The Seraphim Sequence: The Fifth Column 2
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‘I’m hurt.’ Chickenhead slapped DC’s shoulder. ‘I thought we had some chemistry.’
Damien’s sensitive hearing picked up on Nasira whispering into Jay’s ear. ‘There’s no way you’re ready. Save it for next time, you hear me?’
‘I can take him now,’ Jay said. ‘I know how to do it.’
‘You’re still too tense,’ she said. ‘I’ve been training Chickenhead for six months. In a fair fight he could trash any operative out there, trust me on this shit.’
Jay was grinning. ‘You think highly of yourself, don’t you?’
‘Are we doing this or not?’ Chickenhead said, interrupting their whispers.
‘Just don’t electrocute his ass, OK?’ Nasira whispered.
‘I won’t need to.’ Jay was off his chair and moving around the table. He wobbled with each step and seemed to have trouble walking straight.
Nasira leaned over to Damien. ‘Is he pretending to be drunk or is he actually that drunk?’
‘No,’ Damien said. ‘He’s actually that drunk.’
Jay squared off with Chickenhead, the pair of them in blue overalls and white sneakers. Chickenhead either hadn’t drunk as much as Jay or had a much higher tolerance for it. Upside to being Australian, Damien had learnt.
The crew began shouting encouragement at them. DC didn’t turn around to watch; he poured another drink instead. Damien almost felt like joining him.
Jay swayed slightly. ‘Come at me, bro.’
‘You better not electrocute me, mate,’ Chickenhead said.
‘I don’t need bells and whistles,’ Jay said. ‘Mate.’
Chickenhead danced around him, then cut in fast. Damien watched with increasing interest. He knew from his training with Grace that this system of combat favored extremely close quarters. Move in fast, overwhelm, disorient, confuse, deceive. And Chickenhead did just that. A couple of decoy strikes moved over Jay’s body. Jay rolled from their path. Damien was impressed, actually.
Then Chickenhead started to engage. Damien knew he was searching for where Jay’s body was out of balance. When he found it, he would exploit it. He pushed Jay’s hip to one side, hooked him behind the shoulder and stretched him out. Jay didn’t resist. He was too drunk to be rigid and managed to slip out. He countered with two fingers thrust below Chickenhead’s Adam’s apple.
Chickenhead spluttered and stepped back. Jay stayed with him. He stepped on Chickenhead’s foot and held it in place, used his knee to swing Chickenhead’s out. He feigned a punch to Chickenhead’s face but opened his fist and withdrew it.
Chickenhead slipped a punch to Jay’s head. Damien winced, but before it connected, Jay’s forearm knocked it off course, then pulled back, glancing across Chickenhead’s face. Jay sent his other hand behind Chickenhead’s head, but Chickenhead slipped away. Damien was more impressed now. Jay was working both hands at the same time. He’d never seen him do that before.
Jay, emboldened by his success so far, moved in for a jab to the ribs. Chickenhead brought his arm down on Jay’s, catching him inside the elbow and hammering Jay’s blow off target. With his other hand, Chickenhead grabbed Jay’s wrist. As he did so, he continued with his original arm, moving around Jay and whipping a fist under his shoulderblades, crushing the air from him. Chickenhead released Jay’s wrist with his other hand and snapped it upward, into Jay’s face. It caught him across the cheek. The blow was light, but enough to stun Jay and bring him to one knee. Helping him with the fall, Chickenhead kicked Jay’s knee out. Jay leaped forward, rolling over Chickenhead’s leg and escaping. He came to his feet unsteadily and spun around.
From the corner of his eye, Damien could see Nasira shaking her head.
‘This isn’t going to end well,’ she said.
Chickenhead closed the gap quickly, intent on taking advantage of Jay’s slower reaction times. He drove a punch in directly to Jay’s face. Jay seemed non-responsive and for a painful second Damien thought it was going to connect. But Jay’s reaction, although late, was fast. His left arm moved to intercept, bringing Chickenhead’s arm up high and exposing his midsection. Jay’s right arm—his favorite punching arm—was ready. Damien saw it coming. He landed a light punch below Chickenhead’s ribs. Chickenhead exhaled sharply. Before he could move away, Jay’s left elbow drove into Chickenhead’s armpit. Then Jay whipped around behind Chickenhead. Another punch found its place in Chickenhead’s stomach. Jay’s hand smeared over Chickenhead’s face, tilted his chin back. He pushed his heel into the back of Chickenhead’s knee. Chickenhead came tumbling down. Jay withdrew, then bowed with both hands together.
