Sea Devil

by Richard P. Henrick

  “Did it work?” quizzed Tanya.

  “He died horribly two days later,” returned the serious Siberian.

  “I bet the enlisted crew of the Ladoga wish they had some of that potion to give to their present captain and zampolit,” said Yuri with a grin.

  “I can just imagine what it would be like serving under those two.”

  “You’d better behave, Comrade Sosnovo, or during your next fitness report, I’ll recommend a transfer for you to this ship.”

  “Oh, please, Captain, not that!” pleaded the chief engineer as he knelt down in front of his CO and raised his hands in mock supplication.

  As his shipmates roared in laughter at the Ukrainian’s antics, a young seaman guardedly poked his head up over the torpedo rack and shyly cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me, comrades, but is it true that you are really Spetsnaz?”

  Mikhail Borisov sat up straight and answered in his deepest, authoritative tone.

  “As a matter of fact, it is, lad. And just whom do we have the honor of addressing?”

  The red-cheeked enlisted man sheepishly replied, “I am torpedo-mate third class Vasili Buchara, sir.”

  “Seaman Buchara, I am Captain Borisov of the 3rd Spetsnaz brigade, and these are my shipmates. You know, I once knew a fellow by the name of Buchara. I met him in basic training, and if I’m not mistaken, I believe he was an Uzbek.”

  “So am I!” eagerly volunteered the seaman.

  “Why, I was born on the shores of the Aral Sea.”

  Pretending to be impressed with this revelation, Mikhail replied, “The Aral Sea, you say? That’s certainly beautiful country. Now how can we be of service to you, lad?”

  Calmed by the officer’s caring demeanor, the wide-eyed Uzbek continued.

  “Though I’ve been in the service only a little over ten months now, I was hoping to join the Spetsnaz someday, and I was wondering if service in the special forces was really as difficult as they say it is.”

  “Take whatever you hear and multiply it a hundredfold,” returned Mikhail.

  “And then you’ll come close to understanding the degree of difficulty involved in the training of a Spetsnaz operative. Sure, our basic training is painful. But you’ll emerge from it a real man — able to swim, run, and hike distances you never dreamed of attaining on your own. You’ll also learn how to properly operate every weapon from a crossbow to a howitzer, and learn one hundred ways to kill a man with your bare hands. If you train hard and make certain to master each level as it’s presented to you, you too can be a part of the Rodina’s finest.”

  “You don’t think that my small size will hold me back?”

  “Can’t a small man be just as brave as a tall one?” asked Mikhail.

  “Size doesn’t matter when it comes to training a killer, lad. In fact, in some instances, having a small stature can even be an advantage.

  “I remember a time once in Afghanistan when we were ordered to infiltrate a rebel stronghold that overlooked an important crossroads. As we climbed in over the stone walls, we made our first contact with the enemy and a violent firefight ensued in which we endured.

  Yet as we tallied up the rebel fatalities, it was noted that several of the wounded Mujahidden had seemed to have disapppeared. Shortly thereafter, we found the first tunnel. Apparently the fortress was honeycombed by such passages, which were too narrow to accept a big man such as myself. And that’s when Corporal Litvak stepped forward.

  “Litvak was our newest squad member and had a build much like yours. He also was one of the bravest men I have ever met. He single-handedly crawled into that tunnel with nothing but a knife and a couple of grenades to protect himself with.”

  “And what ever happened to him?” asked the breathless Uzbek.

  Mikhail purposely hesitated a second to build up the suspense.

  “Ten minutes after he had disappeared into that tunnel, Litvak reappeared with his jacket pocket filled with the bloody ears of the half-dozen rebels he personally killed down there. For that act of heroism he received the Order of Lenin, though I’m afraid poor Litvak died several weeks later after getting hit by a runaway truck while crossing the street in downtown Kiev. But it all goes to show that physical stature doesn’t make the man. It’s heart and courage that the Spetsnaz is continually looking for.”

  Awed by this narrative, the young seaman smiled.

