by Max Barry

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DispatchAccountMilitary

by The Cheesy Stuffed Crust Remains of Yugobatania. . 5 reads.

“Transportation”

VADM (Vice Admiral) Anderson heads back to the ship crash site. He notices signs of life there. Footprints and scraps of rations were scattered among the glacial plain. Impossible! But he was the only one who survived!

Little did he know that that was actually Asthea's forces who were there recently. He walked up to the front of the YNS Karlos. Looking up, almost straight up at the sky, he marveled at how massive she was. 850 feet in length, and about 41,500 tons. Anderson had the chance of serving under her for almost 20 years, and never has she failed him.

But he has failed her. He walked up to the front bow, and touched her. Her smooth metal hull, filled with years of rough seas and countless voyages, and all of that led to here. This was no place for a ship like the Karlos.

Alas, all good things must come to an end.

The ship's stern was half sunken into the water, with about half of her beached on the ice. She was tilted to the left, overlooking the water. Unfortunately, that meant that most of the planes and helicopters slid into the icy water. But Anderson spotted one helicopter - on the deck.

Held only by a rope, tangled around the helicopter's landing gear. The nose was pointed downwards towards the water, and the rope looked like it would snap at any given moment, but it looked functional.

Anderson spotted the rope he used to get down from the ship. Now he would have to climb back up it.

He quickly hurried to the rope, and proceeded to climb up it. What made it difficult wasn't the amount of supplies he was carrying.

No, it was that he was old.

Or at least, in the eyes of his former young sailors. The wrinkles on his face began to grow ever more, and time after time he would look at himself in the mirror, contemplating if now really was the time to retire.

But a voice within the dark recesses of his brain always told him, "would you rather let a younger feller lead these men to their doom? Or would you rather have an grumpy old man lead them?"

Both decisions were bad, but he knew which one he had to take.

And so, with his 33 years of active duty, his younger self just wasn't there anymore.

But, eventually, he reached the deck of the ship.

Anderson quickly, albeit cautiously, treaded the sloped deck, hoping that the helicopter wouldn't snap, and fall, taking him with it.

Finally, he reached the chopper. But there was a problem.

How would he untangle it without letting it slide down?

He would have to conduct a cold start, letting the rotor rev up without him at the controls. Anderson would have to make the chopper ready to fly, and he would have to chase after it with his old legs, as it slid down the deck, into the icy cold water below.

Crap.

This is going to be difficult.

"Okay...here we go." Anderson got into the cockpit of the chopper, and began to slowly rev it up. He could hear the slow whine of the engine, as it refused to start. "Come on you damn thing! Work!"

The fuel gauge, indicated that, luckily, had at least half of its tank left. Suddenly, the engine began to whine up. The rotor blade started to spin. Anderson let the rotor spin for a bit, as for a quick exit.

"Now for the hard part."

He jumped out of the cockpit, and kneeled over to the rope. The wind from the rotors made it difficult for him to maintain balance, but he was managing. Pulling out a survival knife, he began to cut away at the rope. And slowly he could see the helicopter beginning to slide. He quickened the pace, as the chopper began to slide a little more down.

The loudness of the engine, and the cold from the snow wasn't helping either.

Moving his arm desperately back and forth, the engine began to rev even higher. Soon it was sliding at a walking pace. Anderson cut up the last bits of rope, and then the chopped began to slide ever faster.

Without thinking, Anderson chased after the chopper, as it slide from the front of the hangar deck to the back. Anderson jumped, grabbing onto the chopper's landing gear. He was being dragged along for the ride, as the chopper bashed and crashed into various crates and supplies in the way.

Anderson righted himself up, standing on the gear, like some sort of windsurfer using a helicopter as the sail.

He quickly grabbed onto the cockpit chair, pulling himself inside. Yanking back upon the stick, he pulled as hard as he could, and increased the throttle.

"Come on you bastard! Fly dammit!"

The chopper began to lift ever slowly, as it slid down the deck.

And then...

Liftoff!

The chopper's landing gears just barely touched the waves as it fell off the landing deck.

"Woohoo!"

Anderson buckled up, and began to fly towards the rendezvous point. And his back was hurting like hell. But hey, screw being old!

He picked up the microphone for the inbuilt radio, and began to send a message to all frequencies.

"This is Vice Admiral Vickers Anderson, captain of the YNS Karlos. I am calling to anyone in the area for rescue. I am the only survivor of the 49th Yugobatanian Amphibious Carrier Group. I am meeting at these coordinates."

Anderson states the coordinates to the original rendezvous point.

"Please, send help. Anderson, out."

He placed the microphone back in its holster. And still he had some back pains.

Yep, he most definitely was getting old. Perhaps he should retire after this. Move out to the countryside in Yugobatania.

Yeah, that would be nice.

And he continued flying towards the rendezvous point.

This is what Vice Admiral Vickers Anderson looks like:
https://imgur.com/GOHdqUi

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