YOU SANK THE WRONG BATTLESHIP   During a routine naval drill at Pearl Harbor, American forces detect a ship of unknown origins that’s crashed in the Pacific Ocean. Lieutenant Alex Hopper, an officer aboard the USS John Paul Jones, is ordered to investigate the ominous-looking vessel—which turns out to be part of an armada of ships that are stronger and faster than any on Earth. And that’s when the Navy’s radar goes down. Ambushed by a ravenous enemy they cannot see, a small U.S. fleet makes their last stand on the open ocean, armed with little more than their instincts, to defend their lives—and the world as we know it.   The official novel of the blockbuster film! Based on the screenplay by Erich Hoeber and Jon Hoeber Peter David ’s novels include the fantasies Tigerheart, Sir Apropos of Nothing, The Woad to Wuin, Knight Life, and the quirky werewolf story Howling Mad . He is famous for writing some of the most popular original Star Trek: The Next Generation novels, including Imzadi and A Rock and a Hard Place , as well as the official novels of the movies Transformers, Iron Man , Spider-Man , and The Incredible Hulk . He has written just about every famous comic book superhero, including Captain Marvel, Spider-Man, and the futuristic Spider-Man 2099, and has scripted the bestselling Gunslinger Born graphic adaptation of the acclaimed Stephen King Dark Tower series. He collaborated with J. Michael Straczynski on the Babylon 5 novels and comic book series, and with Bill Mumy he created the Nickelodeon television series Space Cases . In his spare time, David writes movie screenplays, children’s books, and television scripts. Some Years Ago “Miss.” The two brothers are in the forest near their house, sitting opposite each other. They are both quite young, although the big brother has felt very old for a long time—because he is the older brother, and as such has many important responsibilities. The most vital of these, as far as he is concerned, is to make sure that his kid brother remembers who’s boss. It is the younger brother’s greatest failing that he never seems to remember that. The older brother is sitting on a log, allowing him to look down upon his brother. This is, as far as he is concerned, what should be the natural state of things, the proper order of the universe. The younger brother is seated across from him, cross-legged on the ground, getting his pants filthy from sitting in the dirt and not caring about it. It is a crisp day and they’re both wearing light hoodies: the older brother’s is white, the younger’s is red. They both have pads of lined paper on their laps, playing a game their father taught them called “Broadsides.” They’ve used pencils to draw vertical lines intersecting with the horizontal ones and thus created grids, which they’ve then numbered. They’re using the pads to have a simulated naval battle. It’s natural that their father, a Navy man himself, would teach them how to play it, and claims to have played it when he himself was young. It is the older brother who has just said “Miss,” and the younger brother’s eyebrows both leap up on his forehead as if they’ve come loose and are endeavoring to make a run for it. “Whattaya mean, ‘miss,’ ” says the younger brother in irritation. “It’s like a hit, but the opposite,” the older brother says. “It can’t be a miss!” “Well, it was. D-7 . . .” “No, wait, shut up.” The younger brother stares at his smaller grid where he’s keeping track of his hits. “I said G-1.” “And I said miss.” “It can’t be! That was the fifth hit on your aircraft carrier! Game over!” “It wasn’t and it isn’t. D-7 . . .” “You’re cheating.” The back of the older brother’s neck starts to get red. “I am not. You just can’t stand that I’m going to win a game—” “No,” says the younger brother, getting into the elder’s face in that way that he has. “You just can’t stand that I’m going to win AGAIN. You can’t stand that I always win and that you always lose. Loser. Looooooser. Looooser loooooser looooser!” He forms an L-shape from his thumb and forefinger and puts it against his head. “Shut up!” The older brother’s fury is rising. “G-1 wasn’t a hit. Live with it.” “I don’t believe you. Lemme see.” He is up on his knees and he grabs for the older brother’s pad of paper. The older brother yanks it away. “Forget it! If you look at it, the game’s over!” “The game’s already over, loser.” The worst thing of all is that the older brother knows that this is true. He looks at G-1, where the prow of his theoretical aircraft carrier is sitting. He looks at the smug expression on his stupid little brother. And suddenly long-simmering resentment boils up and over, and before his younger brother can get to him, the older brother tears apart the lined notepad in a paroxysm of fury. “This game is stupid and you’re stupid!” “You’re stupid, loser!” The older brother doesn’t want to run back to the house because he feels hot tears of mortification