Hell on Earth Trilogy: The Complete Apocalyptic Saga

by Iain Rob Wright

  Danza raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? What are your orders, Commander?”

  Hernandez told him. Danza rushed off to make it happen.

  Ten minutes later, the Hatchet was almost out of view, but it would still be visible through the lens of a high-powered rifle—like the one Petty Officer Outerbridge currently held against his shoulder at the top of the Augusta’s highest perch.

  Hernandez picked up the intercom and hailed his sniper. “Outerbridge, I want eyes on Commander Granger.”

  “Roger that.” A few seconds of silence. “I have him. He’s standing on deck.”

  “In your own time, Outerbridge. I want you to eliminate the commander.” Hernandez saw the looks on the crew’s face and decided to address their trepidation there and then. “The crew of the Hatchet helped us in our hour of need, I am aware. Firing upon them would have been wrong, yet Commander Granger is a traitor to our nation. He has assets at his disposal that can save the lives of the people back home, yet he puts his own selfish needs first. By removing him, command of his ship will fall to the next senior officer, who we can only pray is more loyal to the United States of America. Granger is about to learn what happens to those who betray their country. We are sailors. We are soldiers. We are the men and women of the US Navy.”

  The crew stood silent and waited for the inevitable.

  Kablow!

  Kablow!

  Kablow!

  The sound of the .338 rounds exploding from the rifle barrel was like God cracking a whip. The crew flinched, but Hernandez did not. He had been eagerly awaiting the sound—the sound of him regaining authority. “Come in, Outerbridge. Give me your report.”

  “Target confirmed dead.”

  Hernandez swallowed. “Wonderful. You have eyes on Granger?”

  “Negative, but I took the shot.”

  “I need confirmation, Outerbridge...”

  “I… I can’t see him, but I had a clear shot. The crew are panicking. They’ve all taken cover. I hit their commander, I’m sure. Their Lieutenant too.”

  Hernandez smiled. “Roger that. Danza, get me a line to The Hatchet.”

  Danza patched the call through to the other ship.

  Hernandez spoke with newfound confidence. He had matched wits with a fellow commander and won. “Men and women aboard the USCG Hatchet. Your senior officers are dead. Please put me in contact with whoever has inherited command. I wish you no harm, only that you follow the Augusta back to the coast where it will be added to the Navy’s relief effort. You are no longer bound to fulfill whatever promises you made to Captain Granger. You are free.” A brief pause. “Come in, come in, Hatchet. Whoever is most senior, please respond.”

  A voice crackled through the speaker. “Hernandez, this is the senior ranking member of the USCG Hatchet, Captain Guy Granger. You just killed a man worth ten of you, and I’m going to make you pay for it. You see, when this war is over, they will string men like you up. I will be the one to do it. As soon as I find my kids, I’m coming for you.”

  Hernandez wanted to reply, but his lips had pasted shut. He let go of the intercom and left it dangling by its cord. Shit!

  “Hernandez, calm down,” said Danza.

  Hernandez spun on the man. “You do not address me as Hernandez. I am your commander. I will have that man strung up. You see if I don’t.”

  “We could still pursue them,” said Danza.

  Hernandez groaned. “They are heading in the opposite direction and can match us for speed. It would be a waste of our time. We need to head back to the mainland.”

  “Would you still like us to plot a course for Jacksonville?”

  “Yes, and see if we can hail anybody at Command. I need to report Granger’s treachery.”

  Danza looked like he was going to add something more, but instead, he turned on his heel and headed off to do as requested.

  Hernandez stood on deck, appraising the mess that was now his ship. Demon carcasses still littered the Augusta’s decks, although they were gradually being tossed overboard by the men. The crew’s own dead were lined up along the bow. The Augusta had lost at least fifty men, including Commander Johnson. His body lay beneath a blanket with all the others, no more remarkable now in death than the lowliest seaman recruit.

  The situation was bleak, and coming into command in such a way was not how Hernandez had envisaged things, but it didn’t change the fact he was now responsible for two hundred men and several hundred tons of hardware. His country needed him.

