Ramirez reached inside past the charge of high explosives. He had his eyes closed as he visually pictured the torpedo from months and months of training. His fingers probed past the metal-encased charge and felt for the panel that had the waterproofed circuitry.
“Oops. That’s the trigger. Don’t want that,” the young machinist mate said as he backed his hand away slowly. He then started over, edging his probing fingers closer to the charge that was strong enough to break a capital ship’s back and sink her straight to the bottom.
The chief felt panic at the nonchalant way the kid did things.
“There we are. Now, where is that damn cable?” he asked aloud as his fingers finally found the electronic cable that connected the targeting computer board to the gyroscope. Again, he closed his eyes as he freed the three-inch-wide cable from its motherboard filled with computer chips. “That’s it. Now, to pull the board.”
Suddenly, Houston lurched. The submarine once more lost its grasp on the shelf and started to slide. The chief and Ramirez both lost their footing. The 190-pound nose cap slid free of the table and crashed to the deck, missing Ramirez’s head by five inches. He rolled free as the rest of the warhead, including her guidance package, came down next. It smashed into the blue-tiled floor and rolled against a bulkhead, where it came to a stop.
Thorne grabbed for a handhold as Houston gained speed. This time it looked as though the boat was going to slide right off the far end and down into a grave they would never rise from.
Suddenly, as men and women sang out prayers for their delivery from the crushing depths, Houston rolled to port. Her sail tower dug into the rocky strata, and her periscope and radar mast inside the tower sheared off as Houston slid to a stop only six feet from the edge. The grinding halt sounded throughout the boat as her four-story-tall tower had saved them.
Thorne was now at a severe angle as she came to rest almost on her side. He quickly regained his senses and stepped inside the mess. The warhead was lying against the far bulkhead, and its insides were scattered and smashed on the deck. Ramirez was being helped up to the sharply angled deck by the chief. The overhead lighting flickered and then steadied. Thorne reached for the phone and wrested it from its cradle.
“Damage report!” he said much louder than he intended.
“We’re still breathing up here. Forward torpedo room and engineering report small leaks, but nothing we can’t handle for the time being.”
Thorne placed the phone back and struggled forward. He stopped short of entering the mess as he faced Ramirez and waited for the bad news that they would have to wrestle another torpedo from the aft compartment and start over again.
“Well, let’s get going and get another Mark 48 taken apart.”
Thorne looked around, and then he heard the chief of the boat laughing. He became concerned that the chief had finally lost his mind for the many disappointments they had faced in the past three days.
“Almost blowing ourselves to hell is far funnier than I realized, Chief,” Thorne said as he looked from him to Ramirez, who was also smiling. His head dipped down, indicating the object he held. In his hand was the guidance board that had broken free of its screws when the sub jerked to life and started its slide. Thorne smiled himself as he realized that for the first time in three days they had caught a break. He stumbled and walked awkwardly toward the two men across the steeply angled deck.
“If you don’t mind, Captain, I think I’d better go change my pants,” Ramirez said as he handed Thorne the circuit board. He quickly excused himself and ran awkwardly toward the head.
“Chief?” Thorne asked, concerned over the lifelong navy man’s color.
“No, thanks, Captain. It’s a little too late for a crap break.” Thorne watched the old chief turn and leave, shaking his right leg as he did.
Captain Thorne closed his eyes as he felt the weight of the guidance board he held in his hand. He reached out and touched the cold steel side of Houston.
“Thanks for the break, Gray Lady.”
TICONDEROGA-CLASS AEGIS MISSILE CRUISER USS SHILOH
The CIC was well manned but mostly silent as technicians watched their scopes and screens but kept an ear open for the conversation being conducted by the gruff master chief and Charlie Ellenshaw. While most of the American naval personnel knew about how to take Jenks, they were still confused about crazy Charlie. They all to a man, Russian or American, British or civilian, liked the crazily coiffed Ellenshaw because of his naïveté when confronted with military protocol. They were impressed that the thin scientist wanted to learn everything he could. A million questions were asked by the cryptozoologist that highlighted the fact that the man caught on to everything very quickly. They listened to him and Jenks as they conferred with the young lieutenant flying the remote-controlled aircraft as it went high over Compton’s Reef.
“Nothing, Master Chief,” the lieutenant said as he banked the drone high over the destroyed village. “There is no one there.”
Charlie and Jenks watched the high-definition view of the destruction below the remote-controlled plane. The graves dug by the Russian and American sailors belied the fact that almost every man, woman, and child had been dispatched in the most horrible of ways by a ruthless enemy. Jenks was fuming as row after row of freshly dug graves filled the screen.
“All right, get out of there and head north toward the mountain. That’s the only place I think they could have gone.”
“The diamond mines?” Charlie asked as he adjusted his glasses.
Jenks didn’t answer as he studied the drone as it climbed and headed toward the slopes of the three thousand–foot mountain.
