The Last Wolf (The Talisman Series)

by Stephen Ward

  A massive explosion rocked the sub, knocking the commander off his feet. The impact from the blast was so strong that the target must have been close. Pulling himself up onto a rack of torpedoes beside him, he slowly began to rise to his feet until something caught his eye. These torpedoes looked longer and somehow, even with his limited knowledge about such weaponry, he instinctively realised that these were different. Curious writing was hand-painted on the heads. He couldn't read the language but he did recognise the skull and crossbones as the international marking for poison. “Oh Shit!” That meant these were biological weapons and the problem suddenly became infinitely worse. Explosives were bad enough but bio bombs put a totally different perspective on this. Suddenly he recalled what the spectre had said to him about the home of the naval fleet. Portsmouth! It was going to launch them at Portsmouth! He desperately needed to contact Talisman immediately, but how? There had been no response from the ship despite increasingly desperate attempts on his inadequate radio. As he tried to move quietly, he found himself grinning. “You idiot. Whatever this thing is, it knows everything that happens on board.” With this in mind he determined to return to the Control room where the light was, if anything, slightly brighter and might afford him a greater chance of radio communication.

  As he turned from the bottom of the ladder into the Control room, he got the fright of his life. Beside him stood Stein. “Oh Captain, I'm glad to see you, but I do wish you would give me more warning!” The instruments danced and flickered whilst levers and wheels moved as though manned by crew members. The small red light glowed as he turned on the radio. The batteries were still doing their job. Good! He, yet again, started to carefully turn the dial, listening for any voices as he scanned the channels. He'd almost given up when he suddenly heard what he was hoping for …..radio chatter. He was aware that the chances of his voice being picked up were slim but in the circumstances, he had to at least try.

  “TALISMAN. COME IN TALISMAN....” More static. “TALISMAN …..COME IN TALISMAN. THIS IS COMMANDER FORRESTER ….PLEASE RESPOND TALISMAN...”

  Suddenly, amazingly, came a familiar voice ..… Moorhouse! “FORRESTER, COME IN FORRESTER. ARE YOU OK?”

  On hearing his friend's voice, the commander nearly collapsed with relief.

  “NO, PAUL, I'M NOT OK. LISTEN CAREFULLY.” Forrester explained the gravity of the situation as he saw it.

  At this point, Stein appeared suddenly and he soon realised why. The other ghostly figure stood beyond the Captain and this time the commander could see the blackness in its eyes.

  “Wait!” shouted Forrester, “it doesn't have to be like this. Why kill? Surely there has been enough blood spilt. Please! I have a family … two little girls and a baby boy. I'm in the Navy to help make a better life and a decent world for them. Why are you so full of hate?”

  The figure stopped and looking at Forrester growled, “I was once like you, a family man. I cared about life and children. My job was to design and to draw. I never wanted to kill. I just wanted to end the war, end the suffering and then go home to see my Petra. But you, the military, took my family away. My wife and daughter were killed by your air raids. My child never had a chance to live so I will not rest until every one of your kind knows the pain and suffering I went through for I am Wolfgang Keller and I am the UX505.”

  The spectre began moving closer but Stein held his position until the two began to wrestle.

  “What are you doing here, Captain? This is not your fight nor is it your time. I finished you off once before, I can easily do so again.”

  Suddenly there was an incredible noise and a massive shudder which threw the submarine from side to side and abruptly darkness fell.

  Chapter 73

  After a beautiful day and a flat, calm sea the two soldiers stood, with their rifles leaning against the wall, in a wispy haze of cigarette smoke. Phillips and Harris chatted. It had been a quiet watch.

  “Why are we here?” wondered Phillips, “Who's going to steal that bloody great thing. I mean, I think we'd notice!”

  Harris laughed, “Stop moaning. Orders are orders! Anyway, from what I've heard, we need to make sure nobody gets on board.”

  “Why? Come on, man! What did you hear?”

  “Stuff!” joked Harris.

  “Oh well, fuck off then,” responded Phillips as he took a last drag before throwing his dimp away.

  “Ok! Ok! So, when this sub came in, some of the dock workers said they found mutilated bodies on board. A military experiment that went wrong. That German fella was over there, what's his name, Tuber?”

  “Huber.”

  “Yeah! That's him. Said there was a live one driven crazy. Tried to run and the guards shot him down,” said Harris.