  “Thank you for that, Captain. My dream has always been to join the special forces and to serve the motherland to the best of my abilities. I’m genuinely relieved to know that such a goal is reachable in my case, and I’ll do everything within my power to attain it.”

  “You do that, lad,” said Mikhail forcefully.

  “And always remember that service to the Rodina comes first.”

  Responding to this advice with a crisp salute, the wide-eyed Uzbek excused himself to return to his duty.

  “You’ve inspired not only that boy, but us as well,” offered Sea Devil’s chief engineer.

  “And here I thought I was beginning to sound more like the Ladoga’s long-winded zampolit,” returned Mikhail, who lay back on his mattress.

  “Now our goal is less than twenty-four hours away, and before you know it, it will be time for action. Get some rest, comrades. Then we’ll see about getting some fresh food into our bellies. Because I can assure you that once we leave this submarine, we won’t have the time for even a nap until this all important mission is successfully completed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marie Barrett waited until the lorry carrying Bernard, Dr. Blackwater, Sean, and the bomb was well on its way to Dundalk before heading off for the garden to properly stake up her tomatoes. As it turned out, only one plant of the twelve in the ground was a total loss. Yanking it up by its withered roots, she proceeded to pound a series of thin waist high wooden stakes into the soil behind each of the remaining plants. Once this time-consuming job was completed, she delicately tied the stalks onto the poles with strips of cloth torn from a worn-out sheet.

  She was halfway done with this task when two fatigue-wearing young men passed by the plot. Both sported rather longish brown hair and had Armalite rifles slung over their shoulders.

  “Good day to you, Marie,” greeted the taller of the two.

  “It looks like you’re going to have quite a crop there.”

  Briefly looking up to brush a loose strand of red hair out of her eyes, Marie answered politely, “I sure hope so, Tommy Carlin. I started these plants from seeds sent to me from America, and I’d sure hate to lose them.”

  “Make certain to pinch off those suckers growing between the vines,” advised the other soldier.

  “That way the buds will get plenty of nourishment.”

  “Since when did you take up farming, Micky Corrigan?” asked Marie.

  “You’d be surprised what me and my mum grew in the tiny plot of open land we had in between our Belfast tenement. Though tomatoes did poorly there because of the lack of direct sunlight.”

  “You city kids never fail to amaze me,” remarked the redhead as she turned her attention back to her gardening.

  “See you later, Marie,” said the Belfast native, who had to hurry his stride to catch up with his country bred partner.

  Sending the squad of soldiers up to Cootehill House had been Bernard’s idea. The IRB’s co founder decided to take this rather drastic action when he received a call from Dundalk warning him that some strangers were in town asking about Scan Lafferty’s whereabouts. Because there was a chance that they could be headed up to County Caven, Bernard sent for the troops, who were currently deployed throughout the estate grounds.

  It was very reassuring for Marie to know that she wouldn’t be left here all alone while the others were headed for the pier at Dundalk. The manor house was immense, and sometimes at night when she was staying there by herself, she could have sworn that she heard footsteps and people talking. The only one to take her reports seriously was Dr. Blackwater, wh
o one night beside the fireplace admitted that he too had heard the ghostly noises. Strangely enough, he attributed them to his parents, whom he believed still walked the grounds of the estate searching for the peace of mind that had escaped them in their rather short, tragic lives.

  Marie had a genuine liking for the silver-haired physician. He was a kind, sensitive individual who sincerely cared about people. Through the years he had been an avid supporter of their movement. His medical expertise was invaluable. More than once his skills as a doctor saved the life of a wounded IRB patriot. Just recently he had displayed this proficiency on the shoulder of Sean Lafferty. And only a few short days after being on the brink of death, Sean was up and about, his gunshot wound all but forgotten.

  Of course, one of the greatest gifts the physician had given them was the use of his beloved Cootehill House. The estate was more than just a place to hide from the authorities or heal from a wound; it was a home away from home where an individual could put down roots and learn from the land.

