The Secret of Excalibur

by Sahara Foley

  Sitting, I grab another square can of beer. Strange, but they've stayed cold for a long time, though they're not in the cooler.

  “Cecil, if our radar and sonar can't penetrate the cave, then their same equipment shouldn't be able to penetrate out. They're probably using every type of listening device they have available, maybe external devices, positioned on top of the hills. You should have the Marines and the Coast units use glasses and try to find anything that doesn't look like a rock.”

  Gray-faced, he looks over at the Admiral, but asks me, “Then what?”

  “We further isolate them by destroying whatever devices they have up there.” Sounds pretty simple to me, but seems to be complicated for them, plenty of wrinkles.

  “Uh, and the PM's order?” He's still looking at Nichols.

  “You won't be taking direct action against the sub, per se, just destroying an illegal military installation that's setup on your shores, and as such, should be nullified.”

  “Quite right, Merlin, make it a war of nerves,” Nichols acknowledges with a grin, starting to see my side.

  Dobie rises, handing the phone to Ruth, then paces as he talks. “Yes, we'll be following the PM's order to the letter, and still adhering to our coastal policy. Yes, Arthur, I think you've got it. Admiral, contact your troops and have them begin to search for installations up on the cliffs.”

  The Admiral strides off a few steps and begins talking into his small radio. Cecil looks pleased with himself, like the cat that ate the canary. Is that from my suggestion, or the fact he found a way to justify his decisions in front of the Admiral? Bureaucrats!

  Rustling another can of beer from the cardboard container, I sit by Ruth. I notice Tober has a can of beer too. He's not drinking the beer, doesn't even have the can open, just holding the can and studying it closely.

  “Uh, Dr. Tober, the square cans were a little joke I was playing on Dr. Burns. Here, sir, use a glass.” He takes the glass, but still never opens his can. I pop the tab on mine, though.

  Several minutes later, the Coast units start reporting in. They found seven installations on the seaside, some with dishes, some with antenna setups, all painted black. The Marines take longer to report, and they found five installations on the lakeside.

  “Admiral, can they effectively destroy the installations with small-arms fire without bringing the whole hill down on top of the sub?” I ask, pouring beer into my glass.

  He does a double take, noticing the square can I'm pouring from. “Why, of course, Merlin.” Into his radio he gives terse orders. “Coast units, Captain Peters, using small cannon, destroy all targets. Colonel Ferguson, have your men destroy all targets using recoilless rifles, but do not destroy the periscope, I repeat, not the scope.”

  Several Marines push Colly's boat out of the sand back into the water. Tober gathers the maps, then boards Colly's boat. He's returning to Relman, at the Lodge, so they can begin searching for the other two missing nuclear subs that could be hiding in the other magnetic influxes. We watch Colly zoom off, leaving a wake, but we're unable to hear his boat over the throbbing motors from the Corvettes. Then, a new sound calls to us.

  Even though the cannons are already firing over the hills, because of the distance, we hear the recoilless rifles first. The soft POOFS from the top of the hills indicate they're hitting their marks.

  “Coast units, all targets destroyed Admiral, cannon secured, sir.”

  “Roger, Peters, stand by.”

  “Admiral, Ferguson here, sir. All targets destroyed. The scope is swiveling around to verify each target, and is now returning to us, sir.”

  Leaning to the Admiral, I pull his hand with the radio in towards me. “Colonel Ferguson, when the scope is directly facing you, salute it.” Nichols gives me a strange look, then slowly a grin spreads across his craggy face.

  “Aye sir, saluted as ordered, sir.”

  “Stand by, Colonel,” Nichols says. He's not upset I used his radio. “Mr. Merlin, for a nonmilitary man, I hope I never have to go up against you.”

  Dobie flashes a pained expression. “I already tried that, Reggie. Not pleasant.”

  “Cecil, it seems all they have left for surveillance is the scope. As far as we know anyway, nothing is ever for certain, is it?” I ask, rising to get another beer.

  Ruth touches me in passing, saying, “Arthur, wait for a moment on that beer,” and heads for our tent.

  Now what? I wonder, but here she comes, with two bottles and Styrofoam cups.