  Outerbridge presented himself, the usual confidence of a man trained to kill now replaced by unease. His shoulders sagged.

  “What the hell happened, Outerbridge?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I thought I had him. He was in my sights when I took the shot. Someone must have moved in line with him. The bullet would have taken several seconds to reach the target. It was a long—”

  “Quiet,” said Hernandez. “You had an order which you failed to carry out. Two nights in the brig. Present yourself immediately.”

  Outerbridge looked shocked, his blond eyebrows leaping away from his face. Yet, despite his obvious shock at the punishment, he saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Hernandez took the time to walk the ship. He inserted himself into several fracas that needed dealing with, including a fight between two Ensigns who were exchanging fisticuffs over the body of one of the ship’s helicopter pilots. The dead woman had apparently been a close friend to both of the men, and neither wanted to entrust her care to the other. Hernandez removed them both and had someone else dispose of the woman’s corpse. He quickly moved on to other areas of the ship.

  “Granger had the right idea,” said a male Seaman recruit named Gleeson. “Norfolk was a bloodbath. We should all go back to land and find our families.”

  “We have a job to do,” said a female Ensign named Cuervo. “If we scatter to the wind, then there really is no hope. Our families will be gone by the time we reach them.”

  “You don’t know that,” said someone else. “We have no idea what’s happening back home. Norfolk is just one place. My family is in Ohio. They might be fine.”

  “Exactly,” said Gleeson. “We should be finding out what’s happening, not firing shots at the Coast Guard.”

  “That man was no longer a Coast Guard,” said Hernandez, creeping up on them. “He abandoned his commission when he refused orders to return.” The group of sailors flinched. Gleeson grew pale. It was to Gleeson, Hernandez addressed his question. “You believe Captain Granger was right to plot his own course?”

  The Seaman recruit looked like a lamb before a wolf, but to his credit, he answered the question. “You heard what he said—there’s no orders to follow. Every captain needs to make his own calls. He wasn’t the enemy, but we fired on him like he was.”

  Hernandez turned to Ensign Cuervo. “Remove Seaman Gleeson to the brig.”

  Cuervo nodded shakily. “At once, sir.”

  When Hernandez turned around he was met by Lieutenant Danza.

  “I gave you orders, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes sir, you did. It’s as you thought. Command wants us back in Jacksonville.”

  “And Granger’s treachery?”

  Danza shrugged. “They had little to say about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean they have bigger fish to fry. A new fleet is being assembled, and its sole focus will be relieving the East Coast. One Coast Guard captain—”

  “Granger is no longer a captain. He is a traitor.”

  Danza didn’t seem to appreciate being interrupted, and he grunted. “Commander, do you want to take a breath?”

  Hernandez felt a dark cloud descend upon him. He leaned closer to his lieutenant. “What did you just say?”

  “I said take a goddamn breath. The ship is torn to shreds, and you’ve inherited command. It’s a shock. You’re under stress. Acting like a tyrant upon the high seas is not the way to go here. You’re sending men to the brig when we’re under-manned
. This vendetta against Granger is pointless.”

  Hernandez grabbed Danza by the collar and pulled him off balance. “Any more insubordination from you and there’ll be another man in the brig. I am being tough because the crew is on edge. They need to be brought in line.”

  Danza didn’t try to break free of Hernandez’s grasp, but neither did he cower. “You’re losing it, Hernandez. Those men you think are so afraid fought to the death and survived. What they need is leading to the next battle with their confidence intact.”

  “Then do not undermine me, Danza. Johnson might have done things differently, but he’s dead.”

  Danza shrugged himself free and straightened up his collar. “Yes, he is. If only the men had been there with him, perhaps he would still be in command.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Danza turned to walk away, but Hernandez grabbed him. “I said, what do you mean by that?”

  Danza looked him in the eyes. “I mean, we only have your word about what happened. I knew Commander Johnson. He was a brave man, would have fought to the death, but I wonder if you were there fighting beside him just as hard, or running in the other direction. Why is he dead, and you’re alive?”

