[UEN Pacific Fleet Patrol | Vanguard Tasked Group: Unknown Waters]
"Battle stations! All hands on deck!, this is not a drill!"
The announcement echoed through the corridors of the Resolute, followed by the blare of the alarms. Red lights flashed across it's bulkheads as sailors rushed to their posts. The hum of the ship grew louder as its reactors shifting power and systems waking in unison.
In the Combat Information Center, Commander Sato stood over the main display. The radar sweep traced slow circles across the screen, highlighting faint returns on the eastern of the feet approaching and sailing straight for them.
"Status on the task group?" Sato asked.
"Frigates Vanguard and Horizon is on station," said the comms officer. "While Our Destroyer Aegis is preparing her helos now. From our deck Falcons One through Four are prepping for takeoff."
"Good. Keep all ships in a defensive line. No one fires unless fired upon or ordered."
Out on deck, the flight crew worked fast. Rotor blades turned to life as helicopters rolled from the hangars, their engines howling over the sea wind. Crew chiefs gave hand signals and pilots ran last checks.
Below the deck, Marines locked magazines into their rifles and checked comms. Armor plates clattered as squads assembled in the troop bay, waiting for orders. The Reserve landing teams watched in silence, confusion written across their faces.
"What's going on?" one asked quietly.
"Command says unidentified fleet, bearing east," another replied. "Old sails, wood hulls… like something out of a museum."
Up in the bridge, Shepard's gaze stayed on the distant horizon. The ocean looked calm, but tension gripped every man and woman aboard. Even the engines seemed to hold their breath.
"Sir," the sensor operator called out. "Contacts closing fast. They're turning in formation."
Shepard didn't blink. "Maintain posture. Bring the rail turrets online, but keep safeties engaged. Let's not start a war by accident."
A heavy silence settled over the bridge as the fleet held its line.
The sea rolled calm and silent as the Resolute and her escorts crept forward at minimal speed. Their engines idled low, just enough thrust to keep formation.
"Range to unknown vessels, four kilometers and closing," the sensor officer reported.
Shepard leaned on the plotting table, eyes fixed on the screen map. The contacts ahead drifted slowly towards them, twenty, maybe more.
The computer tried to assign classifications but failed each time.
"All ships, maintain course and distance," Shepard ordered.
"We'll match their speed. No sudden moves."
Outside, the sea shimmered beneath the sunlight. As the UEN destroyers and frigates glided in silent formation. The Horizon held to the port flank, Vanguard to starboard, their crews watching the strange fleet ahead with a mix of disbelief and awe.
On the flight deck, helicopters idled on standby. Crewmen leaned on the railing, staring across the waves.
"Those can't be real," one said quietly.
"They're actually using sails."
"Then what the hell are they doing this far from shore?" another replied.
The radio crackled. "Bridge to flight control, keep the birds grounded until further notice.
"Command wants visuals only."
"Aye, bridge."
Shepard watched the old fleet drift closer on the display. The sensor feed painted them as faint green silhouettes surrounded by a thin haze of smoke.
The AI assistant spoke softly through the intercom:
"No electronic emissions detected. No radar return. No propulsion signature."
A quiet moment passed. The ships now visible to the naked eye—majestic, foreign, yet eerily organized.
Shepard folded his arms, voice low. "Keep this speed. We'll meet them halfway."
The sea stretched flat and bright beneath the noon sun.
The Resolute held steady, engines humming at minimal thrust while the rest of the task group formed a cautious line — the destroyer Aegis to front, the frigates Horizon and Vanguard off the port and starboard, and the two support ships trailing behind like a shadow.
Ahead, the wooden fleet loomed larger by the minute. The wind filled their pale sails, and sunlight gleamed off bronze cannon muzzles and ornate figureheads.
Back at the Resolute bridge "Contact distance, one-point-four kilometers,"
reported the sensor operator.
Captain Shepard leaned forward, elbows on the console, studying the main display.
"Maintain current heading. Helm, keep us steady in the water."
"Aye, sir."
Outside, the landing craft skimmed across the sea, their wakes curling white behind them as they made for the Resolute's stern. The flight deck crews guided them in, cranes and tethers ready. Marines climbed out, dripping seawater and disbelief, staring past the deck rails at the ancient armada drifting closer.
On the Aegis, sailors crowded the upper deck, watching through binoculars. One of them muttered,
"That's… that's a damn fleet from another century."
"Keep your voice down," his petty officer snapped quietly.
"You'll scare the new guys."
Back on the Resolute, Executive Officer Haynes broke the silence.