Charlie studied the master chief as he in turn watched the landscape below slide by. Jenks had become obsessed with finding the children and whatever adults of the innocent tribe remained alive.
“I’ll bet you your eighteen higher educational degrees, Doc, that those amphibious animal pirate bastards weren’t aggressive before the damn Bolsheviks got here.” Jenks rubbed a hand through his close-cropped hair and exhaled. “There was no reason for a mutual animosity between two different races to be enemies. One group lives and thrives in the ocean, the other on land.”
Charlie looked over at the six men monitoring the CIC’s radar and sonar stations. They almost to a man nodded in agreement with the master chief. He knew being a civilian sometimes made you a little slow on the uptake on military fairness. Now he understood it was the sense of justice that was being hurt by what had happened to the innocents of this world.
“Oh, shit,” the lieutenant said loudly as he used his joystick to turn the drone sharply away from the mountain. He brought the propeller-driven craft low to the trees.
“What?” Jenks asked.
The technician sitting next to the remote officer pushed a button, and the main monitor flipped pictures and rewound what was recorded.
“Shit!” Jenks hissed below his breath.
“How many?” Charlie asked.
On the screen, there was a long line of the Wasakoo scouring the jungle and sloping land of the mountain. From the high vantage point, it looked as though they were searching for the survivors also. Then the picture went black. The monitor again flared to life with the live feed coming from the drone. It was once more flying very high, and they could no longer see the aquatic species in their effort to find and kill the remaining men, women, and children of the island.
“Bastards,” a young seaman said aloud as others nodded in agreement.
“Why are they so intent on killing them all?” Charlie asked. He looked away from the monitor, hoping someone would answer him.
It was Jack who finally did. He had entered the CIC unnoticed. He was standing by the hatchway as the marine guard closed and secured the hatch.
“Because they are under orders.”
Charlie turned toward where Jack stood with his arms crossed. He looked tired and angry, but Ellenshaw knew that was the colonel’s natural state the past
year.
“Orders?” Ellenshaw asked.
“One thing the Russians are good at, their main philosophy when they were being beaten or having to give up land, is to leave nothing behind that their enemy can possibly use; it’s called scorched earth. We suspect Salkukoff is getting ready to cut and run—close up shop, if you want to put it that way.” Jack uncrossed his arms and strode into the darkness of the control center. “The Wasakoo are exterminating the villagers, and then, I suspect, the blue diamond mines will be collapsed as if they were never dug. Scorched earth.”
“There!” the lieutenant said, pointing to the screen. “Recent trail sign.”
Jenks looked at the monitor, and there it was. A long line of brush and undergrowth had been etched into the landscape. It had to have been made by many people as they moved northward from the destroyed village.
“That’s got to be them. Follow the trail for as long as you can, but don’t let those Charlie Tuna sons of bitches see you.”
“Aye, Master Chief,” the lieutenant said as he drove the drone even higher into the sky.
“There. The trail leads right to the mountain.” Charlie leaned in closer. “And it looks like the Wasakoo are looking in the wrong direction.”
Jenks stood straight and looked at Jack. In turn, Collins looked at his watch and then back at Jenks. “We are scheduled to leave this world soon, Master Chief. You yourself said the phase shift reactor is too unstable to wait too long, even with it shut down.”
Jenks reached into his pocket and gave something to Ellenshaw. Charlie accepted it, and then he looked from the object to Jack.
“There. Give me five hours. If I’m not back, Charlie knows how to start the chain reaction to get the phase shift operational. The frequency is constant. You should be right back where we started in the Atlantic of our world.”
“No, I can’t take the chance, Jenks. I have too many men depending on your calculations. You can’t tell me Charlie can think on his feet on this if something goes wrong. No offense, Doc.”
“None taken, Colonel. But I think the master chief is right. We, at least our kind, did this thing to these beautiful people. We have to do something.”
“No.” Jack sat down in an unoccupied chair and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked up and faced his two people and the interested ears of the sailors around him. “What do we do if we actually find survivors? Uproot the whole species from their world and return them to ours? That would be almost as cruel as what Salkukoff and his superiors have done. We can’t return them to their life before this, and we can’t bring them back.” Jack stood and walked toward the hatch, where it was opened by a marine. He stopped and turned. “I’m sorry, Master Chief, Doc, but no. We have too much riding on this. I am not losing another man under my command for a reason not of our choice. We make the attempt to leave in five hours. I suggest you prepare the reactor on Simbirsk, and let’s get these boys home before Salkukoff really puts his scorched earth policy into full swing. Because I think we are the final domino he has to push over.”
They watched Jack leave, and Jenks looked at Ellenshaw. “I hate officers.”