  Hernandez let out a long, slow breath as he met his lieutenant’s defiant gaze. He realised the crew had gathered around as witnesses, and he was glad. “Three hours, Danza. That’s how long you have to apologise to me in front of the entire crew. Three hours for you to learn your lesson and obey. If you don’t, you’ll spend the next six months in the brig, I promise you.”

  Danza locked his jaw, clenched his fists, but turned away in silence.

  Hernandez smiled.

  Hernandez spent the rest of daylight in the bridge, contacting other ships in the area—of which there were few—and trying to find somebody in Command who knew what was going on. The only impression he got from anyone on the mainland was that ‘things were bad’. The entire world was at war and there seemed to be no cohesive strategy to fight back. Naval Command had no clue what the Army or the Air Force was doing, and as for the President, no one had heard from him in hours. Washington had been penned in by a gate on each side and America’s seat of power was crumbling to ruin.

  Meanwhile, Hernandez continued to get his ship in order. He nipped any signs of dissent in the bud at once and had only grown more severe after considering Danza’s words. The Lieutenant sought to make Hernandez doubt himself, the reason very clear. If Hernandez fell to pieces, it would be up to Danza to take command. The man was an ambitious shark.

  Cuervo stood at the radar console, running constant scans for seabed activity. If there were any more gates at the bottom of the Atlantic, they would have plenty of warning. Johnson had run a tight ship, but Hernandez would run a tighter one. He didn’t need sailors, he needed warriors. He needed Vikings. The Beretta on his hip would make sure he got them. The weak would be disposed of.

  Hernandez checked his watch and saw that crunch time was almost upon them. When Danza subjugated himself in front of him, the remaining crew would fall firmly in line. Danza was a popular officer. The men would do as he did.

  “Cuervo,” Hernandez turned to his young Ensign and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve performed well since the attack, and seeing as we are low on officers, I will be promoting you to acting lieutenant to serve alongside Officer Danza.”

  And report on his every action.

  Cuervo looked shocked for a moment, but then she beamed. “T-Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  “I’ll make it official shortly. I am heading down to deck, and I would like you to join me.”

  “Of course.”

  Hernandez went and sipped a cup of water, realising that he had not hydrated himself in almost a day. Once he finished the cup, he had to refill it several more times. Once sufficiently replenished, he went down on deck to meet Danza. He was pleased to see the Lieutenant already waiting there for him. So were most the crew.

  “Lieutenant Danza. I assume you have something to say to me?”

  “I do.”

  Hernandez smiled, Crossed his arms and stood there waiting. He had directed the ship’s spotlights to light up the deck so all eyes would be on Danza. “Then speak your piece, Lieutenant.”

  Danza hesitated, looked around at the crew surrounding him. What he was about to say was obviously difficult. Hernandez enjoyed every second of it. “Many of you have served with me for a while,” began Danza, “so you know that I am an officer who does not necessarily follow the rules. The decisions I make are based on the situation, and I always try to do what’s best for my crew. Commander Johnson was the same way, and if I can amount to half the officer he was, I will retire with full honours.”

  Hernandez tapped his foot. “Can we speed this up, please, Lieutenant?”

  Danza nodded. “Protocol demands I fall inline under Lieutenant Hernandez’s command, for he is the senior officer aboard. Those are the rules. It isn’t best for my crew though. Today, we survived Armageddon, and I don’t just mean aboard this ship. The world has fallen to ashes. We capable men and women of the US Navy are in a position to do something about that. Our country—the world, needs us, so the rules no longer apply. I will not follow the rules when they make no sense.”

  Hernandez scowled. Not only had Danza referred to him as ‘Lieutenant’, but it did not seem in any way like he was apologising. Every word out of the man’s mouth seemed to take him further and further away from the word ‘sorry’.

  Hernandez tried to interrupt, but Danza waved a hand at him. “Just let me finish, Hernandez. All day, you’ve talked, and you’ve talked, and you’ve talked. At first, I thought you were losing it, but you’re not that innocent. It’s your ego. Your whole life you’ve wanted to be the man, but being the man isn’t something you can seize. It’s something you earn.”

