Above, Captain Jameson watched with amazement. His ensign had begun this ritual the previous week, when they cast away and headed to sea on a reconnaissance detail. She hadn’t asked permission, she hadn’t said but the mandatory words to anyone during her time aboard. He glanced down at the white scarf she wore, clearly visible in the moonlight. A moment later, it began.
The notes floated up and through the bridge, a sad melody by Brahms, drawn out and melancholic. Captain Jameson reclined into his chair, befuddled by what to do with this young girl and her tenacity in playing the violin. The thought of confiscating the instrument crossed his mind, but the recourse was that she had already distinguished herself as a sublime engineer in the powerplant room. Her fellow shipmates had reported to him that all she did was her measurements, the violin, and she periodically consulted a thick notebook, ageworn, the contents nobody knew.
An hour passed, on the deck the mist continued to come off of the bow in moist clouds. Undeterred, Abigail played her music. She knew the Captain was likely not fond of her playing on the deck, but she was not at all concerned. If he had a problem, she’d hear about it. Her taste changed, evolved seamlessly into a faster more upbeat tune, a sort of honky-tonk rhythm.
Captain Jameson was caught up in the music, he’d relaxed, his radar and sonar officers had reported nothing for miles, some commercial traffic was due to cross their paths in an hour, and he’d already taken corrective action to ensure they didn’t come within 50 miles. The radar officer, a young man named “Pimples” by the crew was staring at a blip on the scope, the computer and visual confirmation had assured him it was a 1000’ super tanker transporting oil across the Atlantic Ocean.
“It’s peace time” was the common theme onboard.
It wasn’t natural… the light. The light she saw out of the corner of her eyes, it was a dim light, then a bright light. It was a light she’d never forget, a light she’d never see again.
The light began as a flash, the “1000’ super tanker” had abruptly turned abeam of the cruiser, it was a rather sad thing to watch, requiring all of five painstaking moments for her captain, Mahmood Allah to accomplish. Behind the bridge the Libyan flag had been replaced with the black Muslim Brotherhood flag, down before him, a massive works was concealed in the pipeworkings. The pipe was a concealed launcher for a new hypersonic Soviet designed antiship missile, reportedly effective within 100 miles, he was sure that within 50 miles, it was a sure bet, but the Americans were so tricky.
Despite its mammoth side, the tanker hesitated in its track as the three missiles fired away, all bearing for down on their prey. Three American warships on “patrol”. “Infidels” Mahmood sighed, he began chanting “Allah Akbar” in an increasing tone, his crew joining in, all certain they were about to meet Allah and claim their 72 virgins.
Captain Jameson heard the music stop about the same time as a hysterical voice came over the intercom.
“MISSILES INBOUND!!! MISSILES INBOUND!!!”
The Aegis system is a missile defense system composed of missiles and at least one 20mm gatlin gun. Jameson had wisely been operating the system in automatic. On the deck, Abigail felt the launchers twist violently, like the head of a pro boxer acquiring the source of a sucker punch in a local bar, she felt the ship lean from the violent explosions of the missiles launching, WOOSH!! WOOOSH!! Flares and smoke trails arcing into the midnight sun.
“OH God” she thought, running towards her station aft. Her case for her violin in her right hand and the instrument and bow in her left. “God help us”.
Sorry for the cliffhangers, haven't got much time to write these days 
Abby
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