The table broke out with cheers and protests. DC took a pair of twenty-dollar notes, smiling to himself.
Chickenhead got back to his feet, his mischievous grin replaced by a more humble one. He shook Jay’s hand. ‘Nice one, mate.’
Jay grinned.
Damien watched as Chickenhead broke the handshake and pulled away. ‘Ow!’ he yelled. ‘Did you just zap me? You fuck!’
The table broke out in laughter. Even Damien couldn’t help himself. Jay tried to apologize but Chickenhead wouldn’t let him get any closer.
‘Get that shit away from me!’ He leaped away from Jay’s offered hand and made for the table.
Damien leaned over to Nasira. ‘This might be the first and last time I say this, but I think his drunkenness just worked in his favor.’
Jay was throwing his hands in the air. ‘I did it! I can do it!’ he yelled. ‘It makes sense—’
Damien watched as Jay fell over a chair.
Nasira drained her glass. ‘Now I got to teach him to do it sober.’
Sophia appeared at the ladder. ‘Everyone, command room.’
Chapter Thirteen
Damien had to help Jay stand up straight to get him onto the ladder. Finally, they all made it into the command room, where the skipper and the other officers were congregated.
‘What’s the haps, caps?’ Jay said, still a little wobbly.
‘We’re approaching Candon City,’ the skipper said. ‘West coast of the Philippines.’
DC nodded. ‘Good. That’s thirty miles from base.’
‘Six hundred yards from shore is the closest I can get ya’ll,’ the skipper said. ‘Maybe give us ten feet of water under the keel, so you better make it snappy.’
‘You’ve done more than enough,’ DC said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Speaking of which,’ Damien said, ‘how do we … get out?’
‘Lockout trunk,’ DC said. ‘We have camo wetsuits and rebreathers for you. And a few waterproof rucksacks.’
‘We have to go through the ocean?’ Damien said.
‘Why?’ Jay elbowed him. ‘Don’t like the deep sea?’
‘I prefer land, with oxygen and stuff,’ Damien said.
He and rebreathers didn’t get along; he hated being underwater any longer than he had to. He’d barely scraped through the combat diving module in Project GATE.
‘Leave your rifles behind; small arms only,’ DC said.
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Jay said.
‘I don’t want to arouse suspicion. Just handguns,’ DC said. ‘Plus, the guys here might need their own firearms one day.’
‘How we gonna make contact with the base?’ Nasira asked.
‘I’ll take care of that,’ DC said. ‘We approach the shoreline after dark and take cover. I move into town on foot, initiate contact with the base and set a pick-up point. Then we move in and get picked up.’
Sophia nodded approval, her usual single nod. ‘How close can you take us?’
The skipper smiled. ‘Undetected or detected?’
‘You’re all strong swimmers, right?’ DC said.
‘Depends on your definition,’ Damien said. ‘Don’t you have one of those Navy SEALs submersibles or something?’
‘No,’ the skipper said. ‘We’re lucky to have this magnificent beast.’
Jay leaned toward Nasira. ‘I’ve been called worse.’
They followed him out of the command room. Damien wasn’t far behind them, heading for the berthing deck.
He opened his bunk locker and removed what few possessions he had. His wallet and a small pouch with a medium-sized multitool, penlight, false New Zealand passport, cell phone, set of keys to his New Zealand apartment and a few other essential items. He also carried a small daypack with other important items. He checked its contents to make sure everything was there. He’d removed his full-sized multitool from its pouch and carefully slipped his great-grandfather’s watch inside the pouch so it wouldn’t get scratched, then wrapped it in its own small waterproof bag just to be sure. He checked it was still there before throwing everything into the daypack, including his civilian belt, and dropping the whole pack into a resealable waterproof storage bag.