  “Gentleman, as long as we have to wait, we might as well be civilized about it. Cognac? Brandy?”

  The Admiral lightly claps. “Bravo, Doctor, cognac please.”

  She pours some cognac into a cup, handing it to the Admiral. “Sorry, sir, for the Styrofoam cups, but we must make some concessions here.”

  “Quite, Doctor, this is a solemn occasion,” Nichols declares before he sips his Cognac.

  I wonder what he thinks the occasion is, a couple hundred sailors possibly being buried under the cliffs?

  Seven pm rolls on by as we sit around quietly, waiting. Ruth is sitting on the ground at my feet, her head back against my legs.

  Metal. Alive. Not moving.

  Yes, there it is, close by. It's not trying to pull away from me, but feels weaker than before, yet closer.

  Gone.

  I must've flinched, because Ruth turns towards me, looking up at me with a question in her jade eyes. I give a reassuring smile and scratch her head; she winks and turns back around. There isn't anything to comment on anyway.

  We're listening to the chatter between the boats as they do their routine reporting of position and watch changes. The phone suddenly beeps. Commander Dobie jumps to answer it, the rest of us just jump.

  “Yes, ma'am … no, ma'am … certainly, ma'am … yes, ma'am … uh, thank you, ma'am … yes, I will, ma'am.” As he hangs up, Dobie looks worn-out and relieved. Because he turned off the phone's speaker, we could only hear his side of the conversation.

  “Lady and Gentlemen, the Russians categorically deny any knowledge of the missing nuclear subs. They adamantly contend the Ptomken sank years ago, with all hands. They even offered to send a ship to help us remove whatever is down in the cavern.

  “The PM is madder than a wet hen, and if the Russians won't admit the sub is theirs, then we'll just have to go in and capture the damn thing for the whole world to see. She said the Russians are acting very nervous and for us to expect extreme resistance, and possibly a fight on our hands. She granted me Carte Blanche, and ordered me to use any power I deemed necessary to bring that damn sub out in one piece. Even if we have to bury it under the mountain, then dig it out later. 'Don't let the submarine escape.' That's what the Lady said.” He looks proud to have all that power, but I'm sure he's used to wielding it.

  Nichols says, “Perfect, now we wait and see whether the Russian Captain wants to surrender, or be buried under several million tons of rock for Mother Russia. I wonder whether our lads would surrender, if faced with the same position.”

  I glance at him, saying, “Admiral, few men wouldn't, if given the choice. Now, it depends on the sub's commander, whether he's a fanatic. He's the only one who knows what his orders really are on this mission. So, we just wait.”

  “Quite right, Merlin, as usual.” He holds his cup out, and Ruth refills it.

  Ten thirty pm. No one's talking, just radio static and waves lapping along the shoreline and against our boat. More brandy for me. Dobie's forehead and upper lip have sweat popping out, and Nichols is chewing on his cup and messing with his mustache. Ruth's jittery, fidgeting with her necklace. I can't blame them; my stomach's churning from all the pent-up tension.

  Ten forty-five. Colonel Ferguson reports a deep, humming vibration, apparently radiating from the whole cliff face where he is stationed, but no discernible movements.

  Ten fifty-nine.

  “Okay, Cecil, it's time to play one of our bluff cards now.”

  Dobie's alr
eady ordering Nichols to have the divers blow the mines on the two seaside grates, but to leave the one by us alone. Very slightly, we feel the blast tremors, then hear the blasts echo out in the seawall break by the river.

  Eleven-ten. Nothing.

  Why haven't we heard from the Russian Captain by now? What's he waiting for? Is he willing to sacrifice his crew for Mother Russia? I nervously wipe the sweat from my forehead. The thought of being buried under tons of rock is making my stomach roll worse than before.

  “Okay, Reggie, blow the grate,” Dobie orders with authority.

  We not only hear and feel this thunderous blast; we're also heaved upward from the groundswell, almost tipping us over in our chairs. Holding our ears, we duck, trying to avoid the water, mud, sand and pieces of plastic plants raining on us.

  “Damn, Cecil, the blast nearly broke our eardrums.” I yell over the booming explosion, holding my ears.

