Quantum Storms - Aaron Seven

by Dennis Chamberland

  “What happened to Cook?” Winsteed asked, glancing beyond Leighter.

  “He’s spraying down the barrels with foam to prevent an even worse accident,” Leighter replied.

  “Yes, you may accompany her, Karl. But remember, I want no arguing, Juanita’s in command.”

  Leighter snapped tall in a clumsy attempt at saluting. Winsteed returned it professionally and stated, “Carry on,” as he looked about the hangar. Some acrid smoke still wafted outside the wide open doors, stinging his nose and burning his heart to its core. He had lost nearly half of his company on this terrible night. These young people were his family – his only family. Winsteed had lost sons and daughters. His mind replayed the image of young Nixon’s face before him over and over again.

  “Leighter, wait, stop…” Winsteed ordered as they walked away.

  “Yes, sir?” the young man asked as he returned.

  Winsteed stepped over to the programmer and stood toe to toe with him.

  “This little weapon of yours, is it as bad as you say it is? I mean, no BS now, I need a real, honest to God answer on this. Will it kill ‘em - will it kill ‘em all? Incinerate every last one of them?” Winsteed reached up and grasped Lighter by his singed beard with both his hands. He could feel grime and sweat and smell blood as he pulled Leighter’s face to his.

  “Don’t you dare - don’t you dare BS me. I need to know the answer to this one,” Winsteed said, his face wrinkled and painted in the mask of an emerging insanity.

  “Yes… yes sir, it’ll kill ‘em all,” Leighter said evenly, confidently.

  Winsteed released his beard and stepped back.

  “I changed my mind about you joining them on the search,” he hissed with a steely voice from a face of iron. “I need you here. Get back in that hangar to the drawings. Pick up where you left off. Go ahead and strip the generators of whatever you need. I’ll clean up the hangar around you while you work. I need that weapon the very first minute you can finish it. Now get on it, right now!”

  Leighter opened his mouth to speak, and then looked to Juarez who was looking back at him with narrowed eyes. Leighter closed his mouth, saluted again and replied crisply, “Yes, sir. I’m on it, sir.”

  Winsteed just nodded in return, his eyes sweeping the row of bodies that lay before him on the tarmac. Now there was going to be hell to pay and blood was going to flow freely. And if he had anything to do with it, not another single drop of it would be American.

  65

  The Jiang Zemin vanished ominously without a trace into the deep blue waters of the North Pacific. The Phoenix hung like a suspended black and malformed marionette with inverted strings before the windows of Pacifica’s Command Center . Seven and Serea stood impatiently before those windows awaiting the arrival of Striker Legend, who was being quickly spirited between the two underwater structures by mini-sub. As they watched the tiny submarine undock from the lower tunnel of the Phoenix and transit slowly in the void between them toward Pacifica, Seven’s eyes strained beyond the mass of the Phoenix . He was trying to make out any hint of a shadow that would portend the return of the Chinese juggernaut, or worse, one of its high speed rocket torpedoes sent in advance to make the kill — a single torpedo that could handily do the job.

  “What’s the progress for getting the Leviathan underway?” Seven asked nervously, minutes later. “And did you inform Commander Harper that he’s now officially back in Command of his boat and crew?”

  “Yes, Mr. Harper’s been informed and he’s on board. I’ll check on their progress right now,” Twink said soberly, turning on his heel toward the sub’s communications console.

  “Mr. Legend is aboard, Dr. Seven” said the curt, young voice of a deck mate from behind him.

  Seven and Serea turned together to see Striker Legend’s unique shape and signature swagger standing in the elevator door leading into the Command Center. Legend was, as always, dressed in a colorful Hawaiian shirt, well worn blue jeans and shod with black, silver-toed motorcycle boots.

  “That’s twice now — twice – I’ve saved your butt, Aaron Seven,” Legend said with a beaming smile through his bushy, salt-and-pepper beard, unable to hide the sheer pleasure of his advantage. “The whole world says you’re a genius, but I say you’re just damn lucky to have me around always watchin’ out for you and your friends.

  “Say, where’s the old fart that runs the place?” he asked, looking around with a scowl, primed and ready for a fight.

