Light, shadow, and sound were all slowed deep beneath the water, easily creating the illusion that time had slowed down. After the searing, dizzying white faded, red took its place, an utterly unreal red.
Rationally, Kallen knew that even if the ships above were pierced through and blown apart, killing many people, the red of blood should not become the dominant color, at least not from his current position and perspective.
But on an emotional level, Kallen knew that faced with such a terrifying assault, this fleet's destruction was only a matter of time. Many people would die, very, very many, and blood red was the clearest, most direct representation of that understanding.
Two images involuntarily surfaced in Kallen's mind. One was of sitting in the VIP Carriage at York Port, preparing to welcome the arrival of Divine Son Sarayina. The glass in his hand had shattered, and the red drink had spilled onto the white carpet, quickly soaking in and spreading outward.
The other was of standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Ankara Hotel, watching the oppressive mass of dark clouds outside. That very real despair and repression that instinctively made people want to escape fit the scene before him so well.
Kallen did not think he had foreseen all this. He simply felt that what was happening now matched what he had felt inside that day.
War was cruel. Those words had been repeated countless times. Kallen did not know whether he would become a peace activist calling for an end to war after today. Probably not, but even more probably, he would avoid putting himself in such dangerous circumstances again.
Kallen also wanted to have some noble, lofty, philosophical insight of depth. Unfortunately, he had none.
The only clear lesson this trip to observe the battlefield