A----g C--mander Silv--b-rg. Bla-----Ttry -5. -a- 7, 1158 -----.
Cre- -----fest: ---
---go Ma-----t: ---
All rou--- -----nded.
Objective: ---
To- ---w. --o f--king slow. I can s-- ---ther team on the south, g----ng rapidly. They will ---rtake before I can turn the engines. Blackbox damaged by impact. Bay 3 taking on water. -----
------------
--------------------------------
--------
G-d help me.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I stand away from the recording device as it sputters and fails, possibly for the last time. Thankfully, the last tape seems to have finished the recording alright. I snatch the recording tape from the Pager-mount and hook it to the inside of the Black Box. Honestly the thing looks more like a little black ball, four inches radius, maybe a bit dusty. I've never had to bring the thing out of its casing since years and years ago in basic. The final sign that a situation is fucked beyond salvation.
With shaking hands, I close the door as I insert the fifth tape inside its watertight storage, unplug the power cord to lock in the final GPS coordinates, and peel back the plastic chassis holding the Box in place. The ball is heavy to hold - a black-painted steel body designed to sink straight to the ocean floor and protect the memories of its crew. So many faces, experiences, from my ship's christening up to her grisly end. I slowly walk trudge past the remains of the bridge to the main deck, cradling my little ball of memories. A duck and a heave later, the Black Box goes overboard, sinking below the waters instantly. No one will have my legacy destroyed.
I straighten up, scan the horizon through weary eyes, and slowly unholster my service revolver as the enemy ship set to belay me comes into view.
"Come at me, traitor," I snarl at the fast-approaching battleship, revolver in hand. "Make my day."
Last edited by
silverberg on Fri Feb 10, 2017 12:31 am, edited 1 time in total.