  Dobie's mouth is open, ready to make some snide remark, when he's interrupted by Nichols' radio. “Admiral, Colonel Ferguson. The vibration has increased tremendously. Due to the noise level, we're falling back into the trees, but staying in combat range, sir.”

  We also hear the noise he's referring to emanating from the radio, like a bass fiddle amplified a thousand times over. Then, I realize we're feeling the vibrations in the sand, and hearing the bass fiddle noise in our area, growing louder. In the light from the lantern, I see grains of sand jumping, like water on a hot griddle

  Ruth grabs my arm, eyes wide with fright. “Arthur?”

  Dobie yells, “Mother of God, did they self-destruct, or fire a damn missile?”

  Ruth shakes me, yelling, “Arrrtthhurrr?!” She's pointing towards the sea.

  Underwater, a bright, blue light radiates three hundred yards, past the Corvettes.

  The Admiral jumps up. “What the fuck?” The rest of us jump up to see what the light is. “Torpedoes, or missiles?”

  I yell, “No, it looks like a big floodlight coming from the cavern. See, the light isn't moving.”

  The brass noise is deafening, and the ground is shaking as we stumble towards the shoreline. Nichols' radio is blaring words, but we can't understand any of them over the vibrating noise.

  “It's like an earthquake,” Dobie shouts, wobbling around, trying to keep his balance.

  We make it ten feet from the waterline when the ground shakes so violently we're thrown to our knees, or face down. I land on my knees, with Ruth clutching my arm in a death grip, as the bass fiddle vibration noise becomes louder and louder.

  Sprawled out on the ground, face white with shock and fright, Dobie yells, “Good God, Arthur, they set off a missile, we're all dead men.”

  Ruth yanks on my arm, nearly tearing it out of the socket. “Can I survive the nuclear explosion, Arthur?” she yells in my ear.

  “You can if I can, kid, now hold on.” Which was a dumb thing to say, because she's on me like vise grips already.

  Between the shoreline and where the Corvettes are anchored, the water blasts up like a volcano in bright, white light. Brighter than daylight and the vibrating bass fiddle noise is numbing. It blasts out of the water, roars right over-the-top of the Corvettes and, at light speed, takes off. Before the water splatters back down, it's just a speck way out over the lake, going up. Then the mass of moving light disappears and is gone.

  The blast from the shattered sound barrier knocks us flat. My eyes snap shut of their own accord, as I fall holding my ears, feeling and hearing nothing. The shock wave made me numb, and I'm unable to move any part of my body. After an unknown amount of time, which felt as if it were forever, I force my eyes open to see the displaced water pattering back into place. I slowly become aware of some faint noises, metal on metal, but very distantly.

  Turning my head, I find Ruth screaming almost in my ear, but she sounds far, far away. She's screaming, holding her ears and rolling back on forth on the sand, eyes tightly shut. Dobie is lying on his side and Nichols is lying face down not far away. I stare up in the sky, but there's nothing to see. The two Corvettes seem ablaze with a yellow, orange light, then it dawns on me they're on fire. It had passed so close to them, and at such high velocity, paint and all other flammable materials had burst into flames.

  Lying on my back, staring up into the sky in disbelief, I think, Sub hell. It was a UFO! A UFO, here. Even though I saw the ship, it was so bright and moving so fast I wasn't able to notice any shape, just a blur of moving lights. A FUCKING UFO.

  I begin laughing, then crying, then break into racking sobs like a baby, unable to stop. A fucking UFO. The sirens start in my ears. Because my body is shaking so uncontrollably, I can't raise my hands to cover them. The sirens are so loud my brain turns to mush. Intense bright light behind my eyes, then everything goes black.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Slowly becoming aware of my surroundings, the first thing I notice is the Noise. It's so loud it hurts, making my head vibrate with the unrelenting noise. HUMM, HUMM. I gingerly open my eyes to find I'm lying on my side, the lantern with broken glass and missing mantle not far from my face. I rapidly blink my eyes, uncomprehending. Shouldn't it still be dark? Yet, there's enough light to see by. Shit. It's close to daylight. With a pounding head, I glance at my watch; the face is shattered.

