“Well, given enough firepower, and a large enough group ashore, we can fend off the beasts while we scrounge for food. Dom Maslow said that he identified plenty of edible fruit on the trees and Meg recorded his findings. The dinosaurs appear to be afraid of loud noises like the blast from a gun. If your next question is ‘how much is enough?’ the answer is that I simply don’t know. Dom Maslow can tell you how much ammo a platoon needs when on patrol, but as far as dinosaurs go, all I can say is that I wouldn’t tackle a Tyrannosaurus with only one of our rifles.”
“Is there anything we can do to make the animals friendlier?” Mary Blackwell asked.
“You can just as easily domesticate a rattlesnake, Mary,” Frank Murphy said. “The plant-eating dinosaurs, like the Brachiosaurus, aren’t aggressive, but I wouldn’t want one of them to accidentally step on me. As far as the carnivorous dinosaurs, consider the only friendly one a dead one, especially the raptors.”
“Do you think any of the dinosaurs may be edible?” Chef Carlos asked.
“Carlos, if you’re prepared to cook and taste one,” I said, “I’ll join you for a meal. One leg from a Brachiosaurus, if edible, could feed us all for a few weeks.”
Another hand went up. It was Maurice Thurston, one of Malta’s wealthier clients.
“Captain Harry,” Maurice said, “we’ve all heard speculation that we may plan to construct a compound ashore at some point. Would you please comment on that, and include the dinosaurs in your remarks.”
“Excellent question, Maurice. Yes, some of those dinosaurs are big and mean, but they’re not bullet proof. And here’s some good news about that. I spoke to Bob Flowers, the VP of Science at Malta, and he said that we store a large supply of sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate aboard, the chemicals used to make the gunpowder we need. Potassium nitrate is actually sodium-free salt, and we have a ton of it. He’s figured out how we can make more of those substances, so we’ll have all the gunpowder we need. Brilliant Bob has even figured out a simple way to make bullets, using spent shell casings. Not to my surprise, my Marine-trained wife, Meg, picked up all the spent shell casings from our encounters with the dinosaurs.”
Meg held up a pillow case and shook it. You could hear empty shells jingling in the bag.
“So, in a long-winded answer to your question, Maurice, yes, the possibility of moving ashore is a workable one, as long as we have a steady supply of ammo. We stock plenty of guns, and even a few hand grenades for anti-terrorism purposes. So that should take care of the dinosaur problem. We may be more of a problem to them than they are to us. If we ever do move ashore, we don’t want to live in tents, so I checked the trees, and they all look suitable for making lumber. The prior owner of this ship left a huge supply of building material aboard, including lumber, saws, and cutting tools. We’re in the early stages of talking about moving ashore, but I’m asking everybody to keep your thinking caps on. It just may happen. It just may have to happen.”
As the crowd filed out of the room, Meg leaned over to me and said, “So how do you size up the situation, honey? Maybe we should set up a dinosaur petting zoo on the ship.”
“Gimme a kiss, wiseass. We’ve got some long-range planning to talk about.”
Chapter Eight
After a two-day stay in Southampton, England, the Melody of the Seas headed back into the Atlantic and cruised south toward the Azores, after which the ship would dock in Lisbon, Portugal. The Azores is officially named the Autonomous Region of the Azores, one of two autonomous regions of Portugal. It’s an archipelago consisting of nine volcanic islands west of the mainland. The scenery from a ship is beautiful—unless your ship disappears.
Captain Ragnarssen announced over the public-address system that there would be a memorial service for the souls aboard the Maltese in exactly two hours.
***
“Captain, look at this,” Simmons shouted as he stared at his screen. “You’re looking at the tail end of the thing. I saw the whole fish and it was a hell of a lot bigger.”
Captain Lars leaned over the viewing screen that showed what the camera under the hull recorded.
“My God, that thing is huge. It must be a blue whale. I’m just looking at the tail, but I can see how big it is.”
“Whatever it was, it’s gone,” Simmons said. “Is that the same weird fish we have in photos?”
They felt a lurch, causing Simmons to collide with a bulkhead.
