Chapter 56 - The Boarding Directive
The wind on the open deck was ferocious, tearing at our tactical gear as six heavily armed Master-at-Arms operators fell in behind me. Petty Officer First Class Jackson, a veteran of naval visit-and-search operations, handed me a suppressed carbine without a word. His eyes reflected the grim determination shared by every sailor on board.
"The boarding bridge is rigged, Skipper," Jackson shouted over the howling wind and churning seas. "The magnetic cable has pulled their upper deck within twenty feet of our midships. But it’s a suicide jump if their point-defense systems are active."
"They won't fire on this sector," I yelled back, checking the battery on my holographic optic. "Martha wants me intact. She can't risk killing the biometric host. On my mark, we cross the tether!"
Between our two ships, the Atlantic boiled into a chaotic cauldron of white water and twisted hydraulic lines. The massive composite hull of the *Aegis-Null* rode heavy in the water, an artificial island of titanium and stealth resin.
"Three... two... one... GO!"
Jackson launched a heavy titanium tactical ladder across the gap, its magnetized prongs slamming onto the composite deck of the submarine with a sharp clank.
I was the first across.
My boots hit the slick, rubberized coating of the stealth submarine's dorsal plating. The deck was vast, eerily quiet compared to the thundering diesel engines of the *Nathan James*. The six operators leaped across behind me in rapid, disciplined succession, forming a tactical security perimeter with rifles raised.
Directly ahead, the main pressure hatch of the conning tower had begun to cycle closed, its heavy hydraulic dogs grinding shut to seal us outside in the freezing spray.
"Jackson, breaching charge on the secondary access port!" I commanded.
"Setting charges!" Jackson sprinted forward, slapping a high-intensity thermite strip directly over the electronic locking mechanism of the access hatch.
"Fire in the hole!"
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A blinding white flash ate through the titanium locking bolts in three seconds flat. Jackson kicked the heavy steel hatch inward. Thick, chemical-scented air rushed out from the interior—the smell of ozone, advanced synthetic polymers, and absolute isolation.
"Rifles hot," I whispered into the team comms. "We move fast. Non-lethal on peripheral crew if possible. Martha is mine."