  Seven just shook his head with wonder. “Now I’m the old fart that runs the place,” he confessed. “The other curmudgeon got mad and quit. Say, what’re you doin’ back here, anyway? How’d you know the Chinese would come calling?”

  “Easy. I had a feeling in my gut that you were gonna need my services, so I turned around and came back to hang out for awhile. I mean, I just figured I don’t work for you, and you couldn’t fire me even if you wanted to – so I turned around and did it my way. If you don’t like it, well you can just kiss my rosy red. By the way, it’s a good thing I did. Just as I came up over the horizon, I spotted the Chicom slime makin’ his approach. I also heard the entire tender conversation y’all shared. So I gave him some noise to worry about at the last second-just before he was about to blow your silly ass outta the ocean.

  “Now,” Legend continued, “If you want my advice and my opinion... never mind that, I’m gonna’ give it to you anyway… he’s comin’ back. Believe you me, he is coming back! I can’t hold him off for long and when he comes back he’s gonna be plenty jumpy and spoilin’ for a fight. If he thinks there’re other American forces in the area - which he does now, thanks to me - then he’s likely to shoot you now while he has the chance and worry about the consequences later. You’d better come up with a plan and hurry up,” Legend said with no trace of humor. “And, Dr. World Class Genius, it’d better be a good one, because there ain’t gonna’ be no plan B.”

  “I’m working on it,” Seven said with a flat, nervous smile. “Were you able to get a message out to Dutch Harbor?”

  “No. We discussed that before. No messages. Radio silence till we get there. They’re just gonna have to have faith and wait. I can’t risk it, you can’t risk it, I told you all that before.”

  Seven shook his head and squinted his eyes in agony. “They must think we’ve abandoned them — folded on our promise.” Then, shaking his head slowly, he looked into Legend’s piercing gray eyes. “I’m not sure they’ve even been able to hold out this long.”

  “One little crisis at a time, cowboy,” Legend said with confidence. “The way I hear it, you already saved what little’s left of the civilized world as it is, so let’s step on this Chicom piss-ant, then we’ll go rescue what’s left of the American Navy from the Russian mafia. By the end of the month, you can chalk up more saves than Joan of Arc.” Legend smiled widely, showing a full set of perfectly straight teeth. “Who knows, maybe some of that glory’ll rub off on me!”

  Seven laughed loudly and slapped Striker’s arm with his hand. “It already has, my friend!”

  During the next four hours, Seven, Serea, Legend, Twink, the senior Officer of the Deck, Kevin Leighthouser, the Commander, and Leviathan skipper Bill Harper sat together, elbow to elbow, in the Command Center’s cramped conference cubicle urgently laying out their moves. They were all aware that they had no room for error, that whatever strategy they designed, they would all have only a single chance to get it right. They were certain that the captain of the Chinese submarine either wanted to seize Pacifica and enslave them or destroy them outright. Either way, they made up their minds that it was going to be a fight to the death at 40 fathoms, but they were not surrendering.

  “Time to get underway now, Bill,” Seven said rising to his feet, his eyes red with fatigue and stress. “Is your crew ready for this, Admiral?”

  “It’s Commander, sir,” Harper responded with a weak smile.

  “Not anymore, Admiral,” Seven replied, extending his hand to Harper. “Congr
atulations.”

  Harper looked stunned, and then recovered with an embarrassed smile. “We’re ready, sir, of course. We’re as ready as any crew in American history,” he responded with a firm handshake. “You have the finest crew on earth at your disposal, sir.”

  “Good!” Seven replied with a confident, but terse smile. “Make us proud. Do whatever it takes. Engage the enemy and sink her at the first opportunity. Save our rears, it’s all in your hands now.”

  “Request the privilege of personally escorting you to your boat, Admiral,” the Commander said sincerely, almost reverentially.

  Harper just nodded and turned to leave the cubicle.

  “Wait,” Serea said. She walked over to Harper, reached up to his collars and inserted a pair of silver stars into the holes left when he had removed his oak leaves. “Theses used to belong to Frank. Now they belong to someone who actually earned them.” She then kissed him lightly on the right cheek. “Godspeed, Admiral,” she said with a tender smile. “Take care of yourself and your crew and return victorious for all of us.”