“Are you okay, Bob?” Lars said, handing him a handkerchief to press against his bleeding forehead.
“Are we okay is the question, captain,” Simmons said. “What do you suppose is next on the agenda?”
Lars picked up a radio and hailed a destroyer steaming nearby.
“USS Forrest Sherman, Lieutenant Pierce speaking,” came the reply.
“This is Captain Lars Ragnarssen on the Melody of the Seas. May I please speak to the captain of the Forrest Sherman.”
“I’ll call him to the bridge, sir. We’re still picking ourselves up off the deck after being rammed by something.”
“When did that happen, lieutenant?”
“No more than two minutes ago, captain. It felt like we were hit by a whale.”
“Did you get a look at it?” Lars asked as he wiped sweat off his brow.
“I didn’t see her, but the quartermaster of the watch saw the thing. He said it was bigger than any whale he’d ever seen. I think he exaggerated a bit, but the point is it was one big fish. It didn’t really ram us, it just brushed against our hull from what we can tell. If it rammed us we wouldn’t be here. Our captain wants to speak to you.”
“Captain Jim Langdon speaking. Are you Captain Ragnarssen of the Melody of the Seas?”
“Yes, Captain Langdon. Please call me Lars. It looks like we picked the same monster to bump into.”
“Monster is the word, Lars. I’m heading toward shore now until we can figure out what the hell happened. There’s an anchorage that can accommodate a big ship like the Melody. I wish I was aboard your ship on a cruise, so I could let you worry about our Moby Dick friend.”
Both ships dropped anchors in a natural harbor near one of the Azores islands.
“I’m going to pay you a visit, Lars,” Captain Langdon said.
“I was going to come and visit you.”
“Hell no, Lars. It’s lunchtime and I can use a break from Navy food.”
The motor launch pulled up next to the Melody of the Seas and deposited its passengers on the boat platform. Langdon brought one of his junior officers with him.
Captains Ragnarssen and Langdon sat down to lunch in a beautiful dining room overlooking the water. Lars invited First Officer Bob Simmons to dine with them.
“Because you’re a destroyer captain,” Lars said, “I’m wondering if you knew my friend Harry Fenton, the captain of the Maltese. He was a great guy. A lot of people are going to miss him.”
“Know him?” Captain Langdon said. “Every tin can captain in the fleet knows, or knew, Harry Fenton. When God handed out brass balls, he gave Harry an extra pair. His ship was attacked by four rogue nut jobs from the Iranian Navy in small gunboats. The boats may not have been big, but they packed a wallop. Most destroyer skippers would have turned tail and outrun the bastards. Not Harry. He charged at them, not away from them. He blew all four out of the water, but not without taking a rocket hit to the bridge. He got a nasty chest wound and broke his nose when he was flung across the bridge. Besides a Purple Heart for his injuries, he was awarded the Navy Cross. I met him at a reunion at the Naval Academy where he gave a speech. Harry takes his job seriously but not himself. He’s got the greatest self-deprecating sense of humor I’ve ever heard. Did I mention that I wrote a book about Harry Fenton, titled An Ocean of Courage? It was published a few months ago by The Naval Institute. I got in a couple of great interviews with Harry before he left the Navy and took command of that goddam Maltese ship.”
“How’s the book doing, Jim?”
“It’s doing w
ell in colleges and universities with Naval ROTC programs. The book is required reading at a lot of them. Of course, every destroyer captain in the fleet has bought a copy. It gets me sick to think that Harry may be dead.”
“May be dead? Jim, you can’t be holding out hope that somehow the people on the Maltese are still alive.”
“Until I see proof, Lars, I’m assuming that Harry is missing in action, but not dead. Harry has a way of looking death in the mouth and punching out a few teeth. On that subject, can you guys bring me up to speed on the crazy Maltese Incident?”
“Crazy is the appropriate word, Jim, and it looks like the Melody and the Forrest Sherman have dipped our toes in crazy waters too.”
“This is frustrating as hell,” Langdon said. “First the Maltese Incident, and now this sea monster that’s buzzing our two ships.”
“The last thing I expected on a cruise was to be attacked by a whale,” Lars said.