Everyone else around him was stripping off their overalls and throwing their civilian clothes on. He tried not to look at their various states of undress—Jay was freeballing, much to Nasira’s disgust—and started taking off his white sneakers. They would all need something normal to wear once they reached the shore. The camo wetsuits might help them blend in with the vegetation, but they’d look a bit strange when they were walking the streets of Candon City. He slipped on his T-shirt and jeans, fastened his G-Shock wristwatch to his wrist and patted his pockets to make sure nothing was in them. He had his own sneakers threaded with paracord. It felt good putting on his own shoes again.
When he returned to the command room it was to find camo wetsuits arranged in a row, swimming fins and gloves piled on top. It was time to kit up. There was a second row of Dräger diving masks and rebreathers, all black. Damien’s stomach turned when he saw them.
DC appeared behind him carrying two waterproof rucksacks. ‘Pack your stuff in here,’ he said, and disappeared again.
Damien tucked his sealed daypack inside a rucksack and kicked off his sneakers and clothes. He selected a wetsuit and pulled it on over his legs and hips, and over his head. They were patterned with woodland camouflage. He didn’t know how appropriate that would be for the palm trees and tropical foliage of the Philippines. He left the hood around his neck for now.
Jay and Sophia walked into the command room and started packing their stuff into the rucksacks. Sophia had more possessions than Jay or Damien. Jay’s largest possession was a large plastic water bottle, which he took a sip from before packing. Judging by the expression on his face, it wasn’t water.
Jay checked his own G-Shock watch and slapped Damien on the back. ‘I can’t wait to get off this tin can.’ He noticed the skipper and added, ‘No offense.’
The skipper cleared his throat. ‘You boys take care of yourselves, you hear?’
‘Copy that,’ Jay said.
Nasira walked in a moment later, Benito a few paces behind. Sophia moved to help him with his gear, starting with the wetsuit. Damien left them to it and put his sneakers back on, tying the paracord.
Chickenhead and Big Dog emerged with their small bags of possessions and packed them into the second rucksack. They started kitting up, talking amongst themselves.
‘You’re coming?’ Damien said.
Big Dog paused. ‘Yeah. If it’s alright with you, mate. DC asked us along.’
Damien wasn’t sure whether that meant the ride to the base would be dangerous and DC wanted more support, or he didn’t trust Sophia and her friends, Damien included, and preferred his own team.
‘No problems here,’ Damien said.
Chickenhead turned to Jay. ‘Just don’t use your lightning-bolt powers under the water, mate. I don’t want to get electrocuted.’
‘Neither does the whole team,’ Big Dog added.
Jay raised an eyebrow. ‘Only if you guys carry the rucksacks.’
Big Dog sagged with disappointment. ‘Oh man, that’s not fair.’
Jay laughed. ‘It’s cool, we’ll carry them, won’t we, big boy?’ He turned to Damien.
Damien felt decidedly ill. ‘I’m … not the best underwater.’
Jay shrugged. ‘Fine, just me then.’
‘And me,’ DC said, walking in with black plastic boards stacked under his chin—underwater navigation boards. He handed one off to everyone.
Damien took his gratefully. It reminded him of the floating kickboards he’d learnt to swim with as a kid. This one was lightweight, but it didn’t float. It had big handles on either side, and a lanyard and carabiner. In the center of the board was an underwater compass the size of a snow globe, with a chem-light holder above it. At the top there was a smaller globe, the depth gauge. One part of the board was empty. Damien took off his G-Shock and fixed it in place. The luminous watch hands would light up in the water enough for him to see.
Placing the board aside, he reluctantly pulled the fins over his sneakers. They were military issue, designed to fit boots, but they still fit OK. He pulled on his gloves, and reached for the last piece of his kit: the rebreather. It had two tanks, one full of oxygen and the other full of normal air. Between them, a plastic reservoir containing soda lime. The rebreather was closed-circuit, so the expelled air was recycled. The soda lime stripped it of carbon dioxide and topped it with oxygen from the oxygen tank, along with other gases, so you could breathe it again. The closed circuit also meant no bubbles to give away your location. Damien stepped through the straps and fastened the rebreather to his body. It hugged his chest, the oxygen tank sitting snugly underneath, the air tank strapped to his back, their combined weight about the equivalent of carrying a fat bulldog.