  During her stay at the manor, Marie rediscovered the glories of life all over again. The mere act of working with the soil taught her an invaluable lesson about mankind’s fragile hold on the planet. She now realized that cities had corrupted the human soul, and that their only salvation would be when people realized this and went back to the land.

  Capitalism served to veil this primal fact from the masses. Driven by the insatiable greed for material objects, the majority of the world’s population didn’t know what effort went into the food they so hurriedly threw into their baskets at the supermarket. Better they should grow their own vegetables and raise their own cattle than lust after that bigger diamond or fancier automobile.

  After a hard day’s work in the fields, Marie felt more complete, both physically and spiritually. And she contributed this coming together of mind and body directly to the positive influence of Cootehill House. This was Dr. TYronne Blackwater’s greatest gift to the Brotherhood, and as far as Marie was concerned, she would always be indebted to him for it.

  Satisfied that her tomatoes now had a better chance to grow to maturity, the redhead tied up the last plant and stood to examine the rest of her garden briefly. Beside the row of tomatoes that already had several yellow buds on it were a line of sprouting carrots, radishes, and cabbage. Yet another part of the garden was reserved for canteloupe melons. By far the largest patch held that Irish staple the potato. If all went well, she’d be in the midst of her first harvest shortly, when her hard labor would really bear fruit.

  Already looking forward to this day, Marie stepped over the low stone wall that kept the rabbits and squirrels away, and began her way toward the manor house to wash up. After leaving her mud-stained boots in the anteroom, she crossed through the kitchen. The pot of mutton stew that she had started earlier in the day was cooking away on the stove. It filled the room with a tangy aroma, and she knew the lads would eat their fair share come supper-time.

  She used the large restroom on the ground floor to wash up in. It took a bit of scrubbing to get the caked dirt out from under her chipped nails, which hadn’t seen a proper manicure in years.

  Before returning to the kitchen to check on dinner, she decided to stop by the doctor’s study and read the newspaper one of the lads had just brought up from Dundalk. This room was on the other side of the parlor, and it was one of Marie’s favorites. It had been Dr. Blackwater’s parents’ bedroom long ago, and it had a cathedral ceiling, a fireplace, and a splendid view of the meadow. The doctor had his desk set up in front of the window, to take advantage of the direct light.

  As she sat down in his favorite red leather chair, Marie picked up the newspaper that lay before her on the desk. She couldn’t miss the bold type headline that graced the front page, nor the photo of the attractive middleaged woman and two young girls. By now all of Ireland was talking about the deaths of Mrs. John Maguire and her daughters. As Marie skimmed the article, she noted that a good part of it centered around the fact that Dr. Maguire was still missing, and that the police hadn’t ruled out any implication on his part in the homicides.

  Marie couldn’t help but snicker at this groundless innuendo. She knew that it was just like the decadent capitalistic press to make such a sensational insinuation for the purpose of selling more newspapers.

  “If the fools only knew the truth,” mumbled the redhead to herself.

  It was at that moment that she noted an article at the bottom of the page circled with red ink. The headline read, Queen to Christen Trident. It went on to give the sketchy details of the English monarch’s visit to Scotland’s Gare Loch the next afternoon to dedicate the U.K.“s first Trident-missile-carrying submarine.

  Chills ran up her spine. For she could just picture the headlines two days from now, when news of a tragedy of epic proportions hit the stands for all to see.

  Sitting back in the chair, she gloried in the fact that solely because of the IRB’s efforts, an empire that had ruled for centuries would soon crumble as its supreme leader was incinerated in a nuclear firestorm.

  Surely this was all that was needed to arouse the oppressed from their slumbers. With the realization that their age-old tyrant was gone for all time, the Celts would unite in a single socialist movement that would replace imperialism with the voice of the worker and strip all senseless borders from their maps.

