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LOCATION: OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE
CITY: WASHINGTON, DC
DATE: APRIL 14, 2026 | TIME: 6:15 PM
At 6:00 PM on April 14th, United States President Michael Trent was in the Oval Office.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was just finishing up a briefing on the day's agenda for the war games in the Pacific Ocean, code named Trident Sentinel.
The Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) was there, along with the Commander, US Indo-Pacific Command (INDOPACOM), who joined by secure video link.
The President's National Security Advisor and his deputy, the Director of National Intelligence and CIA Director were also present.
The Chairman of JCS continued with his report.
"So for day three of the exercises, we've got the USS Ford in place, along with a seven-vessel Carrier Strike Group…"
When the clock struck six, Jonathan Keaton, the White House Chief of Staff, looked at his watch impatiently. The JSC Chair was still droning on and on. This fucking briefing had been dragging on for too fucking long.
He had dinner plans. This new girl, Amber, who he'd been talking to on Flame, the latest dating app taking Washington by storm, told him he had one last chance to show up on time.
They had plans on Friday, and Jonathan got pulled into another working meeting with his hard-working President.
Amber said she understood, but if he couldn't figure out how to make and keep plans, she'd just move on to somebody who could.
"I think we get the gist of Trident Sentinel," Jonathan said. "The President has other commitments this evening to—"
Suddenly every mobile phone in the room erupted in texts and secure phone calls. Those phones were set to Presidential Briefing Mode, which meant that anything coming through was exceedingly important.
Jonathan answered the call, as did most of the others in the room.
"Mr. President," the JCS Chairman said, "there's been a strike on the USS Ford."
Suddenly Secret Service shift leader burst into the room, and began the well-practiced routine of ushering all present into the Situation Room.
They formed a line and were led through a short private hallway to a secure elevator.
A few minutes later, banks of monitors in front of them, and the newly upgraded briefing began.
Video feeds from the closest destroyers in the Carrier Strike Group showed the horrific aftermath left behind by Iron Phoenix.
Another screen featured a hijacked version of North Korean national TV, with hastily translated subtitles showing their dictator declaring "victory over the Western dogs who dare to question the divine right of the great nation…" blah blah blah.
President Trent sat back in his chair, removed his glasses, and rubbed his temples.
All around him, men and women talked and yelled into phones or at each other. Coffee and snacks were brought in.
A few minutes later, an aide handed a stack of papers to Trent, and he began reviewing them.
It was a first draft of response options. This list hadn't been reviewed or made official yet, but Trent had long ago established he wanted to be part of the process earlier on than most Presidents, who often preferred to wait for a more carefully curated list.
Michael Trent had always been like that when in positions of leadership. He enlisted in the Army out of high school, and did two tours in Iraq.
In 2006, with only two months left in his second tour, he caught shrapnel from a land mine that tore up his left knee. He was the lucky one.
Trent's best friend had jumped in the way of the blast and gave up his own life to save Trent's. A sacrifice which Trent vowed to honor.
After a successful knee reconstruction surgery and an honorary discharge later that year, Trent returned home to North Carolina.
He didn't spend any time feeling sorry for himself, and used funds from the GI Bill to go to school.
He had been accepted to both Duke and UNC Chapel Hill, but chose the latter. Even in his mid-twenties, all he could think about was finishing school and getting to work as soon as he could.
He loaded up on the maximum allowable course load every semester, going year-round, and completed his Bachelor's Degree in three years.
Trent had a dual major in Political Science and International Business. He still maintained contacts in the military community, and his wealthy uncle provided the seed capital required to set up a defense manufacturing business.
He started small, machining slide rails for sidearms. He started with two small CNC machines and a stack of forged rectangular bar stock.
He soon added heat treatment chambers so he didn't have to outsource that part of the process, and expanded his business from there.
Eventually, Trent Defense Systems became a premier American success story, with the private company valued at over $400 million after only ten years in business.
