by John O'Brien
“I’m not able to ascertain that for sure, sir, but it appears that we are,” the navigator responded.
“What do you mean, ‘you can’t ascertain that for sure’? Is our equipment malfunctioning?”
“No, sir. Everything appears to be functioning, but we aren’t receiving a signal from the GPS satellites, so I can’t update our position. However, according to the stored information in our nav system, we’re in the right place.”
“That can’t be right, check the equipment again,” Lawrence ordered, wondering if the impending solar storm had arrived early and had, in fact, interrupted satellite communications. It would be the only answer if their equipment checked out.
“Sir, the equipment checks out from end to end.”
“Great,” Lawrence muttered under his breath.
While not a career-ender, it was certainly going to be a possible ink stain on his record despite not being his, the crew, or the boat’s fault. Even with a perfect dive such as they had just accomplished, a GPS malfunction had caused them to surface in the wrong location. At the very least, it would be talked about, and he would be ribbed about it at the O’Club. However, he knew they couldn’t be that far off; their GPS equipment was fairly reliable for some time even without an update.
“Write it up. Put it down to a possible comm interruption with the satellites. Raise the radar mast and sweep the area. Also, contact operations and fill them in on our situation,” Lawrence commanded.
A short time later, Lawrence received word that the radar showed four contacts fifteen miles away in a loose formation.
That has to be our escort, but fifteen fucking miles away? How does that even happen?
Worry edged deeper as there was no reply from any shoreside station; however, that fit with the theory of possible satellite interruptions. The question that ran through his mind was whether to stay submerged and head toward their escort, pretending their rise to the surface out of position hadn’t happened.
No, they’ll have picked up our masts on radar. Damn!
“Surface the boat and make our way to the escort. Signal our position in the blind. Chief, get a signalman with a lamp topside once we clear and we’ll relay via light signals when we draw closer,” Lawrence ordered.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
As they approached their escorts, the radar station commented that the escorts didn’t appear to be underway, but were maintaining their current, loose formation. A quick check with sonar confirmed this, further indicating that the escorts didn’t seem to be under power.
“At least, there aren’t any screw noises that I can make out,” the sonarman stated.
“What in the fuck is going on?” Lawrence muttered, beginning to climb the ladder topside.
Arriving on the topside bridge, Lawrence shouldered his way between one of the lookouts and the signalman. Bracing himself against the rolls of the swells, a warm, freshening breeze passing unnoticed across his cheeks, he lifted a pair of high-powered binoculars. Under magnification, the sleek hulls and superstructures swam into view. Slight adjustments of the large pair of binoculars brought each ship into focus, one after the other. It looked as if the information presented on the radar was true. They were all angled in the same direction and there seemed to be no designed formation with regards to their positioning. For all intents and purposes, they appeared to be riding the gently rolling swells without power.
If they’re drifting on the currents, that would explain why we thought we had surfaced in the wrong position. We were correct, they were the ones who floated away. Now the question is, what caused all of them to lose power?
Looking at the sky as if it held any answers, Lawrence shrugged.
That’s a question for later.
Focusing on the nearest vessel, Lawrence could make out a couple of figures on the deck, but was confused by their actions. One seemed to be repeatedly walking into one of the bulkheads near an open hatch. He watched the crewman walk into the steel bulkhead, take a step back, and repeat the process. His confusion became more pronounced as he focused on yet another figure near the fantail. He followed the scene as the sailor slowly ambled toward the rear of the ship…and walked off, hitting the waters below with a splash.
“Sir! Did you see that? He…he just walked off,” one of the lookouts asked, his tone indicating his shock.
“I saw it,” Lawrence confirmed, scanning the rest of the escort vessel.
The confusion about the whole scene, from the escorts apparently just drifting on the open seas, to the sailor walking absentmindedly into the side of the ship, to the sailor who just walked off the fantail, was deepened by the complete lack of response. No one exited with a rush from within to rescue the sailor who fell overboard. No alarms sent their shrill signal across the waters. In fact, as far as Lawrence could tell, no effort was made to rescue the poor individual whatsoever. It was as if no one had witnessed the action, or even cared. It had happened before, people going overboard without notice until it was too late, but that was extremely rare. In this case, someone should have sounded the alarm.
“Sound the alarm and make for the sailor overboard,” Lawrence ordered. “And get a rescue party on deck.”
The sub surged ahead as power was added to the single, large screw in back. The bow, once plowing gently through the seas, began to contact the swells with more ardor, sending a splash of water outward each time they encountered the rise of a wave. A hatch on the main deck below was thrown open and several of the crew clambered topside. They quickly and efficiently rigged lines along the edges, readied pole arms, and manhandled an inflatable raft into position.
