Circles Of Fear

by Brian Cain

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

  Friday the sixteenth of April, nineteen ninety-nine, five am. The sun was preparing to clear the horizon across the troubled waters of the Bermuda Triangle. Military commands around the world were feeling the effect of forty-eight hours of tension with no rest. ADAM had shut Seadragon’s unit sent to the Bermuda Triangle down, as it entered the Triangle, electro magnetic disturbance had increased. The unit wandered aimlessly unable to compute its bearings. A tracking station under control of the Six-Sided Circle in central Europe had found the frequencies ADAM was using to monitor mobile phone conversations; they tapped into ADAM’s systems along the line. They searched frantically for access to ADAM’s computers.

  Baden Steel reassured his tired associates as they sat at the Six-Sided Circle beneath the waters of the Triangle. “Total control is near, it is of no significance when the conflict was fought, the outcome will be the same, only worse for those who have opposed us. Much suffering will be inflicted on the power of good at the turn of the Millennium, only now we will deal them suffering and pain for a full year before enslaving what is left for eternity. The year of two thousand to two thousand and one will be the year of evil, we will have the world in the palm of our hands, nothing can stop us now and you my friends will live forever. ADAM will soon be ours, the planet’s ultimate weapon in our control.”

  Steel continued to spout reassurance to his flock, as unbeknown to him, a communication officer sprinted along the deck of the Wisconsin some fifty kilometres south of him. He held a decoded message that would awake a sleeping giant. The Wisconsin had anchored in shallow water on a ledge that jutted from the seabed, she lay in complete silence awaiting the outcome of Armageddon. Admiral James Robert Rice was a small, thin man, his full head of white hair was cropped in true naval style, his eyes required no glasses and his mind was intact. He disliked holidays and his active navy life had kept him young for a man of seventy-five years. American Naval Command had tried to retire him on several occasions, but he passed the service medical every year. Dressed in a white track suit he had just begun his morning jog on deck; he passed several ratings then ran into the communication officer in full flight.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing sailor?” shouted Rice as they regained their footing.

  “Begging your pardon sir,” said the communication officer, saluting as he stood and handing Rice a piece of paper. “Message for you sir. It came through on the crystal frequencies in Morse from Key West sir. It has decoded as not being a drill sir.”

  Rice read the extensive message, “You’re right sailor, you know what to do next.”

  “Acknowledge and receive confirmation sir.”

  “That will take five minutes; I want it done in three sailor. Send a messenger to Captain Murray on the bridge, tell him to meet me in my quarters and bring his safe key with him. I want both of you back here in three minutes.”

  “Yes sir,” the sailor saluted and left as quickly as he had arrived.

  Rice returned to his quarters and changed into his full naval uniform, he was doing up the last neck button as a knock rang from the door. It was Captain Murray, a young officer from Key West on his first trip to sea as second in command. Rice had him read the message as the communication officer returned. Rice and Murray used their keys simultaneously to gain access to the safe in the Admiral’s cabin; Rice removed two yellow envelopes and handed one to Murray. Rice opened his envelope, the communication officer read out the code number on the original orders; they matched. Murray then opened his envelope and matched the code number with the confirmation orders in the communication officer’s hand; they matched.

  “I want a briefing of all area command officers in the operations room in five minutes; that means three. Maintain radio silence, all messages will be given by word of mouth ... Well move your arses.” The two men saluted and shouted orders to enlisted men as they ran down the corridor outside the Admiral’s office.

  The operations room filled with stern faces young and old, male and female. Admiral Rice gave them no time to settle and gained their attention.

