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L E T’ S J A M


It's been a long month. Every hour, on the hour, their command sub surfaces and spits out another of the little devils. The attacks only relent at night, which just seems to frustrate the sailors. Reminds you that the enemy is taking this campaign at their own bloody pace, treating themselves to a good night's sleep every sundown.

Command's still stumped as to what to do about the attacks. Obvious answer is to take out the sub when it makes a launch, since that's the only time anyone ever sees the damned thing. Problem is, it always manages to appear where the fighting's thinnest and slips back beneath the waves before anyone realizes it was there. It doesn't even come back to recover the planes.

That's the other solution being weighed: Figure out what makes the buggers tick. Your boys shot down dozens of those damn planes, usually taking massive casualties in the process. You never find a single pilot, meaning the planes have either got some spooky new ejection equipment or they're just straight-up flying themselves. Jury's still out on which alternative is worse.

Particularly bothersome is the radio jamming. There's nothing even remotely discreet about these things; the moment one launches every shortwave channel is blaring a mix of synthesized tones, boots stomping, and scraps of some martial anthem or another. It sounds almost musical if you layer enough channels together.

Some of the boys are starting to notice how the sounds differ from one attack to another. The radio officers are always the first to come running up to the bridge, telling us their theories about what the latest plane's bringing to bear. You're getting familiar with the signals too, but you're never certain which of the tones is most unsettling: the dour, fanatic hymn so often followed moments later by a nuclear blast, or the siren howl that foretells a jagged, emaciated horror barreling toward your ship, chewing through hulls and men alike...
https://youtu.be/W5sTT1ENKAE