  THE USS LEVIATHAN’S DOCKING CHAMBER

  BENEATH PACIFICA

  Harper nodded with a stiff, uncomfortable, but respectful, red-faced smile, then looked like he was about to swallow a lump as he turned quickly and left the space followed closely by the hulking presence of the Commander.

  “Now, team, listen up,” Seven said to the remaining assembled group. “Until I give further word, we’re in full time condition red. Notify the entire colony that we’re in general quarters until the condition is changed. Every individual needs to report to their life boat stations in the lower arms of Pacifica and remain there. No one leaves their assigned stations without permission from the Command Center . I also want the Command Center to be manned with the wartime contingent only. The main sphere is to be populated only by the Command Center watch and the rest is to be abandoned and powered down immediately.”

  Seven’s plan reflected their greatest fear - one that had never been envisioned in the colony’s design - that they would be torpedoed by a warship on purpose. However, a catastrophic break of the main sphere had been considered so that if its hull was disastrously breached for any reason, it would immediately fill with water and was designed to tear away from the sealed arms of the colony and sink, leaving the lifeboat stations in the arms still afloat. At least, that was the plan. The numbers worked on paper, but the idea of the massive sphere surrounding them, displacing 376,000 tons, tearing away from the arms and crashing down to the seamount below was not an image that anyone wanted to dwell on.

  The good news was that the central sphere stood out like a great bull’s eye and it would almost certainly become the main target of any attack. The bad news was that if a torpedo struck the main sphere, everyone in the Command Center would die as the chances of those surviving in the arms was uncertain, at best.

  “What about me? Don’t I get any silver stars?” Legend finally asked with no trace of humor. “I mean, it’s not like I’m not already the real, honest to God hero around here.”

  Serea walked over to him and kissed both his cheeks right at the top of his full beard. “No silver stars, Striker,” she said with a wink, gripping his right wrist lightly in her hand. “But you get the better end of the deal. Now be truthful: what do you want, a double kiss ration or two tin stars?”

  Legend laughed vociferously with the full force of his powerful lungs. “What’s this, a test? Who do ya think you’re talkin’ to, young lady? None other than the Striker Legend! Whadda ya think I really want out of this deal, anyway?”

  “Forget it, pal. You’re not getting that!” Seven interrupted.

  Legend laughed even louder. “Oh, so now you think you can read my mind, eh Dr. Genius? Well, the scary part is,” he said, choking on his own laughter and looking to those gathered around in the small cubicle, “he can and he did!”

  “Striker, get your craft out of here and get on post,” Seven ordered, smiling along with Legend’s irresistible comedy. “We don’t have the time to stand around here and yuck it up.”

  “That’s Admiral Legend, to you,” Legend responded.

  “How about, Grand Pompous Overlord of the Seven Seas?” Seven rejoined.

  “Now that’s a title I can get my arms around,” Legend responded glibly. Then he looked to Serea. “If the swabbie can get a kiss for Admiral, what do I get for the title of Grand Pompous Overlord?”

  “A fat lip, if you don’t watch it,” Serea responded with a twisted downturn of her mouth.

  “Hey, I’ll settle for a personal escort down to the docking bay,” he answered with a wink. “Admiral what’s-his-name got the services of the Commander; I think I should rate somethin’ a little classier than that!”

  “Sure, you got it” Serea replied. “I’ll see to it that Edgar gets right on it!”

  “Well, that’s not exactly what I was...

  “Yes... did you call?” Edgar asked as she paced quickly into the room to face Serea.

  Legend immediately lost his smirk as he looked down into the ever stern expression of short, nervous and always pensive Edgar.

  “I was just offering your services to escort Mr. Legend down to the docking bay, Edgar,” Serea said most professionally.

  Legend looked to Serea, then to Edgar, then back to Serea and started to speak. Then he sighed, closed his mouth and stepped over to Edgar. He managed a broad, toothy smile, looked down into her dour face and put his arm around her shoulder. “Well, darlin’,” he began, leading her toward the door. “What d’ya say we mosey on down to the docking bay so Dr. Storms can go ahead and start up his private little Armageddon he’s been countin’ on for so long? We’ll just call this our little field trip to the apocalypse, what d’ya think?”