  “You talk some fucking shit. If it was some sort of experiment they'd have more guards than just me and you here.”

  Harris lit another cigarette. “Hey! I'm just telling you what I heard. Just look at the thing. It's a monster. Have you ever seen anything so big? No, it doesn't need any more guards. I'd say nobody else wants anything to do with it.”

  “Well, even the look of it makes me feel nervous,” said Phillips.

  The huge submarine sat below them, its hull bumping gently against the piles in the late evening swell. The last few minutes of full sun shone bright and red from beyond the breakwater as the shadows gradually lengthened.

  Over on the far end of the dock, away out of sight, a lone figure stood. His hands were clasped behind his back, the collar of his black woollen coat pulled up, its hem touching his knees. A shock of blond hair could be seen from under a peaked hat and the black ring on the third finger of his right hand glinted brightly in the now setting sun.

  Suddenly, the clear sky began to darken and from nowhere a thick black cloud moved swiftly on an as yet non-existent wind. The soldiers huddled closer to the wall. “Where the hell did that come from?” asked Harris.

  “I haven't a clue,” answered Phillips, “but we'd better take cover.”

  Bells on the small fishing boats moored in the basin began to ring frantically as the now rising wind whipped up the waves. The black cloud swirled and rippled as the storm rose. Soon none of the once clear sky could be seen, just increasingly deep banks of grey clouds as thunder cracked and lightning intermittently lit the heavens. With a terrible suddenness torrential rain began to lash down.

  “Fuck this!” yelled Harris as the pair hastily dashed for the small hut some fifty feet away from the sub. It wasn't much but at least it would afford them a little shelter.

  The solitary figure stood completely immobile, his eyes fixed on the submarine which was now rocking wildly at its moorings higher and higher as the sea rose and fell. The ropes rubbed against the stone dock, agitatedly creaking and cracking until one by one the strands parted and the boat was free. The swell pushed the mighty sub away and into the basin, turning it almost perfectly as if controlled by the helm.

  The guards watched in amazement, unable to do anything but stare as she drifted out towards the open sea. They picked up their binoculars, struggling to hold them steady in the pouring rain and pounding wind.

  “She'll hit the breakwater,” shouted Harris, his voice barely audible over the wind. “There isn't a chance in hell that she can navigate on this tide without smashing into it.”

  By now the sub was clear of the basin, its retreating silhouette small against the dark horizon.

  “See!” yelled Phillips. “She's hit it. Must have. Look, she's going down.”

  Sure enough, as the men watched, the sub sank lower and lower in the water until she was gone from sight. Then as suddenly as it had come, the rain eased then stopped! The sky lightened and gave way to a fresh, clear evening once more.

  “Have you ever seen anything like that?” queried Phillips. “There's not even a spot of rain!”

  “No, never in my life! What do we do now?”

  “I guess we go and report what's happened. She's sunk ….. out there!”


  The lone figure had watched until the weather cleared. Then, straightening his hat and collar, disappeared into the night.

  Chapter 74

  Talisman slowed to allow the small boat to hit the water at a safe speed. Moorhouse watched as it began to pull away. A trail of bubbles suddenly appeared from almost point blank range heading straight for Talisman's bows.

  “It's going to hit,”yelled Turnbull as he swung the wheel. Moorhouse pointed, “Look!” as a massive geyser of water and an explosion which seemed to lift the ship from the sea hit the small launch almost vaporising it in the explosion. The blow to Talisman had been softened somewhat but it wasn't out of the woods yet! Smoke billowed from the bow rail and visibility was non-existent. Suddenly, lights began to flash and klaxons roared. Looking over at Turnbull, Moorhouse grated, “We can't take much more of this, can we, sir?”

  His grim look showed that Turnbull agreed. “She'll stay afloat but we need to finish that thing off before it reaches anything else.”

  Picking up the intercom, the Admiral called,” Turret 1. Can you read me? ….. over.”

  “Bridge, this is Turret 1.”

  “Good. Have one of your men report to the Bridge.”

  Replacing the handset, the Admiral looked at Moorhouse and said grimly, “Time to fight back.”

  Moments later, a seaman arrived on the Bridge. “Ah, lad. I need you to rig something for me, seaman.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I want you to rig some of the smaller shells like depth charges. Can you do that?”

  “We'll try, sir. Some of them might go off but it's probably about 50/50.”

  “Start now. Make preparations and report when they're ready.”