  Ruth is lying next to me curled in a ball. What's that position called? Oh yeah, fetal position. She's sleeping soundly, breathing normally. Dobie is still on his side, so I stumble to him on legs made of soft rubber. He's breathing deeply. Admiral Nichols is lying, face down, and when I roll him over, I see his eyes are glazed, unfocused. With a disbelieving jolt, I realize he's dead, then try closing his eyes.

  HUMM, HUMM, HUMM.

  Stunned, in shock, I watch the waves rolling up on the beach, birds flying, even a fish jumping, but I don't hear a sound. All I hear is the humming. Shaking my head, with a sharp, flare-up of pain, I realize I'm deaf. Trying to get my bearings, I notice the two Corvettes are gone. Why did they leave? Why didn't they check whether we were injured? Looking closer, I notice objects bobbing in the water, all along the shoreline. Right where I shot the monster Northern of Ruth's yesterday. Or was it the day before?

  The objects are bobbing with the waves, some orange, some green. Horrified, I realize they're dozens of life jackets. I stagger over and into the water. The first man is a burned-out shell, bone showing through where the flesh has been burned off, mixed with the melted life jacket and clothing. The stench of burned flesh and hair is overwhelming, and it takes all my control to refrain from retching. The next three men I check are just as dead. Out of the thirty-nine bodies floating in the water, only two of them are alive, severely burned, with their clothes and life vests melted into their flesh. Fortunately, they're unconscious. Just imagine the amount of pain they'd be in if they weren't. I drag them as gently as I can up on shore, flakes of their burned skin sticking to my hands, leaving pieces of black flesh behind in the water and sand.

  HUMM, HUMM.

  In extreme pain, I hold my head. The noise is so loud I can't think. Kneeling by the two critically injured sailors, I try figuring what needs to be done. Help. Yes, we need help. Now. Looking around, I see the phone lying in the sand, and stagger to it. Dropping to my knees, I pick up the phone. Even though I can't hear anything, I punch the telephone number for the Lodge. I wait a few seconds, then yell, “Help. We need help. Men severely burned, send help. Hurry.” Because I'm not sure they heard me the first time, I repeat my message continuously until my voice breaks. I drop the handset, hang my head and begin sobbing again.

  HUMM.

  Feeling a light touch on my arm, I open my eyes. It's Ruth, singed hair, eyes swollen and red, nose red and running, she looks like hell. Her lips move, but I can't hear a word.

  I say, “I'm deaf, Ruth. I can't hear you.”

  With a deep sigh, she shakes her head, points to her ears, then to my forehead.

  Telepathy. Boy, I must be really messed up if I didn't think of that. *Can y
ou hear me, Ruth?*

  She jerks back, clutching her head, tears in her eyes. She slightly nods her head for YES, and with both hands, makes a sign for DOWN.

  My telepathic message was too loud, but I'm finding it difficult to concentrate with this damn humming vibrating in my head.

  Ruth shakes YES, YES, YES, then hugs me, long and hard. After a few minutes, she sits back on her heels and knees, then points up and out.

  *Yes, I saw it. Did you?*

  She nods yes, yes. She points to Dobie and the Admiral, then glances down at the phone, still in my hand. The handset is lying on the sand.

  In her mind, I gently say, *I called for help, but I'm not sure if anyone heard me. Dobie is asleep, but Nichols is dead. The two sailors are alive, but severely burned. All the other men in the water are dead*

  She starts crying again and hugs me. Leaning back, she wipes her eyes, then stares squarely at me. She points to me, then off towards the Lodge, then at me, then towards the Lodge.

  In her mind, I ask, *You want me to go to the Lodge for help?*

  She shakes yes, yes, yes.

  I stare at our once lovely Gray Ghost, where smoke is rising from the engine, and half the paint is scorched from the body. Ruth shakes NO, and points again at me, then the Lodge. Again she points at me, then rubs her hands and shoots one hand towards the Lodge.

  *Teleport? You want me to teleport?*

  YES, YES, YES.

  *No, I can't control my powers any longer,* I explain to her. “Besides, I already called for help*

  NO, NO, NO. She holds her arm out towards our boat.

  Shit. The satellite dish is a melted blob of plastic. Nobody heard me. How foolish. I hang my head in shame.