News pieces from the times, decades ago counting up to present memory;
Chinese Sloops Upon The West Coast?
New York Times / August 10, 1862 - Ethan Lockswitch
Thirty miles away from the California bay, sailors of the fishing boat, MS Camphrey spotted a "strange medieval-like ship, with no reliable identification and no means of understanding (as we could not communicate with it)." Said the MS Camphrey's Captain, Cpt. Chris Hemphree.
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The Shenandoah's "Cali" Mystery Fleet Encounter
San Fransisco Chronicle / August 10, 1866 - Colesman Smolles
The Confederate Shenandoah, a commerce raiding ship, encountered a small armed fleet of wooden sloops near California's coast. James Waddle, her captain, noted that the fleet was not from the union, as it did not feature the telltale designs of union ships, neither did the flags match with any recognizable naval powers in the Americas. However, Cpt. James ordered to fire at broadside as the possibility that the ships may be from the Union could not be overlooked. The ships, being made of wood, were easily sunk by the Shenandoah's broadside guns.
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The Mysterious Tragedy of The SS Maguilda
The New York Sun / August 10, 1872 - Murphy Pollock
At 10:00 AM departing from the coast of Los Angeles en route to Seatle, Washington. The SS Maguilda would tragically sink along with her one thousand five hundred (1,500) passengers. Ten survivors of the incident offered minute details of the sinking; a light appeared from the horizon, 'blinding' said one of the survivors who was at the promenade deck at the sighting. And from that light were ten wooden ships, noticeably large 'galleon like' in appearance and were flashing their broadside upon the SS Maguilda.
After the salvos and sinking of the SS Maguilda, the ships returned from where they had come from, 'where ever those monsters may be.'
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The Cali Phenomenon
The New York Times / August 10, 1886 - Elmundo Gutierez
A fleet of wooden warships would always appear near the coast of California bearing ill intentions and have (on-record) sunk ten civilian and one coast guard ship. The USN, in cooperation with the British, plan to, in the words of President Grover Cleaveland; "destroy the wooden sloops, in retaliation for the people of California and the pride and integrity of an indomitable United America."
A battleship that rivals any other. With British and American minds put together, the two navies plan to build the best battleship ever constructed, with the biggest guns ever made. A sixteen million dollar cooperated attempt, the USS Dreadnaught, under British namesake.
-
[ AUGUST 10, 1888 ]
Adm. Rosco looked at the ship. The mighty USS Dreadnaught, newest, biggest, and baddest. Her speed was a dreadful fifteen knots, her two twin 14" main guns upon the front of and the back of the ship, ever-so frightening. Upon each broadside, she carried four 6" secondary turrets with a twenty 4" casemate tertiary armament.
Blegh. So many words.
Her hull was painted white, the superstructure painted a yellow ochre. With a relatively tall hull in comparison to many battleships of the era as she was expected to traverse wild seas like it were the pacific. And speaking of the pacific, her hull was long and large.
A width of 656 ft and a breadth of 82 ft. By far, the biggest warship ever made in contemporary history.
"And I am to command it." Adm. Rosco looked at the watch, 8:31 AM. "Where to? I don't know. Will I even come back? That I don't know either."
"Admiral."
Rosco turned. "Mr. President!" He saluted.
"I am glad to have you commanding this ship towards these foes of ours. These magical foes we know not a thing about. That, I salute you brother," -he patted his shoulder- "a better man would have given you a medal, that I am one. But unfortunately, that better man has no more money to expend. But I give you my thanks, and my prayers in its stead."
"That is much already."
"Good, man, you. I bid you luck." He shook Rosco's hand as the president, with his list of bodyguards, exited the room and out. Where inside was muffled, the opening of the door blasted forth within the triupmh crowd of the American people.
Its been an hour.
Rosco did not attend the president's aide at his speech, even through the pressure of his subordinates, he stayed in his little room observing, contemplating, looking at the ship. That was when a new face appeared. "Sir," Rosco looked at the man, the timid man. "Sir, it is time to depart."
Rosco smiled. It was just about time. He looked at his watch once more, 9:35.
"Those wooden bastards appeared always at ten, right? From reports I've seen..."
"Yes, ten o' clock sir."
"Come out that light portal, we'll sink em."
"Y-yes... Indeed we will, sir."
Adm. Rosco pushed aside the new face, exiting through the door. The crowd that was there an hour ago was long gone, instead all that was left were interested bystanders, journalists with cameras, and people who hate the project entirely. It costed the United States' Navy a little more than pocket change. Rosco knew that, and the hate was warranted.