  “Aye, sir” and the seaman saluted and disappeared.

  “Admiral, are we really going to do this?”

  “Doctor, we really have no other option.”

  Just then the intercom rang, “Admiral, sir, it's Craig. We're staying just ahead of the flooding. We have control of both engines and helm but we're listing badly and ballast control won't respond. From what I can see, the turrets have been knocked out and we've lost five feet of Bow from upper deck to Anchor control.”

  “Very good, Chief.”

  Silence... “Chief?” questioned Craig.

  “Yes,” replied Turnbull. “She's all yours now. That makes you Chief of the boat.”

  “Very good, sir.” responded the young man.

  Moorhouse looked grim, “Do you think he's ready, Admiral?”

  Raising a smile, Turnbull answered, “Craig is young but Chief thought the world of him, so I guess that's enough for me. Anyway, the way things are going, there won't be anything left for him to fix!”

  Both men had to smile then “Can you hear that?” asked Moorhouse.

  “What?” replied Turnbull.

  “A voice on the radio …. it sounds like … can't be!” Picking up the fallen chair by the radio station and crouching on it, Moorhouse placed the earphones on his head. He listened “TALISMAN. COME IN TALISMAN....” Static crackled. “TALISMAN …..COME IN TALISMAN. THIS IS COMMANDER FORRESTER ….PLEASE RESPOND TALISMAN...”

  Gasping, Moorhouse answered, “FORRESTER, COME IN FORRESTER. ARE YOU OK?”

  “NO, PAUL, I'M NOT OK. LISTEN CAREFULLY. THIS SUB IS POSSESSED, CONTROLLING ITSELF. I'M SLOWING IT DOWN BUT THE THING IS HELLBENT ON DESTROYING PORTSMOUTH. I REPEAT ….. HELLBENT ON DESTROYING PORTSMOUTH.”

  The radio crackled, as the doctor shouted “FORRESTER, CAN'T YOU GET OFF? FLOOD IT somehow?”

  “NO, I CAN'T. IT HAS CONTROL OF EVERYTHING. I'VE SLOWED THE ENGINES DOWN AS BEST I CAN AND JAMMED THE LOADING TRACKS BUT FOR HOW LONG, GOD KNOWS. LISTEN TO ME. THERE ARE BIO WEAPONS DOWN HERE, SOME STRANGE TYPE OF TORPEDO. YOU MUST STOP THE SUB. SINK IT SOMEHOW. THE LAST TORPEDO WAS FIRED FROM THE STERN TUBE. THAT TUBE CAN'T BE RELOADED AUTOMATICALLY. IT'S THE BLOODY THING'S ONLY WEAKNESS.”

  Moorhouse pleaded, “FORRESTER, WE CAN FIND ANOTHER WAY.....”

  “DAMMIT, PAUL. LISTEN TO ME. IF THESE WEAPONS ARE LAUNCHED THEN WHO KNOWS WHAT WILL HAPPEN. SINK THE DAMN SUB.”

  The signal was cut off sharply and in frustration Moorhouse slammed the earphones down. “God dammit! What's going on down there?”

  “So, Portsmouth is the main target. Doctor, we have to stop that submarine before it reaches England.” Turnbull picked up a chart from the floor and studied it. “We're twenty miles from Portsmouth ….. that's just over an hour's sailing. Like Forrester said we have to sink it. There's a lot more at risk than simply military vessels. We have to assume that the civilian population is also a target.” Turnbull knew that Alison and the boys were at Portsmouth and the possible consequences didn't bear thinking about.

  “Doctor, send out a message to Kentucky and Berlin. Tell them that Portsmouth is definitely the target and request immediate confirmation that they have received the transmission. Inform them that at this point, we can't be sure the Admiralty will receive our communications. Tell Captain Steel on Kentucky to make it clear to the Admiralty that it is absolutely imperative that the dockyards and surrounding areas should be evacuated.”

  “Yes, sir, at once.”

  “Turret” shouted Turnbull.

  “Turret here, sir.”

  “How are we progressing?”

  “We have four made up, sir. Should we let them go?”

  “Yes!” replied Turnbull, gravely. “FIRE AT WILL.”

  Moorhouse couldn't look as one by one the shells were dropped over the side.

  “Nothing! Dammit, why don't they blow?” Turnbull slapped his hand on the control panel just as a huge geyser of water shot up and washed over the deck.