‘Six hundred yards as promised,’ the skipper announced from the other side of the command room. ‘Good luck and God bless.’
Damien kept his diving mask with his navigation board and waited as everyone waddled clumsily on their fins into the lockout trunk. He could feel his heart thrumming against the rebreather as he followed them inside. Everyone was pressed up against each other around the ladder. Above the ladder, a human-sized pipe led to the access hatch.
Sophia was busy fussing over Benito’s kit and showing him how to bite down on the mouthpiece. Jay started doing a once-over on Damien’s kit to make sure everything was secure and untangled; then Damien did the same to him. Jay was wearing a rucksack. DC had the other one.
‘Are we all set?’ DC said.
Everyone nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Damien was certain he was on the lower end of the scale. Chickenhead and Big Dog were excitable, bouncing on the balls of their feet—or fins as it were. Jay seemed eager to get some fresh air, Nasira looked mostly impatient, Sophia notably tense. Benito looked as sick as Damien felt. It should’ve made Damien feel better but it didn’t. The last time Damien had participated in a combat diving exercise he’d blacked out. Another test subject had rescued him and pulled him back to consciousness, and the instructors had been none the wiser.
He hooked his navigation board onto his rebreather harness while DC explained the finer points of their adventure to the group. DC was in lead, and everyone would follow in pairs, but they’d all be required to navigate using their navigation boards. DC gave them a heading—seventy-three degrees—and a depth—ten meters. Damien set the rotational dial on his board’s compass to a bearing of seventy-three. Distance to shore was six hundred yards.
‘There’s a narrow inlet on this bearing,’ DC said. ‘We’ll follow the inlet inward and then adjust to 130 degrees, surfacing if necessary to orient ourselves. Rally on the coast and move immediately into cover.’
That was the most critical part of the operation; the space between leaving the water and reaching cover was their most vulnerable moment. Once in cover, they would keep their rebreathers and take them to the Akhana base rather than cache them. Otherwise it was a waste of good kit.
‘It’s just dark outside so we
got plenty of hours to work with,’ DC said. ‘And we’ll need every hour we can get to stay low and wait for extraction. We don’t know how much cover’s gonna be available or even if there’ll be any at all.’
Damien hoped the entire shoreline was unpopulated. He didn’t fancy spending the rest of the night floating about in the water.
DC closed the access hatch, sealing them inside the lockout trunk. As the water from the compensation tank started to fill the space, Damien tried not to think about sharks. He pulled the wetsuit hood tightly over his head and fitted his diving mask to his face, then bit down on the rebreather mouthpiece. It was attached to two black tubes, rubber and stretchy like a vacuum cleaner tube.
Next to him, Jay, Sophia and Nasira were doing the same. They looked like soldiers from an oppressive dystopian future. Then he remembered they were.
Damien dipped his head underwater to check the seal around his mask. No leaks. He bit down on the mouthpiece and turned the valve on his rebreather. His first breath tasted acidic. He hated rebreathers.
Around him everyone was doing the same. By this time, the water had reached his waist. A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. He had no idea how cold or warm it was; his wetsuit and gloves were doing a good job. For now.
DC was making sure he got a thumbs up from everyone as the water level rose to chest height. Now was the last chance to speak up if there was a problem. Jay bumped Damien on the shoulder. At first Damien thought he’d bumped him on purpose. Jay grinned, his mouth curling grotesquely around his mouthpiece. He was still quite drunk.
The water reached his diving mask, then his wetsuit hood, flooding his ears. All he could hear was the drone of water filling the lockout trunk. He waited anxiously until the water reached the top and the pressure equalized. The lights in the trunk were still giving decent visibility. He couldn’t tell who was who any more since everyone was dressed identically in their camo wetsuits, rebreathers and masks. Pairs of eyes blinked back at him.
DC floated up the ladder, his navigation board bouncing around his waist. He disappeared up the pipe. Damien heard a soft groan as the access hatch lurched open. A second person floated up the ladder next, followed by a third. Their movements were slow and graceful until the third person banged his head on the pipe.