  Though many innocents would die to make this dream come true, that was the price they had to pay for decades of blind servitude. By its very definition revolution meant a radical, sudden change involving the overthrow of one government and the substitution of another by the governed. One had only to look at the chaos that had taken place in America in 1776, in France in 1789, and of course the greatest popular uprising of all, the Russian Revolution of 1917, to know that the blood had to stain the streets red in order for the people to speak.

  In a way, the overthrow that the Brotherhood was about to trigger would be antiseptic compared to the past struggles that had divided nations for decades on end. With the detonation of a single blast, a corrupt, decadent way of life would pass, to be replaced by a movement whose bywords would be freedom and equality for all. No bloody battles would accompany this drastic change of social orders, and brother wouldn’t be forced to take up arms against brother to make it come true. All this would be ensured when the fireball rose above Gare Loch and the Royal Family was removed from the face of the earth in one blindingly bright blast.

  Conscious that the weapon that would alter the course of history was on its way to Scotland, Marie anxiously sat forward and noticed there was a flier of some sort placed on the desk beside the newspaper.

  This poster looked as if it had been ripped off a bulletin board. Ignoring its torn edges, she read the fine print and a wide grin soon painted her freckled face.

  For here was an official notice from the United States Navy practically begging the local fishermen for information regarding any unusual aerial phenomena they might have experienced at sea recently. Surely this was a bomb that they were referring to, the very same weapon that would be transported over the sea to change the course of destiny!

  Marie broke out in an ironic fit of laughter at this and was forced to gain control of herself when the desk-mounted intercom began ringing. Breathlessly she picked up the handset.

  “Hello, this is Marie.”

  “Marie, it’s Seamus at the gatehouse. Spread the word, comrade. They’re here!”

  Major Colin Stewart ordered the car in which they traveled up from Dundalk to a halt about an eighth of a kilometer away from a gray stone gatehouse. At this point the squad exited the vehicle and opened its trunk. From a concealed locker, they removed their equipment.

  With hardly a word spoken, they hurriedly changed into matching green and brown camouflage fatigues.

  To hide the exposed skin of their faces and hands, a specially formulated burnt cork compound was utilized.

  Only when their lightweight Kevlar bulletproof vests were in place
did Stewart hand out the weapons.

  All five commandos carried Hechler and Koch 7.62mm assault rifles with twenty-five bullet clips. They also were outfitted with Beretta 9-mm pistols, razor sharp combat knives, and an assortment of gas, stun, and shrapnel grenades. Two of the soldiers carried ropes with grappling hooks.

  “We’ll follow the road that leads beyond the gatehouse by way of that copse of pines,” instructed Stewart in a whisper.

  “Stay alert, and keep an eye out for mines and booby traps. There’s no telling what we may be walking into here.”

  As his men signaled that they understood, the ma273 for ordered Private Robert Campbell to take the point, and off they went into the thick woods. The ground was soggy and littered with broken tree limbs, yet the commandos pushed onward, oblivious to the obstacles.

  Colin Stewart was grateful when the pothole-ridden road began a wide turn leading uphill. As they began their ascent, the footing improved and their forward pace quickened.

  They halted at a small circular clearing, and their point man beckoned for the major to join him beside a fallen evergreen trunk. Colin Stewart did so, and set his eyes on a good-sized arched manor house sitting at the crest of the hill. There was a large barn behind it.

  “That’s it,” whispered Stewart.

  “Yet it doesn’t look like there’s anyone home.”

  “They’re there, all right, Major. I can smell ‘em,” returned the sandy-haired private.

  As the squad gathered together, their CO presented his plan of attack.

  “If Sean Lafferty’s up there, chances are he’s inside the manor. Since he’s our primary objective and there’s no telling what kind of security is present up there, we’ll initiate a two-pronged attack. Private Campbell and I will approach the house by way of the south wall. We’ll use one of the ropes to enter the structure by way of its second-floor window. Meanwhile, Corporal Duncan will lead the rest of you around the manor by way of the barn. If no opposition is encountered, you’ll then take up positions beside the south wall while we finish our sweep of the manor’s interior.