“To be accurate, captain,” Simmons said, “he didn’t attack us, he just bumped up against us.”
“And we’re not sure if the friggin thing is a whale,” Langdon said. “We’re calling it that because it’s so huge, but two of my people and one of yours said it had the fin characteristics of a shark.”
“That’s my observation as well,” Lars said. “It looked more like a shark—a giant shark.”
“What does all this have to do with the Maltese Incident?” Langdon asked.
“It’s completely weird, unexpected, and out of the ordinary, just like the Maltese Incident.” Lars said. “It’s strange, like a Black Swan. We have nothing to connect the two occurrences, but they do share one trait—weirdness.”
Chapter Nine
“Hey, Pickle-puss, why so sad?” Meg asked me. “You’re the most positive-thinking person I ever met, and you’re standing there like a droop. How about a martini?”
We were in our stateroom for a pre-dinner cocktail.
“Yes, a martini would be great,” I said. “I may be a positive thinker, but I’m also a realist. We’re on a luxury cruise ship, Meg, not a military vessel. Because I’m a safety nut, this ship is outfitted for emergencies. We carry more than enough fire extinguishers, a zillion life preservers, and more lifeboats than we need. I’ve personally trained the crew on handling fire hoses and fire-fighting equipment. We’re ready for problems—most problems. But dinosaurs are a problem I didn’t anticipate, not to mention not knowing where we are.”
“Harry, are you kidding? Before we left port I helped your first officer take a firearms inventory. Just look at the gun and ammunition lockers and you’d think we’re preparing for war. Hell, we even stock hand grenades. And, as you said at the meeting, Bob Flowers figured out how to make gunpowder and bullets. Give me a smile—and a kiss.”
“To an extent, you’re right, Meg, we do pack a lot of firepower. I rigged this ship to handle an attack by a band of terrorists. But I never counted on what we’re up against. First, we seem to have lost our place in time. We aren’t in the same time or even the same era as when we left. Those goddam dinosaurs we saw were supposed to be extinct millions of years ago. The big problem, as I see it, is that everything eventually runs out, especially fuel. When I was in the Navy I was trained to prepare for the unexpected. But I wasn’t trained for this shit.”
Meg’s right, as usual. She says that I’m a positive guy and I am. I’m raising all these problems because I’ve learned that my wife’s brain is a force of nature when it comes to analyzing complicated situations. She has a habit of nailing the right solution.
“This ship will run out of fuel sooner than later, Meg. What do we do then? The simple answer is that we need to set up a compound ashore. It really isn’t an option but a necessity. But how do we fit in and protect ourselves? We can’t join the local Chamber of Commerce to get our bearings. We’ll be in a struggle for survival. I’m sorry to be talking like this, honey, but my reality-thinking is starting to edge out my positive-thinking. So now that I’ve ruined our cocktail break, what are your thoughts, Meg?”
“Well, let’s start with another martini and work from there.”
“That’s another thing, Meg. We’ll run out of booze.”
“Listen, Captain Handsome, let’s turn the old positive-thinking Harry Fenton loose. Let’s think about the good things. We have each other, and that won’t run out. ‘Till death do us part,’ remember. As long as I’m with you, a herd of dinosaurs couldn’t upset me. I have no idea about this weird time-warp thing we find ourselves in, but we’ve got a shipload of smart—really smart— people. We’ll need to shift our thinking from analyzing and trading securities, to building a new life ashore. I’ll bet a few amateur carpenters are aboard who can train the rest of us. We can build a village. When we were ashore I noticed a waterfall on that mountain near the beach. If we put our heads together I’m sure we can rig a hydroelectric pump for electricity.”
“And who will be in charge of shooing away a curious tyrannosaurus?” I said with a smirk. My negativity act was getting its desired result. Meg’s dazzling mind was in full throttle.
“Hey, Mr. Positive, if we can rig electricity, we can build an electric fence to surround Malta Town.”
“Malta Town? That has a nice ring to it. But I hate the idea that we may never get back to where we came from.”