  “Okay ladies and gentlemen, listen carefully as I won’t be repeating myself. Captain Murray and I along with communications have confirmed we have been ordered into engagement of an unknown enemy. As of now we are no longer a training vessel but the arrow’s head of the thrust of the battle that is Armageddon. Why the task should fall on us I have no idea but the facts may make things clearer.” He used a long pointer to highlight a simple diagram on the white board behind him. “At present we are approximately fifty kilometres due south of the location of the radio transmissions that are controlling the world’s military arsenal. All modern weapons and navigational equipment in the area of the Bermuda Triangle has been rendered useless by instability in the electro magnetic field as we have already experienced. If our equipment is failing, we can only assume our enemy is in the same position. However radio transmission on certain frequencies is still possible and our enemy is at this moment trying to gain control of ADAM, of which we have all been previously briefed and has till now smothered all attempts of global warfare and saved millions of innocent lives. Our mission is to engage and destroy their radio source; we can also assume that it is a civilian or naval vessel of unknown identification as there is no land mass at the given co-ordinates. We will proceed at full power maintaining radio silence directly to the source; identify and destroy it. Our conventional firepower will be unaffected by the two A10 ADAM defence pods hovering above the bearing east west to the enemy and the instability in the magnetic field in the Triangle. The ADAM pods should be visible at fifteen thousand metres giving us a clear location of our target. Our strategy will consist of a simple port broadside at five thousand metres; I want to see the whites of these bastards’ eyes. All manoeuvres will have to be manually calculated which I will direct personally, all sixteen inch cannons will start the offensive on a five thousand metre delivery. Radio communication will be used as soon as we come about and square up to the target to correct projectile placement, all communication before that will be verbal. Double the crow’s nest lookouts and form a chain of human communication to the bridge until we come about to engage. We firmly believe our enemy does not know we are here. If something takes five minutes to do, I want it done in three; if it takes ten seconds I want it done in five. This is no drill ladies and gentlemen. I want a sextant, charting instruments and local charts on the bridge immediately. I want this ship under way in five minutes ... and, good luck to you all.” Rice clapped his hands. “Come on let’s move it.”

  The Wisconsin became a flurry of organised chaos. Rice made calculations with his sextant looking to the sun and horizon, drawing some lines on the chart as the great ship pulled anchor and her turbines came to life. The whistle tubes were still intact to the engine room and communication for power was passed down spider infested pipes. Ten minutes had passed when Rice yelled his first orders. “All ahead full, right rudder to five o’clock, hold that bearing full ahead. We should have visual on ADAM’s A10 pods in thirty-five minutes, fifty minutes to engagement.”

  It was a calm fine morning and the Wisconsin cut a heavy wake as she reached her top speed. Rice continually checked his watch as and used his binoculars to scan the horizon. Thirty-six minutes passed; then a message came from the crow’s nest by means of a verbal line.

  “Two blue glowing lights on the horizon sir, the port one bearing dead ahead, the starboard one bearing one o’clock,” reported Captain Murray.

  Rice looked at the helmsman steering the ship, “That’s damn good boy, you steer us on target like that and these bastards won’t know what hit them.”

  A further five minutes passed; another verbal message from the crow’s nest lookouts. “Small vegetated land mass approximately two thousand metres wide bearing one o’clock Admiral,” reported Captain Murray.

  Rice studied the target. “I can see communication disks amongst the vegetation; the island is rank with them. It looks to
be bristling with defence missile sites as well. Confirm target to crew, open ship radio communication system.”

  Rice picked up the radio intercom hand piece on the bridge. “Now hear this, now hear this, code red, target engagement five minutes, bear all sixteen inch gun turrets ninety degrees to port.” The menacing turrets cranked slowly, exposing the gaping holes in the barrel muzzles square of the ships port side. “Load and prepare to fire on command, five thousand metre placement, stand by for correction instructions from crow’s nest lookouts. Maintain all ahead full.”

  Steel smiled at the progress being made into ADAM’s computer; his attention and that of his friends was taken by a simple scanner in place below the island to monitor local conversation of ships and aircraft passing the island. The scanner volume was low and they turned it up to see what it had picked up, they waited cautiously for transmission to return. The frequency scanned indicated American Naval conversation.

  Rice used the radio for further orders. “Stop starboard drive, full power port drive, full right rudder to three o’clock.” Rice watched the seconds tick away to minutes. “Engines all ahead one third, rudder amidships. Prepare to fire all guns.

  Steel’s face grimaced as he listened; he found binoculars and took the access lift to the island surface accompanied by his friends. He looked towards the menacing form of the Wisconsin in full view on the horizon.

  His lethal entourage focused on the ship as Steel used his military knowledge to identify their foe. “Iowa class battle ship, can’t be the New Jersey or the Missouri, they lie in dry dock. It must be the Wisconsin. We consider them to be of no naval significance, they are training vessels.”