Plowing through the waves, the Washington drove toward the nearest vessel and the sailor overboard. As they drew closer, the lookouts lost sight of the sailor as he sunk beneath the waves. After a continued search failed to find the sailor, Lawrence ordered the Washington slowly ahead to investigate the other escort vessels. As they circled each one, they found the same thing: They were all powered down and drifting on the currents, apparently with no one at the controls. The decks were mostly clear, with the occasional sailor responding like the first they witnessed—bumping aimlessly against bulkheads and going through mechanical motions. There wasn’t any response to any vocal hails or radio calls. Motoring between ships in the midst of the western Atlantic, Lawrence had the eerie feeling that he and the crew were in a bubble of their own reality, the world deaf to their existence. There was only the slap of the waves against the hull and the dull roar of the wind as it swept around the ships floating on the swells.
Circling the last of the escort ships, Lawrence heard something on the wind. It sounded like a scream coming from deep within the ship—faint at first, but growing in intensity. All eyes on the bridge turned toward the noise, the first they had heard coming from the vessels.
“Remember your posts,” Lawrence reminded the lookouts.
With sheepish looks of guilt, the others turned back to scanning their sectors.
Lawrence stared at the open portal from which the shrieks seemed to be emanating. He had placed the boat between two of the ships, closer to the one they were currently studying. Lawrence could faintly hear the same sound drifting across the waters from the farther ship—faint enough that he wondered if he wasn’t imagining it. With the nearer sound growing louder, he wondered if the source of those cries wasn’t on the move…and why were they screaming in the first place?
As he stared across the blue waters, time seemed to slow. It seemed like everything pulled inward and the bubble that enveloped the sub shrank until he was the only one in it. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath held. Everything stopped while he waited with bated breath for something momentous to happen, as if a powerful storm were approaching. Becoming conscious of what he was doing. Lawrence forcefully expelled his held breath. The bubble that included only him expanded. Then, that bubble broke altogether.
The screams grew louder, echoing within the metal confi
nes of the ship. Seeking openings, the shrieks raced down passageways and through portals. As they reached the outside doorway, the shrieks came together, riding on top of each other and compressing, exiting as one loud, roaring cacophony. Pressing his knees against the cold metal surrounding the bridge to brace himself against the rolling of the sub, and holding the binoculars tight in his grip, Lawrence prepared himself mentally for what might appear.
A rush of sailors appeared at the open portal, appearing from within the darkened void that lay just beyond the doorway. Ear-piercing, agonized shrieks accompanied the exodus and, reaching the open air, resounded across the endless swells of the ocean. Upon emerging on the deck and seeing Lawrence and the lookouts, the screaming abruptly stopped. Staring at the crowd that raced to the safety railing that lined the ship, Lawrence was taken aback at the magnified view. Sailors, in a variety of seaborne uniforms, leaned over the wire railings, reaching outward and clawing toward him and the others on top. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the screaming or its sudden cessation. The sight of the silent sailors all clawing at him sent deep shivers up his spine and brought with it a deep sense of foreboding.
Unnerved by what he was seeing, Lawrence lowered the heavy binoculars and rubbed at his eyes. Glancing to the side, he saw the lookouts and signalmen all staring with the same expression he knew must be on his own face, their jaws slack, hanging open with disbelief. Raising the glasses again, he focused on the scene, which became even odder the more he watched. To the side of each sailor, an opaque shape became apparent, hovering near each one as if wavering in the wind. The phantasms seemed to merge momentarily with the sailors at times, vanishing completely as they entered the bodies and then suddenly reappearing.
Again, Lawrence lowered his glasses, rubbed at his eyes, and resumed looking over the scene occurring a couple hundred yards away. The sailors remained, as did the ghostly images beside them.
Perhaps it’s the way the sun is reflecting, he thought, ordering the Washington to a slightly different position.
Looking at the sailors crowding the side of the ship from a different angle revealed only the same phantasms drifting in and out of the bodies.
“I want a recording of this,” Lawrence ordered over the comms.
“Aye, aye, sir. Recording now,” his XO reported.
“And keep it off the monitors,” Lawrence added.
“Aye, sir.”
Remembering the sounds that were faintly heard from the other nearby vessel, Lawrence turned to look and was presented with a nearly identical scene—sailors crowded near the railings, all reaching outward in an apparent attempt to get at Lawrence and his crew.
“Any word from shore?” Lawrence asked after watching the spectacle for a few minutes longer.
“None, sir.”
“Very well. Take us out of here and position us a mile upwind. Officer meeting in the mess in ten minutes,” Lawrence stated. “Have that video loaded onto a laptop.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Keep a watch on your sectors and notify the officer of the deck immediately if anything appears even remotely amiss…I mean, other than it already is,” Lawrence ordered the lookouts, pointing a finger at the crowd still massed at the railings of both nearby ships.
Descending the ladder to the control room, images of what he’d just witnessed raced through Lawrence’s head, his thoughts a jumble. The odd apparitions and behavior—he couldn’t find any explanation that made sense. Perhaps there was something airborne that incapacitated the crew or drove them crazy? He was hesitant to remain even a mile away, but was also hesitant to leave the scene. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t like anything he had ever witnessed before. And, he had seen a lot of strange things in his long years of service to the Navy.
Wisps of steam rose lazily above cups of coffee set before some of the men seated around the small table. Lawrence closed the laptop and looked up at the faces of his officers, not surprised to see disbelief and confusion. Silence followed the short video of the escort vessel; the sailors crowded against the railings, stretching outward. The extended silence became a physical presence, a dead weight that pressed in on all sides. Eyes glanced from Lawrence to the closed laptop and back again.