"Their formation's holding tight. Looks organized — maybe a patrol group?"
"Or a warning line," Shepard said softly. He turned to the comms station.
"Any signals?"
"None we can understand, Captain," the operator replied.
"They're using colored flags — looks like some kind of pattern, repeating every few seconds."
Shepard exhaled, straightening. "So they're talking. Good. That means they're not ready to fight."
Through the observation windows, the lead galleon rose higher in view — an ornate vessel of polished oak and dark sails, a banner of blue and gold whipping in the wind.
For several minutes, nothing moved but the sea itself. The two fleets drifted within sight of each other — one born of oak and wind, the other of steel and turbines — separated only by water and centuries.
"Sir," the comms officer said,
"the wooden fleet just raised new flags. Same colors, different pattern."
"Get it recorded," Shepard replied.
"See if we can match it to any known signal language."
"Aye, Captain."
On the bridge, the air buzzed with tension. Crew members watched from the forward windows as the flagship of the wooden fleet — larger and grander than the rest — turned slightly broadside, exposing rows of closed gunports. The move was cautious, not hostile.
"Looks like they're trying to show their strength," Executive Officer Haynes muttered.
"Or maybe just making sure we see them."
Shepard nodded. "Keep the deck guns locked but not aimed. No sudden moves."
"Aye, sir."
Through the glass, a faint flicker caught their eyes — flashes of reflected light from the enemy deck.
"Helm, hold position," Shepard ordered.
"What was that? Signaling mirror?"
"Could be sir," said the operations officer.
"Or sunlight off metal."
Shepard leaned against the console.
"They're not dumb. Whoever's commanding that fleet knows we're watching."
A voice crackled through comms.
"Flight Deck to Bridge — Seahawk Two is ready for launch, Captain. Do you want a closer pass?"
Shepard hesitated. "Negative. We don't spook them yet."
He turned back to the horizon.
"Let's try giving them something simple."
"Sir?"
"Signal them visually use international maritime flag pattern for we come in peace. If they don't understand that, maybe they'll get the message anyway."
The signal officer nodded and relayed the command. On the Resolute's mast, colored flags snapped into the wind — bright red, white, and blue squares forming a message meant for any seafarer.
Everyone watched.
Across the sea, the galleon's crew seemed to react. Men rushed along the deck, pointing, shouting. Moments later, their own flags shifted again — slower, uncertain, but deliberate.
"They're answering," the comms officer said softly. "I think they're trying to mimic our message."
Shepard's tone lowered. "Good. Keep it steady. No weapons, no radar lock. Just watch and talk."
The bridge fell silent again, the air thick with unspoken awe.
Two fleets — one bound by canvas, one by code — trying to bridge a gap neither side could measure.
The two fleets kept their distance, exchanging hesitant signals across the waves — colors, flags, flashes of light. The meanings were broken, uncertain, but the intent was clear enough: neither side wanted war.
"Captain," the comms officer called, "we think they're proposing a meeting. Their lead ship raised a flag—pattern matches something like parley in old naval code."
Shepard exhaled slowly. "So, they want to talk."
Haynes turned from the window. "That's… bold, sir. Given what we are."
"Maybe they're just as confused as we are," Shepard said.
"We've dropped into their world like ghosts. I'd want answers too."
He straightened. "Alright. Prepare a landing detail. Small group, no weapons displayed. We'll use the island between us as neutral ground."
"Aye, sir."
Below deck, Marines gathered gear in silence. No combat packs this time—just light armor, translator gear, and body cams. The mood was tense but charged with curiosity.
Flight crews moved with practiced precision as a single helicopter was rolled onto the deck. Its rotors turned lazily at first, then picked up speed, stirring wind across the flight deck.
On the wooden fleet, hundreds of eyes watched in awe. Men pointed skyward, their mouths open as the massive machine lifted into the air. The downdraft rippled the sea like a living storm.
From afar, the Fareham's decks erupted with shouts. Admiral Calis gripped the railing, his cloak whipping in the wind as he stared up at the rising beast of metal and wind.
"By the gods…" he murmured. "wh.. what is that?."
The helicopter hovered briefly, then tilted forward, banking toward the island. The sound of its blades thundered across the sea, echoing against the cliffs and trees.
On the bridge of the Resolute, Shepard watched the feed from the onboard cameras — the island coming into view, untouched and green, the ancient fleet growing smaller in the distance.
"May this go smoothly," he said quietly.
Haynes crossed his arms.
"And if it doesn't?"
Shepard gave a dry smile.
"Then history's about to get interesting."