“So what if we never do?” Meg said. “We get to start life all over again. We have each other, for starts. To me that’s all that matters. We already know we can make extra bullets and gun powder. We can start a softball league. Hell, I bet we can even figure out a way to distill booze. The important thing is to show everyone our positivity and do everything we can to keep life alive. We can do it, Harry. But it’s critical that you keep a smile on your handsome face.”
“Have I told you recently how much I love you?” I said. “You’re waking up the positive in me as you always do.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Let’s start with a kiss. We’ll think of something else for after dinner.”
Chapter Ten
“I recommend that you weigh anchor now, Captain Lars,” Langdon said. “We’ll be right behind you—looking out for prehistoric sharks.”
Lars gave the command to his anchor room to pull up the hook as the Melody of the Seas sounded a blast from the ship’s horn. Captain Langdon did the same on the Forrest Sherman. As the Sherman’s anchor cleared the bottom, the Navy theme song, “Anchors Aweigh,” carried over the waters.
“I’m envious of you, Captain Jim. I don’t have such a stirring theme to play.”
“Try Neil Diamond singing Kentucky Woman, Lars. You civilian ships need to be flexible.”
Both ships began their journey to Lisbon, Portugal. They cruised a half-mile apart, the Forrest Sherman taking a position as combat support for the Melody. Captain Lars and Captain Jim posted extra lookouts and ordered their sonar screens to be monitored constantly for any appearance of the giant shark.
Captain Jim was on the bridge of the Forrest Sherman, sipping a cup of coffee and looking at the sonar scope. They were two hours outside of Lisbon.
“Holy shit,” he yelled, “prepare for impact.”
The ship hit an object, or an object hit the ship. Langdon called the gun deck and ordered the five-inch guns to prepare to fire.
“All engines ahead full, right full rudder, stand clear the depth charge racks.”
The Forrest Sherman was equipped with a modern rack that enabled the depth charges to be rolled off by remote control, either one at a time or an entire rack of 12 MK6 depth charges. Captain Jim opted to release one at a time. Behind the ship a huge plume of seawater reached for the sky after the charge detonated.
“The target is afloat off our stern, sir,” yelled the depth charge station chief into his radio. “He’s in one piece. Looks like the depth charge killed him with the shock wave.”
“Mark the target,” Captain Langdon said.
“Aye, aye, sir.” The chief f
ired a life preserver pole with a pennant on top directly at the floating giant. Captain Jim turned the ship in a circle, bringing it alongside the shark. Captain Lars on the Melody kept a distance while the Forrest Sherman maneuvered. Sailors from the deck crew shot lances into the carcass and a diver wrapped the dead fish with lines that were connected to stanchions aboard.
“Lieutenant, alert the port in Lisbon that our ship will be towing a huge fish,” Langdon said to the officer of the deck. He then radioed Captain Lars.
“Lars, it looks like we bagged a winner. I’m slowing to ten knots while dragging the thing to Lisbon. I’ve alerted the port that we’re towing dead marine life.”
“I think I’ve just found my favorite fishing partner, Jim. Nice shooting.”
As the Forrest Sherman proceeded on its course, the water around the giant shark erupted into a feeding frenzy. Every fish for miles around, including sharks, joined in the feast. As the ship cleared the breakwater heading toward Lisbon, the only part of the giant that remained was a five-foot section of vertebra. Jim called Lars on the Melody.
“Lars, I feel like the Old Man and the Sea—a big catch, but nothing to show for it.”
“Don’t worry, Jim, at least you deterred his amorous advances toward our ships. We have plenty of photos of our big friend before he was eaten. I think we have enough pictures and eyewitnesses to convince people that there’s something weird in the waters of the Azores.”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure we’ve seen the end of the weirdness,” Captain Jim said. “Something tells me that it’s just begun.”
Chapter Eleven
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, Shepard Smith reporting for Fox News. I have nothing new to report about the disappearance of the ship Maltese. She’s been missing for two weeks and hopes of finding survivors are growing slimmer every day. Along with her crew of 35 and 950 passengers, the Maltese Incident will go down as one of the greatest of maritime mysteries ever.
The Maltese Incident Page 5
