchalance.
"Zumavian command, sir, look, we need some more time, actually," the Vice-Captain drawled smoothly into the receiver. "You know, before we authorize anything, I really need to dump some shit. My stomach is completely acting up, and taking a dump is really, really required right now. Have some basic human courtesy."
Across the dark ocean, the massive military loudspeaker vibrated with raw, unfiltered fury. The Zumavian Admiral had officially hit his absolute psychological limit.
"I don't give a fuck about your stomach!" the Zumavian Admiral roared over the megaphone, his voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated rage. "I want your decision right fucking now! Your fucking five minutes are over! You asked me for five minutes to confer, and I provided you with that! Drop your colors immediately!"
The Vice-Captain smirked, entirely refusing to drop the bit as he spoke back into the mic.
"No, sir, let's look at the actual administrative parameters," the Vice-Captain corrected casually. "Actually, I explicitly asked you for forty minutes, but you only granted us a measly five minutes. That is a massive operational discrepancy on your part. Furthermore, the plumbing on this frigate is completely sub-standard. If I am going to drop a tactical load, I need at least twenty minutes just to establish a proper ceramic perimeter. You cannot rush human biology with heavy artillery! It is a literal violation of international maritime hygiene laws!"
Beside him, the DI'an Commander completely lost his mind.
Panting heavily, his face entirely pale and streaming with cold sweat, the Commander lunged forward and aggressively ripped the hailing mic straight out of the Vice-Captain's hand.
"Sir, please! Sir, please! Sir, please grant us some more time!" the Commander practically shrieked into the receiver, his voice echoing with absolute, desperate terror. "We will definitely work according to your parameters! Just grant us a little more time! There are still some internal inventories and data that need to be finished! Please, hold your fire!"
Across the water on the Zumavian flagship, the Admiral stood on his command deck, gripping the iron railings in absolute, bewildered frustration. Hearing the frantic switching of mics, the stark contrast in voices, and the utter chaos broadcasting over the open channel, his brain nearly short-circuited.
Through the heavy static of the loudhailer, the Zumavian deck officers could clearly hear the DI'an Vice-Captain screaming obnoxiously from the background of the DNV 36 bridge.
"Hey! Give that back! Let me speak!" the Vice-Captain's muffled voice echoed over the open transmission. "I want to talk to him! Tell him his time-keeping is entirely unverified! And my digestive tract is a sovereign entity!"
"Oh, what the fuck is even happening over there?!" the Zumavian Admiral snapped furiously into his megaphone, completely done with the absolute circus playing out on the DI'an frigate. "No! I am not granting you another single second! Your time is entirely completed!"
The Admiral aggressively slammed his hailing receiver back into its brass cradle. Breathing heavily with unfiltered rage, he turned sharply to the senior Zumavian artillery officer standing tightly beside him on the command deck.
"I think it is officially the time," the Admiral ordered coldly, his eyes locking onto the tiny DI'an patrol vessels. "Make all the primary guns ready. Deploy firing solutions, and on my explicit orders, start firing. Sink these absolute bastards."
"Aye, sir!" the officer saluted sharply.
Immediately, the senior gunner cranked the heavy mechanical deployment wheel on the central dais.
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK! VMMMMMMMM!
An immediate, terrifying mechanical scream erupted across the entire Zumavian armada. The massive, steam-driven internal gears of the heavy artillery batteries aggressively locked into place. Hundreds of towering iron barrels adjusted their elevation gears simultaneously, dropping their massive crosshairs point-blank onto the fragile glass bridges of the DNV 36 and DNV 39. The heavy firing lanyards pulled taut.
Inside the DI'an bridge, the Commander braced against the console, closing his eyes in sheer, absolute dread as the mechanical whine of the loaded cannons signaled their execution.