“Whew,” Mel and Wattenbarger said in unison.
“No stiffs in there,” Wattenbarger whispered.
“Stiffs? Where?” Charles asked anxiously as he stood in the doorway of the plane just behind them.
“NO stiffs… NO stiffs…” Mel repeated loudly, and then added, “yet…”
Wattenbarger turned his beam to the left down the long center aisle of the aircraft. To his surprise, he discovered that the sleek, new passenger jet had no seats and in their place were two rows of brown boxes running down each side of the aircraft from the forward bulkhead all the way to its tail.
“It’s a cargo craft!” Mel said in surprise.
“What’s in the boxes?” Charles asked standing right behind them.
Wattenbarger responded by pulling his Special Ops knife from his pocket and flicking the blade open with his thumb. “There’s only one way to find out,” he said, running the sharp blade down the side of one box, cutting out a three sided flap which he then folded down.
Charles put his hands over his face, his eyes brimming with tears.
“What is it?” Warren asked, pushing his way past Charles. “I can’t believe this is real!” he said, his mouth gapping wide.
“What? What? What? Will somebody tell me what this is?” Mel asked looking at a neatly stacked pile of deep brown packets peeking out of the window Wattenbarger had just cut in the box.
“This is a whole plane load of MREs!” Warren said in reverence.
“What’s a MRE?” Mel asked, still clueless.
“Meals Ready to Eat. It’s a military shipment of food. The whole plane is loaded with food!” Wattenbarger responded
“Oh dear Lord God in heaven,” Mel breathed reverently.
“Not so fast,” Warren interjected. He had opened a window in yet another case a few rows down the aisle. “This crate is full of wool military blankets.”
Wattenbarger began to walk down the long center aisle of the aircraft, pulling his fiancé alongside him. “And this one is a case of gas masks.”
“This row is sleeping bags and the one next to it is Alice Backpacks,” added Charles.
It became obvious that the plane was loaded with a balanced collection of expeditionary supplies and much of it was not the food they had initially hoped for.
Warren paced up and down the aisle, then said, “It looks like this much food’ll add another two months to our supplies, three months tops.”
“Well, I’d say that’s a lot better than no months,” Charles responded. “Besides, this stuff looks like it may actually have meat in it – real meat! No more beans and rice. What a deal!”
Wattenbarger and Mel reached the rear of the aircraft and spotted a pile of boxes with no writing on them at all. With his knife, Wattenbarger again cut a window into the box.
Mel placed her hands over her mouth and began to bounce with as much excitement as her brace would allow. “It’s beer! It’s beer!” she screamed. “Cases and cases of beer!” She stopped jumping and looked back to Wattenbarger whose eyes were filling with anguished tears. “It’s beer baby. Doesn’t that make you happy?” she asked quizzically.
“Not really,” he whispered.
“Well… why not?” Charles quipped. “I thought you was an alcoholic.”
“Look at it. Just look at it,” Wattenbarger said in disgust. “It’s a whole freakin’ plane load of O’Douls.”
“So?” Mel asked.
Charles’ face suddenly lit up with understanding and he exploded into laughter as he leaned against the rows of boxes. Warren then joined him, both men doubled over in uncontrollable amusement.
“What did I miss?” Mel asked dumbfounded.
“O’Douls is a non-alcoholic beer,” Wattenbarger said with undisguised contempt.
“Now you’re really on the wagon, big time wagon!” Charles cried through his convulsive laughter.
“I’m not an alcoholic,” Wattenbarger sighed, leaning back against the cases. “At least, not anymore.”
69
Let the sick SOBs die,” Legend spat as he walked back from the docking bay with Seven up toward the Command Center. “A few hours ago, they were trying to kill me and you. Now you ask me what to do about them? Let the SOBs die.”
“The Jiang Zemin landed belly down on top of the seamount at 869 feet below the surface. Striker, the conditions inside the sub are normal for all practical purposes. They just can’t move. All you managed to do was blow the main ballast tanks, the screw and rudder, that’s all. The reactor works, all the life support machinery still works and conditions inside are exactly the same as if they were in a normal cruising environment. They just can’t move.”
Seven and Legend stopped their long climb out of Pacifica ’s lower docking area along a circular ladder-way that wound around and around for some 11 stories vertically up the center. They looked down into the cavernous space below them, aglow with the green tinted banks of fluorescent lights, watching the Leviathan’s crew running power lines from the submarine to Pacifica ’s power crew. Soon the nuclear power from the Leviathan would be surging through the underwater colony. Seven could smell the salty, moist air mixed with the scent of many machines.
“So why should we have any mercy on them? Let ‘em run out of food in a few months and start eating one another for breakfast – hell I don’t care. Why should I care? Why should you care? If the evil, satanic, demon possessed chink skipper is so normal, then how come he hasn’t fired on us from his sitting position? His rocket torpedoes are obviously guided and he could easily hit us from his position!”
“Because his nose is positioned about 15 feet from an escarpment. In other words, he can shoot them all day long, but they’ll blow his bow off if he tries.”
Legend laughed a maniacal laugh. “Good! So we ripped off his nads as well!”
