Jack of Harts

The Kings Bay ballistic submarine crews made it their mission to make certain another of their number was never sunk again, either by enemies or friends. Especially friends. Because a boat with the firepower to end Civilization as we know it has few true friends in the end. They redoubled their efforts to become holes in the ocean, only coming out of the darkness when they felt the times were right. Holes in the ocean that nobody ever saw required a little theater when it came time to ask for funding after all. So they developed a tradition of hunting other submarines. Or as retired crewmembers explained it, waiting for some unlucky bastard to pass their hiding place and using remote drones to lock them up with full sonar pings. Followed by an announcement, thanking them for taking part in this scheduled test of the Georgian Navy’s targeting systems. The Boomers never revealed themselves during these “scheduled tests,” and quickly scooted away to another hiding place after each one, but they made certain nobody ever forgot they were out there, watching, waiting, and ready to strike at any time. You may guess this earned them few new friends, and a great many people who believed the Georgian Navy was insane. They were not entirely wrong.

The ballistic missile submarine crews from Kings Bay became far more distrustful of strangers after the USS Georgia was sunk. Their screening procedures became far more intensive, and they held themselves further apart from the other American military services. They overhauled their training systems and followed more vigorous policies when it came to removing people from the boats for what was once considered minor reasons. Anyone or anything could be a threat to them after all. So it was only prudent to remove as many threats as possible to reduce the chances of Bad Things happening. And they became even more determined to disappear into the oceans whenever they deployed. Decades of lax policies were trimmed and they became the wraiths of the oceans once more, keeping away from both their foes and their friends. Assuming they had any friends of course.

Kings Bay in Georgia had been a ballistic missile submarine base for over half a century when the Second Great Depression began. The crews were famous for remaining underwater, acting like holes in the ocean, for months on end. Always ready to fire missiles that could end civilization as we knew it. Aware that if the balloon ever went up, they could be the last surviving Americans in the world. Or that some Soviet or Chinese attack submarine could kill them before they knew it. Mutually Assured Destruction was the entire basis of their existence. They hoped they would never be required to fire their weapons, but if they did, they would kill as many Soviets, Russians, Chinese, or whatever the target of the decade was. Then one of their number fired missiles on America. On Virginia. The worst part for the crews of Kings Bay is that the crew that fired on home was not a phantom threat to them. They knew each other. They went to the bars together. Many had served on every boat. They were faces and names and friends. And then other Americans killed them after they followed the worst orders in the world. It is impossible to underestimate how that affected them.