A wave of cameras stared at him, taking photos of him as he took his calculated walk towards his ship, his subordinates tailing behind. He was sure that his face would go down in history. Towards what annal of history? He didn't know. Will he be labeled a fool in the future? A naval genius? A hero of America? A hero of the world?
He chuckled, his smile lasting as he trodded the catwalk up the hull and onto the deck. Where his officers greeted him with smiles, the sailors saluting him. He turned back, the journalists taking an image of his every movement. That was when he took out his hat, his white hat, took a gentleman's bow, and said; "to the world, I give my adieu! To my family, I give my I love you! To the American people, I give my thank you! To the wooden sloops, I give my heartfelt fuck you!"
( * )
[ 10:00 AM ]
Adm. Rosco was indifferent to the fears of the sailors. And the smirks and prideful expressions of the officers behind him. The battleship was powerful. Why would you need such powerful thing, with enough food to last a two years inside, with machinery and equipment to build another of itself, and enough professionals within to take ahold of some uninhabited island and create a first world country.
The light struck the horizon. But no ships came out of the horizon. A no-show today? "Push on," said Adm. Rosco. And at a cruising speed of eight knots, she waltzed towards the horizon.
It was an apparant translucent wall. At first, Rosco's officers didn't want to approach the wall in fear of the bow (the front of the ship) being caved in. The fear, however, didn't enter Rosco's mind. "At full steam if you have to."
Sailors from everywhere on the ship attended a glance at the spectacle and the outregeous moving-to towards the translucent wall. Gripping the Lord upon their necklaces, nervous wrecks some others. Adm. Rosco, indifferent.
-3-
-2-
-1-
The bow passed through! Soon the entire ship was engulfed, the sailors were terrified of the wall, at first thinking they were running into something akin a brick wall. But it passed through their bodies like the thing were just air. But it wasn't air. It wasn't anything scientifically possible even.
Adm. Rosco stepped out of the bridge. A deep inhale. The air was fresh. The air made him relaxed. The air was unbelievably calming. Unbelievably pure and clean. "The new world." He smiled.
---
Quartermaster, Mellsworth Geldhard, had been logging every and each occurence, every minute detail. For one, he sun stayed the same spot and the seas were just as treacherous as the West Coast could be. Nothing out of the ordinary just yet. "And there are no sloops nor galleons."
"Do not be so eager to meet your enemy Mr. Mellsworth." Warned the Navigator, a certain German-American man by the name of Edward Schmidt, fiddling with his map's instruments.
"I... I am merely intrigued."
"Intrigued?" He continued with his business, though was throughly engaging with Mellsworth. "How so?"
"Why do they fight us? If they are human, is it not more common sense that one should be more friendly with whom you don't know?"
"That is your opinion Mr. Mellsworth. And though opinions are a nessecity in our modern world, understand that they are opinions."
"And what is the... Objective take?"
"To treat everyone as an enemy." He put his instruments down. "You have wooden sloops, I have ironclads with cannons, steam chimneys, are faster than you, chases you down, rises flags of unknown meaning... The question in your mind isn't to make relation. Its to respond through aggression.
"The first salvo decides the entire battle, they say." He drank a cup of coffee then getting back to his work. "Alright," -he sighed- "under the course we're at, we'll arrive at Tokyo. But if we're in the New World, then we'll arrive in another continent. Unknown to all of us. And I'd want to be see and map it for myself."
Mellsworth moaned, "oh how I'd want to go to Tokyo. I've read many romantic things about it. I would also love to look at Kyoto's castles."
"Continue dreaming," Schmidt said with a rough voice. "If we do see Tokyo, that's sixteen-million dollars for what? America will be forced into a depression, the people will be angry and we'll be forced under. The United States Navy will be to blame. And a day after, President Cleaveland'll be shot dead, officially plunging the entirety of America into a great madness." By every sentence, his words further exagerated.
Nervous laughter, "you are one insightful German."
"You are one blissfully unaware Englishman." There was a calmness to his voice.
---
Its been one and a half days.
"Not one Japanese ship." Adm. Rosco observed the water horizon. "Where there should be the Japanese Archipelago is just... Water." He looked at his crew, "its confirmed. We're somewhere and nowhere at the same time. Finding land is our upmost priority. But, land? Where is that?" He sighed.
"I suggest we rest for now, sir." Mellsworth said. "Find land tommorow morning."
"Aye to that," he chuckled just as the entire bridge followed with the laughter.