  “I’ve heard quite enough. Will someone please escort Lieutenant Danza to the brig?”

  Nobody moved.

  Hernandez prodded Cuervo. “Do your duty, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes sir.” She snapped off a salute and hurried towards Danza, but she was cut off by another member of the crew. Outerbridge stepped out of the crowd and blocked her.

  Hernandez exploded. “Outerbridge! You were detained to the brig. You have defied a direct—”

  “I released him,” said Danza, “along with all the other innocent sailors you sent there. It is not a crime to refuse to pander to your ego.”

  “I am in command of this—”

  Danza shook his head. “No, you’re not. I’ve spoken to a portion of the crew, and they have all agreed to recognise me as Johnson’s successor. The Augusta is under my command.”

  “Mutiny!”

  Danza ignored the slur with a smile. “I am leading the Augusta to Jacksonville, where we will all do our very best to work together and help our nation. I will not be making decisions based on ego. I will do what is best for my crew and my country, and send only one man to the brig—you, Lieutenant Hernandez.”

  “How dare you? I have committed no crime. The command is rightfully mine.”

  “Perhaps, but until we ascertain the circumstances behind Commander Johnson’s death, you are suspended from service. You will be contained to the brig for your own safety.”

  “Fuck you, Danza.”

  “You will address me as Commander.”

  Hernandez looked around at the men and women on deck. Danza had not yet got to all of them, but a large enough portion seemed to be firmly behind him.

  Hernandez pulled his Beretta out of its holster and pointed it at Danza. “The Augusta belongs to me!”

  He pulled the trigger.

  Richard Honeywell

  “Glen? Glen, what do you mean they’re coming?” Richard shook his colleague, but he was unconscious. A quick examination exposed a ragged wound across his tummy, the skin grey and moist either side of a bloody furrow. It was bad.

  “They’re here, aren’t they?” asked Aaron, standing over Ric
hard and still wearing his chip shop apron. “The demons are coming.”

  Richard looked up at the boy and finally saw how scared he was. “Yes, I think so. Are you ready?”

  Aaron looked like he might throw up all over his shoes, but he nodded.

  “Then get your boys, get weapons, and get on the barricade.” Richard placed Glen down on the pavement and stood up. He addressed everyone, almost shouting. “You hear that? The enemy is coming to kill us. Get ready to kill them first.”

  The seven newcomers still stood next to the barricade. Richard approached the one who had announced their arrival, a tall, middle-aged man wearing a leather jacket and carrying a cricket bat. “What happened to Glen?”

  The man shook his head. “I don’t know. We just found him lying on the side of the road. He said he’d been attacked by a demon.”

  Richard looked at the new group suspiciously. “Who are you people?”

  “I work at the garage on Trotter Lane, and these guys work at the supermarket next door. We heard your friend shouting, saying he had a place we could all go to be safe. That sounded great to us, so we left to find where he was shouting from. Around the corner, we found him bleeding.”

  “So there was no demon? What about the officers who were with him?”

  The man shook his head and looked like he wished he knew more.

  Richard rubbed at his chin, then grimaced when he realised he had Glen’s blood on him. “Thank you for bringing him back. You can get yourself a hot cup of tea at the church, but there might not be much time to relax. If the demons really have made it here from the city, then we have a fight ahead of us.”

  The man held up his baseball bat. “I’m ready, governor, don’t worry. I’m Leonard, by the way.”

  “Good to meet you, Leonard. Get your guys ready.”

  Leonard nodded and took his six companions with him. Richard turned back around to face the disorganised chaos behind him. If he had not realised it before, he saw it clearly then. The people in the camp were just ordinary people panicking for their lives. Overcoming panic and acting courageously was not a normal response—it was either learned, in the cases of soldiers, firemen, etc, or occasionally built in, in the case of random heroes, but it was most certainly not the norm. The people in the camp were normal. They would not be courageous. They would not be brave—especially now the sun was going down. The dark sapped a man’s courage.