  Number three lowered his binoculars and looked at Steel; he projected his fine English accent through his teeth. “Iowa class battleships carry nine sixteen inch conventional cannon; none of this unstable electro magnetic power will worry them. If the man on the bridge of that thing knows what he’s doing, this island will be blown to pieces and we can’t lift a finger to stop him.”

  It was too late; Rice gave the order to release the first projectile. “Number one turret, cannon one, fire!”

  Steel saw the cloud of smoke billow from the huge gun muzzle. The shell made a spine-tingling roar as it approached the island and entered the sea two hundred metres to the right of them.

  The crow’s nest lookouts informed the gunners of the required correction to the shell trajectory. “Twenty metres short, two hundred metres to the left.”

  Rice yelled an order into the radio. “Adjust distance, hold line, set all turrets to same. Stand by to fire all guns. Hold speed at one third ahead.”

  Rice studied his watch, seconds ticked by as Steel raced back to the elevator, he turned as he walked into it and drew an automatic pistol from his belt and pointed at his accomplices outside the lift entrance. “You fools; you have failed me and the dark side, you will pay in everlasting terror.” Steel gunned them down in cold blood and closed the lift door.

  Rice looked up from his watch and yelled into the Radio, “Fire!” He watched calmly as the shells struck their target, the lookouts reported.

  “Full strike left hand side of island,” was the comment. Steel fell to the floor of the underwater complex as he left the lift at the bottom of its shaft.

  A load roar of combined voices was heard through out the Wisconsin, “Maintain attack,” shouted Rice. “Maintain one third ahead, load all guns.”

  “All guns ready sir bearing last strike!” was the immediate answer.

  “Fire!” shouted Rice. The port side of the ship was again engulfed in cordite smoke.

  “Direct hit, centre of island, island breaking up sir.”

  “Maintain attack,” shouted Rice. Seconds passed that seemed like minutes.

  “All guns ready sir!”

  Rice gave his final shout. “Fire!” The shells screamed towards their target.

  “Direct hit, right side of island, island sinking sir!”

  Rice’s voice calmed, “Disengage enemy, slow to one quarter speed, left rudder eleven o’clock, return turrets to bow and stern respectively. Deploy two armed landing parties to inspect damage. Communications, contact Key West, message, mission accomplished, awaiting further orders.”

  Harry, half asleep at ADAM’s monitor in the bunker came to life. “ADAM’s tracking no more pirate communications; it’s reporting military airwaves normal status. The pods in the Triangle are withdrawing, electro magnetic imbalance has ceased. Major powers have control again; they are cancelling all previous orders of the last forty-eight hours and installing calm. It looks like it’s all over.”

  Harry asked ADAM a question. Status: USS Wisconsin. ADAM responded. Location twenty seven degrees, latitude north, seventy one degrees longitude west. Communicating with Key West, awaiting orders after successful enemy engagement. “The Wisconsin was successful, she knocked out what was causing all this; can you believe that?”

  Jason still looked concerned. “The people there, I must find them, this won’t be over until they are dead. I must know if they find any bodies.”

  “It won’t be long; ADAM’s surveillance will pick up all the gossip for us as soon as it comes to hand.”

  The Wisconsin slowly circled the debris from the now sunken island for an hour before the landing crews returned and made a report. Four bodies had been recovered from the water; all high-ranking military personnel badly damaged, making identification difficult. Their uniforms were obvious, the governments of England, France, China and Indonesia were informed they were involved. More strange things were brewing in the Triangle, with full power restored to the Wisconsin with the return to normality of the magnetic field in the area and the withdrawal of the A10 pods, radar reported to Rice. A powerful storm had brewed south of them, with winds of two hundred kilometres plus. It was heading north towards them at twenty knots; it was only thirty kilometres away and could be seen on the horizon. Admiral Rice made no hesitation in abandoning any further observations of the area and carrying out his next orders. To make full speed north to New York Harbour and anchor the Wisconsin next to the Statue of Liberty, where the entire crew would be decorated by the President.

  The storm on the other hand whipped up huge seas as it stopped and turned south in the middle of the Triangle, directly above where the island had been. It then headed south between Haiti and Cuba and calmed at the entrance of the Magdalena River in Colombia; this took several days. It had been protecting the passage of a small submarine beneath the surface of its raging winds and rain. It surfaced inside Stormway shipping’s deserted wet dock on the rivers mouth. A giant of a man in a Russian military uniform abandoned it there.