---
Night arrested the sky. And the ship, with her lights, was a pearl upon the black rum-like sea. Due to the large size of the ship, even if the ocean's waves were a tad large, it was smoothed out just enough in-so-that the mess hall near the middle of the ship was stable.
Schimdt, still conducting his duties upon the bridge, charting and looking back at the logs. No discrepancies. He sighed. Faint footsteps turned legible, behind him. A pat upon his back. "Admiral." He knew, even without looking at Rosco behind him. "What is it sir?"
He handed him a ham sandwich.
"Thank you."
Adm. Rosco soaked himself in the cool air of the bridge. The New World. The prelude to it was peace. He put his hands out, basking. Then slowly, he closes his presence, putting his hands clasped upon his chest. His serene face turns the other way round. "I saw it."
Schimdt paused in his eating.
"Bearing of 310."
Immidiately he put the sandwich on his map, leapt to the bridge's windows, tackled his binoculars putting it upon his eyes. No doubt. "Where are the bridge watch!?" Schimdt expressed.
"I've sent my officers running here-" -the bulkhead door opened- "and here cometh. Eyes to 310!"
"310. Aye, sir!"
Immidiately, the bridge was teaming with officers and sailors rushing to provide the latest up-and-up.
"At full speed!" Adm. Rosco held at command volume.
"At full speed, aye!"
The opportunity was something that cannot be lost, at any reason. Rosco saw the ship's sails flailing awake. At the speed that the ship went, by goodness, even a cutter might be faster than it. "Chase it." Rosco gripped his binoculars hard.
The whole ship was awake with the news that came from the bridge. First encounter!? The gunnery crew were already upon their stations, the secondary guns, loaded. Yet they were told to wait.
Hearts thumped along the deck.
Rosco saw its masts, it was a small fishing ship. Couldn't harbor any guns on that. And they were unbearably slow. Nearing her by the mile by the minute, the watch team took note the fact that there were five people. Middling in age, with the captain of the ship wearing a hat that John Paul Jones would wear.
The Dreadnaught's bow-mast spotlight lit up, the passengers of the small fishing vessel beyond distressed. But one man, 20s? Was first to rid himself of the delirium of suprise and rose a flag. Rosco examined.
The distance was three miles.
"What do we do sir?"
"Lessen speed."
"Lessen speed, aye!" The order relayed as the golden wheel thrusted orders.
"Approach with caution."
"Yes, sir." The fishing vessel's sails went down and were tied to the mast, the fishermen were on the deck. Seemingly arguing with themselves, but nothing could be figured out as the distance was far too great, the sea far too loud, for any argument to be picked up.
Nearing.
Nearing yet.
The Dreadnaught and the fishing vessel were now neck-and-neck, breathing the same room of sea water. Adm. Rosco leapt out of the bridge, ran the bow deck and stopped himself when he was nearest to the vessel's position. He clung to railing and yelled; "English!?"
They looked at each other.
"Skilr eigi!?" They shouted back.
Rosco didn't know what the word meant. But by the inflection of the voice who yelled, it might've been Swedish word, do we even have anyone swedish on board?
"Get me Schimdt."
"Aye, sir."
He knew a bit of German though, so he tested it out. "Kannst sie spreche deustche...? Or something... German?"
They didn't look to understand. "Yes, sir?" Schimdt appeared behind him.
"Nothing, you may go back."
"I would like to stay."
"Hm." Rosco looked at the vessel once more, then to his officers and sailors. "Get them aboard, pull them in the accomodation room.
"Yes, sir!"
Adm. Rosco left.
---
It had been thirty minutes, Rosco, already at the teet of irritation. But thankfully, his visitors have come. Drenched.
"Not on that couch, just lay them on the ground."
Surely the sight of a man such as Adm. Rosco, with a uniform befitting his title. Would be insight enough of the situation that these fishermen were in. Indeed. No further words would have needed to be spoken.
"vér kunnum eigi skilja þó at ek sé gýsa" -said the captain, emphasizing that he meant him as gýsa (Geiser)- "ok þessi er vistarmaðr minn" -he pointed to another man with him- "vit erum harmfullir."
"Mhm..." Adm. Rosco mustered a chuckle. "Right. Do we have a... What? Cryptologist? What do you call those people again? Ah yes, Linguist."
"Yes, sir."
Rosco looked at Schimdt. "Know that?"
"Not a word, sir." Schimdt grunted as he changed his stance, "sounds... Swedish though."
Rosco sighed, his head heavy. His eyes, feeling that rush of exhaustion. What of tommorow? He smiled. Tommorow...
He might've slept.