  “Bridge, this is Turret. We've lost four fuses. Should we continue?”

  “FIRE AT WILL.”

  Chapter 75

  Alison Turnbull was enjoying herself and felt that, despite having to deal with two boisterous boys on her own, the day had gone well. She found herself smiling indulgently as they ran from Information Boards to Exhibits. After all what could be better than taking in the afternoon sunshine. “Not long now,” she thought. Since Laurence had taken the desk job she'd been used to having him around and had forgotten what it was like to have him away for long periods.

  She looked out to sea in time to see two vessels coming up the Channel towards the berths. As she shouted, “Boys! Look!” Michael and Stephen turned and ran back vaulting over the mooring posts.

  Stephen, the younger lad, peered eagerly in the direction his Grandmother pointed and spying a naval vessel, his eyes lit up. “Is that Grandad's ship? Is it Grandad?”

  “No, Darling, that's not him yet.”

  With a look of disappointment, he turned away and sulkily stomped off dragging his feet across the concrete.

  “That ferry doesn't look very safe, Nana.” said Michael trying to sound as adult as possible. Alison hadn't looked too closely, but now she took the time to see what Michael meant. Gazing past the destroyer which was just beginning its turn into the dock, she could observe the passenger ferry more clearly and noted that the bow doors, black and charred, were ripped open. The metal appeared bent and twisted like an old tin can. It listed badly as it began to pull into a berth next to the docking destroyer.

  Straining to see the name, she fumbled in her handbag for her glasses. “Michael, can you read the name of that ship?” He walked closer and read hesitatingly, “It's Duc de Barnais, Nana.”

  Thanking him, she remembered that Winters and Filmore had been travelling on that ship. Instantly worried, she called the boys and they began to make their way over to the ferry port which lay on the other side of the dockyards. Within a few minutes they arrived on the dock next to the stricken ferry. Before they could get any closer, their way was suddenly blocked by a policeman.

  “I'm sorry, Madam. You can't go any further.”

  “But,” she exclaimed, “I have friends on board.”

  “I understand that, but you'll have to wa
it until all the passengers have disembarked. In the meantime, you can wait in the Ferry Terminal.”

  As Alison nodded her agreement, the boys were becoming increasingly animated and pointing at the huge jagged gap where the doors had once been. “Look, Nana. You can even see the cars and trucks through that hole. I bet it was a bomb!” said Michael.

  “No It hit a rock.” shouted back Stephen.

  “Bomb!” snapped Michael.

  “Rock!” growled Stephen.

  “OK, OK! That's enough from you two. Whatever happened doesn't matter just so long as everyone on board is safe,” snapped Alison. “Now, let's go and wait in the Terminal.”

  Chapter 76

  The lights came on once again and the submarine settled after what Forrester could only describe as a blast. “What the hell was that?” he wondered, as he wiped a trickle of blood from his forehead where he had hit the bulkhead. Pulling himself to his feet he tried to raise Talisman but the radio only emitted static. One thing, the sudden blast had seen Keller off for now and it could only be a matter of time before Talisman located the sub. The thought of what those weapons might do if they were launched at Portsmouth continued to fill him with horror, so he began searching frantically for anything that could be used as a tool. He knew enough about torpedoes to know they had access panels that needed removing if they were to be deactivated. Eventually he found something he thought might do the trick. Once again, Forrester made his way quietly to the catwalk below, his boots hardly making a sound on the steel grated floor. He had no idea where the Keller entity was!

  All he needed was a few minutes to get a good look at those torpedoes. What he found shocked him, they were vast, almost twice the length of a man. Inspecting one carefully, Forrester ran his hands over the outer casing. Knowing nothing about warheads he steered well clear of the nose, concentrating instead on propulsion. From what he’d seen, this sub required compressed air to force the torpedo to leave the tube but once out, it powered itself. Towards the back he found a panel and utilising the bracket he'd used previously on the engine, managed to unscrew the four big slotted screws and carefully lifted it away. The poor lighting made it difficult to see but on tracing the many wires he realised, with relief, that it was battery-powered. “Good” he muttered. A big old lead battery just to the left of the geared motor was connected to the large brass propeller. Smiling to himself, he thought, “If I disconnect the battery, it won't matter if it's loaded. It'll sink once it's out of the tube!” As he felt about blindly, almost up to his armpit, he suddenly heard, “STOP, Commander!”