  Edgar’s head turned and peered under Legend’s elbow at Serea as Legend virtually pushed her out the door.

  “It’s okay,” Serea mouthed to Edgar as she disappeared around the corner.

  “I gotta hand it to you, babe,” Seven said as he stared into the reddening face of his wife. “You really have this talent for matching people up, you know that? Those two - well... you know, I never would’ve figured them together like that...”

  “Aaron Seven,” Serea sighed, “you just need to get on with your little war, okay, and leave the personnel assignments to the professionals.”

  Seven looked back at her and winked. “Hey, you matched me up pretty well, I’d say. I have no complaints.”

  “Fine. Let’s get this over with so you can get back to your little midnight nature walks on the beach,” Serea said with a deep sigh, almost wistfully.

  Seven’s face turned red and he looked at the rest of those assembled about him. “She’s just kidding, of course.”

  Leighthouser looked embarrassed. “I think I’ll get back to my station now,” he said, backing out of the cubicle.

  “Good plan, Kevin,” Seven responded, looking at Serea with furrowed brows just as she burst into a snicker that could be heard all over the Command Center .

  66

  Wattenbarger held the razor sharp Extreme Ops knife just half an inch from the skin of Mel’s leg, now soaked with the alcohol and a dripping stream of muddy but sterile rain. The strong stench of the antiseptic that wafted all about him made him queasy and burned his eyes. He could feel himself getting dizzy, hanging upside down, his eyes blurred by the rain that dripped across them. Not only was he stressed beyond his breaking point, he knew they were all probably going to die anyway, even if he was able to cut her leg off inside this hellish brush pile in a driving rainstorm. He knew in his gut there was not going to be enough time to make it back to the cave and she probably wouldn’t survive this surgery. But at this point, he also knew they had no other choice.

  His trembling hand lowered the blade to the surface of her skin and he steeled himself for the first cut. He would have to work fast.

  “Wait!” Warren shouted. “Wait!”

  Wattenbarger
’s hand froze just as the blade touched her flesh.

  gh

  Warren could not believe what he was hearing. A horn was sounding, honking repeatedly. It was obviously the horn on the pickup they had discovered on their first outing.

  “What’s that sound?” Wattenbarger asked from inside the pile. “Is it thunder?”

  “It’s the pickup’s horn!”

  In half a minute more, they could hear an engine spring to life and roar. The horn kept sounding over and over.

  “This isn’t good,” Warren said.

  Mel’s face was now fully alert and her eyes were wide open as Wattenbarger crawled out of the pile beside them.

  “Ohmagawed…” Warren said as a set of twin beams flashed around the back of the main building, bounced, then swung around to face them. “It’s headed this way!” he said, peering out of the hole in the brush.

  “What’s an ‘it’?” Wattenbarger asked in terror.

  “I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s gonna be crashin’ though the gate any second now!”

  In three seconds, the truck did indeed smash the gate open and screech to a stop right at the edge of the pile. They could see an individual leap out of the driver’s seat and around in front of the glare of the lights.

  “You didn’t cut her leg off yet, did you?” cried the voice of Charles.

  “Lance! It’s Lance!” Warren shouted and bounded down to meet him. As he approached Charles, he could see his clothes were torn, he was soaked, muddy, bleeding and exhausted. “Lance, how did you get here?”

  “I ran the whole freakin’ way, what d’ya think, you moron?” Charles said. “And I nearly kilt myself doin’ it.”

  “But how did you know? How did you know we were having a problem?” Wattenbarger asked, leaping down beside them.

  “Did you actually think I was listening to rap music? You think I didn’t care?” Charles asked with a hurt look on his face. “You thought I wasn’t holding up my end of the bargain? Well, now let’s see who was right. I knew that sooner or later you’d get yourselves in a bind and that I’d need to come out and fetch your sorry butts. I mean, what if I’d been here with ya? Then we’d have all died.”