“Well, gentlemen. I’m not sure what to make of what we just saw. The fact that we can’t communicate with any station, either shoreside or seaborne, can be attributed to the expected solar storm. And, I suppose there is the possibility that our escort vessels being without power can be attributed to the same thing. Farfetched, but feasible. For the moment, we should assume that the storm arrived earlier than anticipated and is interfering with communications and possibly electrical power. If the ships have been rendered powerless, there is the chance that the power grids back home have also been knocked out. However, that doesn’t explain the crew,” Lawrence said, breaking the silence.
“And we were spared the same interference because we were deep underwater?” one of the officers pondered.
As the question seemed mostly rhetorical, no response was offered.
“What we saw on the video was duplicated on the other nearby vessel. We weren’t able to observe the other two, but I’m positive they are in the same condition. So, we come to the question of what happened to the crew. What is causing them to behave in such a manner?” Lawrence asked, looking at each of the men.
“Could it be from the storm? It seems to have happened at the same time,” one officer asked.
“I’m not sure how that could be. Strong solar storms carry an electrical charge that can be measured in the terawatt scale, but nothing that could affect people like that. Satellites, power grid problems, perhaps even the power systems of ships if it were strong enough. Although, one that powerful has never been recorded. But, I don’t see a way that it could affect people like that,” another officer answered, nodding toward the laptop.
“Could it be a bug? Like some form of terrorism we haven’t seen before? It could be that someone unleashed a weaponized version of a virus…like perhaps rabies. They certainly appeared to act in a rabid fashion,” another stated.
“I suppose that’s a possibility and warrants further consideration. It would have to be fast-acting; we were only underwater for a few hours. As far as I know, there weren’t any illnesses being reported before our dive. Something has surely infected the crew, though, and until we figure out what it is, I suggest we keep our distance and remain upwind,” Lawrence responded.
“So, what are we going to do in the interim, sir?” the XO asked. “Are we going to loiter here until we regain comms, or do we set a course for home?”
“That’s the question that’s rattling through my mind. It’s apparent that there’s no one left aboard any of the ships who we can help. I’m not sending anyone aboard for several reasons, the main ones being we can’t be sure they aren’t contaminated in some way, and the crew seem to be acting in a hostile manner. I won’t put anyone here in that kind of danger. Until we hear from operations and ascertain what is going on, we are going to maintain a hands-off approach. As we can do nothing here except monitor and report, which, in my opinion, we have done, we’ll set a course for home and hope the SatComms begin functioning again soon. Norfolk is only a few hours away. If we haven’t established communications by the time we arrive, we’ll wait out the night and make landfall in the morning. Inform the crew that the solar storm has affected the crew on our escort vessels and we are heading home. I’m sure there are already rumors floating around, but we don’t need to exacerbate them until we get a definitive answer from shore.”
With nothing else to say, the meeting broke up and the officers reported back to the departments to ready themselves for the return trip. Each and every one of them was still in a state of shock, unable to be present enough to answer the many questions directed at them. Thoughts tumbled through their minds as they tried to grasp the significance and come to terms with what they had seen. Terrorism, food poisoning, a leak in some system or another—a
ll thoughts that cycled in an attempt to rationalize the behavior of their compatriots on the escort vessels whose posts could just as easily have been theirs.
Atop the bridge again, with the sun lowering toward the western horizon, Lawrence watched the escort vessels grow smaller in the distance. Sea water splashed outward from the bow as they motored away from the scene, leaving the drifting ships behind in their wake. As their escorts vanished below the horizon, Lawrence was struck by the notion that they had submerged in one world and surfaced in another.
* * * * * *
Sergeant Reynolds
Sergeant Michael Reynolds stared out of the spotter scope. The village nestled in the narrow valley was mostly dark with only a few lights still twinkling from several windows. Steep slopes climbed sharply on all sides of the valley. Other than aircraft, the only easy ways in or out of the basin were two dirt roads, one that snaked its way over a shorter saddleback to the north, and another that ran below his position, leading further into the mountains. Of course, there were also the numerous tracks that led up and down the surrounding peaks.
Reynolds adjusted his position on the rocky ledge, attempting to find some relief from the sharp stones poking against his fatigues. Refocusing the scope, he looked at the hillsides, attempting to spot any movement on their rocky slopes. He and his team of five had been dropped in three days ago to surveil the seemingly peaceful valley and town. Higher-ups wanted to know how much and what kind of traffic went in and out, and didn’t want to upset that flow with the chance of a drone being spotted. It took nearly two full days to negotiate the terrain from their drop-off point.
The ledge, with a large boulder precariously perched near the edge, overlooked the entire valley and provided an ideal vantage point—meaning it also stood out as such, but the team had found no sign of recent passage on their trek to the location. A cave partway along the ridgeline provided the perfect place for the team to rest between shifts. Their camp was set deep within a fissure so that any light inside didn’t reach the entrance.