“As a matter of fact, he’s totally emasculated,” Seven added. “But then, we’re not much better off ourselves. With our main power station down, we’re in bad shape. We don’t have but about another two weeks of life support and emergency power, then we start dying here, as well. As a matter of fact, they’ll outlast us by months.”
“I just successfully helped you and your crew tow the Leviathan back here into drydock,” Legend said, stopping to look back at the submarine now safely ensconced in its Pacifica station. “Now just run your wires into her power station and feed off her nuclear power. She must have more than you need for about the next ten years or so.”
“No, not at all. Her power station can supply just half the power we need, and she can’t act as our power station. We need her to depart immediately for the Dutch Harbor rescue and we need her to patrol the waters around us for our safety. Do you really think this Chinese sub is the only vessel out there that would like a piece of us?”
“Then what are you suggesting, Aaron?” Legend asked, giving in to the obvious plan swirling in Seven’s brain.
“We demand their total surrender, then take their power plant in exchange for their lives,” Serea responded bluntly, standing behind them.
“No… no, I have a much better suggestion,” Legend rejoined. “We drill her hull and gas them to death before they can sabotage their plant. And, twin genii, don’t think for a moment they won’t do it. If captain cockroach and his merry band of termite minions thought for a single second that was what you were dreaming up, he would think nothing of Jim Jones-ing himself and his crew after he blew the plant just to keep the power out of your hands! He dies. You die. Everybody dies.”
“Gassing them is out of the question,” Seven said flatly.
“Why? Give me one good reason why!”
“I’ll give you two, Striker,” Serea answered. “One: Adolph Hitler already left the building along with Elvis, and, two: if we gassed them then there would be no difference between the cockroaches and us-ins. Frankly, we’re better than that, and I know we can assimilate them and use their minds and genes to our advantage.”
“Wel
l, frankly, Miss Manners, you can just bust my big ass,” Legend replied shortly, “cause I had no idea there was actually an etiquette of life and death struggles. I thought in war you killed the SOB that wanted to kill you before he got his way.”
“Wrong, Striker. You’re quoting General George Patton, who was a genius at killing but an imbecile at establishing peace…”
“Peace? Peace? What in holy hell does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with the new world - whose history we’re writing while we’re standing here, with the words we’re speaking right now,” Seven responded. “Gas the termites and the world pivots on our actions. Try and save them and the rest of the world has a new meaning and a new purpose. If we have to die, then let us die, but for God’s sake, let us do it with dignity and not as vicious animals!”
Striker looked defeated, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.
“Come on, big guy, you’ve been our hero too long now,” Serea said, lifting his large arm and draping it around her shoulder. “We need your support.”
“What if I told ya I was gettin’ in my marvelous machine and ridin’ out over yonder sunrise?” Legend asked with a sincere scowl.
“Well,“ Serea replied after a moment’s thought, “I’d say we’d miss you terribly.”
“And I’d say I’d follow you and kick your big, ugly biker butt,” Seven replied with his own scowl, ruined at the last second by a flicker of a smile.
“Well, I ain’t leavin’,” Legend said, his eyes flashing between Seven and Serea. “But it’s not what you may think.”
Seven responded with a lifted eyebrow.
“It’s because I can’t wait to hear what that Chinese insect has to say to you after you offer your kind American terms of surrender. If I know my Chicom buddies, he’ll need a week and a half to recover from laughin’ his tiny little short rear off!”
“You know, Striker,” Seven said, folding his arms and leaning back against the spiraling ladder rail, “it’s really good to have your perspectives on things. That specific perspective, for example - that visual - is just so anatomically fascinating, don’t you think so Serea?”
“Oh, yes, quite…” she responded with a faraway look and sideways twist of her head. “Appealing - no. Fascinating - quite.”
With that, Pacifica ’s lights flickered fully on and the colony’s ventilators began to whisper anew with a refreshing hiss.
gh
Within the hour the residents of Pacifica began to file out of their cramped lifeboat quarters for the first time in many days. Each resident was reminded that they were on emergency power and that every watt was to be carefully controlled. Seven assembled a response team in the Command Center to deal with the crisis lying some 549 feet below them atop the Hancock Seamount.
“Sir, we’ve detected banging on the Jiang Zemin’s hull for about fifteen minutes,” the watch officer reported to Seven.
“Is there any pattern to it?” Professor Raylond Desmond asked, standing between Seven and Serea around the conference table. Desmond was neatly dressed and had recovered remarkably well from his previous ordeal. Even his face seemed to be less wrinkled and more relaxed. He seemed to Seven to be nearly the picture of the old Raylond Desmond whom he had so faithfully served.
“Yes, sir,” the young officer reported. “It’s the international distress signal, SOS.”
“Well, then,” Desmond replied, “there seems to be only a single course of action permissible under the circumstances.”
The room paused in respect, awaiting his pronouncement.
“We need to gas them before they perpetrate yet another attack on Pacifica ,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s the only way we can ensure our security and secure their resources before they are lost to us forever.”
From the back of the room, in the general vicinity of the place where Legend and Sam stood, there came a half cough, half snicker.