When North Carolina's governor was about to be termed out, he asked Trent to run. The governor said it was Trent's reputation as a pragmatic business leader who could work both sides of the aisle.
After quite a bit of convincing, Trent agreed to read some polling. The numbers surprised him, and he threw his hat in the ring.
On election day, he won with 56.4% of the vote, which in a purple state like North Carolina was practically a landslide.
Halfway through his four-year term, his party encouraged him to run for President. He considered it a long shot, but it turned out that his centrist politics and tough stance on trade and defense appealed to the American people.
He was elected at the age of 40. Young for an American President, but he had been through a lot in those years, and he trusted his instincts.
The draft list of options in front of him, predictably, ranged from diplomacy to a nuclear strike on Pyongyang, and fifteen scaling measures in between.
President Trent sighed and set the list down. He grabbed a bagel and stared at it in his hand for a minute, letting the capable teams surrounding him do their jobs.
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LOCATION: ARIA'S BEACH HOUSE
CITY: VIRGINIA BEACH, VA
DATE: APRIL 14, 2026 | TIME: 1800 HOURS
On Tuesday, April 14th, Grim and Brick were both visiting Virginia Beach. Around 6:00 PM, they were hanging at Aria Vance's beach house.
Nina Vosper and Sienna Black were there also. The five were discussing where to go for dinner and drinks, when Grim's phone buzzed in his pocket.
"I don't care where we go, as long as they have a juicy fucking steak," he said as he reached for the device.
He raised a hand in the air when he read the text he'd received, and everyone in the room stopped talking. Grim's face was pale.
"What the fuck…" he muttered, before reading the text aloud.
---
Hey, fuckface.
Turns out you win.
You'll outlive me.
But I'll tell you this: If you don't avenge me, I swear I'm going to marry your mother in hell.
RIP USS Ford
---
"Turn on the news," he said. "Sienna, see if you can get Nathan Rourke on the line to find out what's happening. I'll call Buck."
Brick made a comment about already having dibs on Grim's Mom. Sienna slapped his arm and reminded him it was Grim's sister he had dibs on, before getting serious with everyone else.
It took an hour before they saw anything on the news, but by that time, they already had the details.
A launch by the North Koreans had actually struck and destroyed the USS Gerald R. Ford supercarrier, turning it into a floating graveyard.
Choppers from other ships in the carrier strike group ferried search and rescue teams, but thermal scans didn't show any survivors.
Not to mention the danger of trying to launch a rescue operation on a ship that had suffered a direct strike from a hypersonic missile.
Buck told Aria one rescue crew of six were lost when a sublevel collapsed on top of them during a sweep.
"They're going to call the Search and Rescue off soon," Grim said.
Brick agreed. "Losing more lives after a tragedy like that is something they won't exactly be keen on."
Grim turned to the assembled group.
"Speaking of keen," he said, "what do you think of making a little return trip to bring some karmic retribution on these fuckers?"
"Old Testament style," Brick said, nodding. "You know I'm up for it."
Grim thought for a minute.
"I think it should be us five, and either Samir or Vanessa," he said.
Aria had just hung up from another call.
"Just spoke with Buck again," she said. "You're right. They're giving S&R three more hours, but the teams aren't allowed to go belowdecks. It's too dangerous."
She set her phone down.
"And as for retribution," Aria said, "you know you can count me in. For the sixth team member, I could see Vanessa for her stealth and scary-as-fuck skill set, or Samir for his operations experience… and scary-as-fuck skill set."
"Uh, not to mention, Vanessa would blend in easier than any of us can," Sienna noted, "you know, being Korean and all."
"Hah! True," Brick said.
"I'm going to loop Mallory in," Grim said.
He took his mobile and stepped outside to clear his head.
The ocean surf was usually soothing on his nerves, but today there wasn't enough water in the ocean to smother the raging inferno burning at his core.