Seven could see the muscles in Serea’s neck tighten as she forced herself to observe a single decent moment before speaking.
“Father,” she began, “I had another plan which I believe to be just as noteworthy and workable.”
“Go ahead, of course,” her father responded, whereupon Serea launched into her detailed plan for rescue of the Chinese crew in a peaceful exchange of engineering-capacity-for-life deal. Desmond listened respectfully throughout before responding.
“It would be a very risky proposition,” he replied gently. “We could not trust them. We could never allow them to assemble together, even in groups of two, even for a few minutes. We could never be sure they would not eventually organize a coup d'état’, even after years of apparently successful co-existence. Not only do I believe it cannot work, I also believe that they are obligated to surrender to us their power plant. After all, they took ours by force, we now have the moral authority and obligation to everyone here to take theirs in like matter.”
From the back of the room, Legend cleared his throat loudly and artificially.
Seven reached down and grasped Serea’s fingers in his, then spoke. “I don’t think that any of us here would argue that proposition, Raylond,” he said slowly and carefully. “But I believe it’s incumbent on any civilized people to at least broach the question of surrender before the attack. From the dawn of history, that has been the choice given the vanquished, even if they were to be taken as slaves, they were at least given the chance to preserve their lives as the endpoint of the final bargain.”
Raylond was silent for a long, contemplative moment, then he nodded. “You are correct, son. But be sure you understand the terms and fully appreciate the risks before you bring them on board. In the end, however, as Director, it is your decision, and yours alone.”
Seven felt the oppressive weight of leadership, but answered, “Serea, who among us knows the most about this class of submarine?”
“Frank Spencer, I’d wager.”
“Lawson,” Seven barked to the Command Center Watch Officer, “ask Frank Spencer to come to the Command Center at once.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Commander,” Seven spoke to Desmond’s long time assistant, “I understand you’ve had experience in nuclear submarines.”
“Yes. I was the design engineer for an underwater habitat and served a stint as a nuclear engineer at a naval shipyard.”
“And he’s a graduate of King’s Point Merchant Marine Academy - a marine engineer,” Serea added.
“Great!” Seven continued. “I’m teaming you and Frank up to design a docking system to mate with their submarine. Are you up to it?”
The Commander said nothing for long seconds, and then spoke. “Considering I almost snapped his neck not that long ago, I suppose it’s still possible to patch up old differences. But I’ll only work alongside him as his equal.”
Desmond nodded. “Of course, Joseph, it’s the only way.”
“And Commander,” Seven added, “I also need a plan for wiring into the Jiang Zemin’s power system and connecting to Pacifica. And I’ll need plant operators trained. I’m gonna have to rely on you and Frank heavily to get these things done.”
“You got it,” the Commander responded with a solemn nod.
“Serea,” Seven then said in the full hearing of the Command Center, “would you consider working with Edgar as the team leader for communicating with the Jiang Zemin? We’ll need a communications plan, such as designing the terms of surrender and making them unambiguously crystal clear in Chinese to the skipper.”
“Yes, of course,” she said with a smile.
“Bill,” Seven said to Commander Bill Harper, “I need you to prepare to make a run to Dutch Harbor, pick up the survivors and get back as quickly as possible. Can that boat of yours run at flank speed in both directions?”
“No, it wasn’t designed for that,” Harper replied. “But I can run near that. We don’t need an engineering calamity on our hands halfway between here and there just to save
a day. I’ll give it all we’ve got and ensure we make it back in one piece.”
“What’s the status on your rudder repair?”
Harper looked at his watch. “It should be finished in two hours. Then we’ll be good as new, ready to steam.”
“Striker,” Seven continued without pause, “while the Leviathan is gone, can you give us the same protection and surveillance as before?”
“No problemo, el Capitanio de grande.”
“That is not Spanish as the rest of the civilized world speaks it,” Edgar hissed under her breath.
“Okay, then, team – we have our plan, let’s go work it. We meet in here every fours hours round the clock until we get it done. Now let’s move like we have a purpose. A lot of lives ride on our creative ability to make this work.”
“Sir, the Phoenix is reporting ballasting activities onboard the Jiang Zemin,” the Watch Officer reported.
“What kind of ballasting activity?” Seven asked, his eyes scanning the empty space before him.
An uncomfortable pause followed while the Phoenix was asked for clarification. “Sir, they have no definition except to report repeated ballasting sounds emanating from the Chinese submarine.”
“Bill, what do you make of this?” Seven pressed.
“I don’t know,” Harper replied. “It may be a desperate attempt to raise the nose so they can get a torpedo away, there’s just no way to…”
“Sir, large objects are now floating away from the sub!”
“What?” Seven asked. “Bill, can they float mines or other weapons toward us?”
Harper’s eyes narrowed in furious thought. “I’m not aware of any weapons like that…”
“Sir, six of the objects will be in view of our main windows in fifteen seconds!” the Watch Officer reported excitedly.
Seven and the assembled group wordlessly but quickly paced out to the large Command Center space, facing the windows. There, some fifty feet before them, the first of the objects appeared.
Quantum Storms - Aaron Seven Page 65