Charlie just pushed his glasses back onto his nose. He saw one of the young seamen looking their way. The kid had to be no more than nineteen years of age. Ellenshaw fixed on the seaman. Jack was right to a point—these boys, along with the Russians and the British, deserved to get home. But still, he was fighting his own conscience and needed to know if he was alone in his confusion.
“What would you do?” Charlie asked.
Every ear in CIC heard the question, and it was if they all wanted to answer. But the young man held Charlie’s eyes.
“I think…” The boy hesitated momentarily until the lieutenant nodded that he could offer that opinion if he wanted. “I think that we won’t make it back anyway. I also don’t like running away. What happened to those people isn’t right, sir. I mean, what is our duty here? I thought we were here to protect those who can’t protect themselves. Does it matter where those innocents live? I say we not only find those people but also that we stay and get the asshole who caused all of this.” The boy lowered his eyes. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”
No words were spoken. Jenks was proud of what the new navy was currently producing. He could not have said it any better than the young radar tech who had placed everything into such simple terms that he had wished Colonel Collins could have heard it and reminded him of his duty. He knew Jack was killing himself over the losses of his Event Group people the past few years and was compounding his mistake by overprotection. Jenks came to a decision. He looked at the large marine guard and saw that he was watching intently, although silently.
“Lieutenant, feel like giving us heroes an hour without reporting a radar contact heading toward the island?”
The young officer looked around at all the eager faces inside CIC. They were waiting.
“The radar and sonar equipment is still sketchy, Master Chief. Sometimes we lose everything at once. Possibly for at least three hours.”
Jenks smiled and popped a cold cigar into his mouth. “Goddamn, I guess the navy is still on the ball when it comes to getting competent men. Thanks, son. Now you keep in contact with the Doc and me. We’ll be on secure channel 6. Keep the remote searching but under no circumstances lead those catfish-lookin’ bastards to the survivors. Understood?”
“You got it, Master Chief.”
Jenks turned and faced Charlie. “Well, Doc, you feel like disobeying the colonel’s orders and stealing a boat?”
Charlie looked taken aback at first, and then he came to a quick decision.
“We need more men,” he said simply.
The large marine finally stepped from the hatchway and faced the entire CIC.
“That shouldn’t be a problem, Master Chief. I have marines just standing around and getting spoiled by these navy boys. I think about fifteen of us. The Brits have the Simbirsk covered.”
“Thank you, son. I can only guarantee that I’ll volunteer to get shot by firing squad first.”
“The US Marines appreciate that.”
With that simple statement, the rescue of the villagers by Jenks and his team of American pirates was under way.
KIROV-CLASS BATTLE CRUISER SIMBIRSK
Jack, Carl, Jason, and Henri examined the small Europa link as supplied by the laptop. Jack pointed out the graph and shook his head.
“Even Europa Jr. is having a hard time keeping this damn thing in check.”
“Even with Jenks having removed the main power coupling?” Jason asked as he too saw the graph lines as they spiraled to the top every ten minutes.
“It has to have something to do with the uranium stolen from Chicago in the ’40s,” Jack said. “Jenks and our late Professor Gervais couldn’t get safely into the glassed perimeter surrounding the damn thing without causing a meltdown. They said we would have to wait until we were safely home again to decipher this mess. Until then, Europa will have to siphon off her power to other areas of the phase shift program, as you can see.” Jack ran his finger along the graph, and they all saw what he was saying. The graph clearly indicated that the power fluctuations were growing and for longer durations. “She’s about to run out of time and space on where to place the added power runoff. Europa?” Jack asked. “Also, in case you hadn’t noticed, the weather topside is getting a little dicey. We have storm clouds developing directly overhead.”
“Yes, Colonel Collins,” the twin sister of Europa replied.
“How long until containment of the power source is lost?”
“Estimate three hours, forty-seven minutes until phase shift is unstoppable.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Jason said as he turned away from the bad news.
Henri looked at his watch. He grimaced as the pain he was feeling after the fuss late last night showed on his face.
“Regardless, I suggest we get the Simbirsk, Peter the Great, and Shiloh tied down good and then recall all personnel just
in case your little sex symbol computer is off on her estimate.”
“I hate to agree with Mr. Optimist here, but he’s right, Jack.”
Henri looked at Everett but kept his rebuttal at bay.
Jack merely nodded in agreement.
“Where is our esteemed science team?” Henri asked instead.
Jack looked around. “I thought they were right behind us.”
The alarms sounded from above deck, and that got everyone’s attention.
A Russian-language announcement sounded over the loudspeakers. They heard, even from their low vantage point, many hundreds of feet running across decks far above them.
“They just announced general quarters,” Henri said as he started to leave.
Jack removed the radio and called Shiloh. “Collins to Shiloh actual, over.”
He waited as the distant sound of the American warship’s alarms could be heard.
“Shiloh actual to Collins, go, over.”
“Captain, what’s up?”
“We may have an attack brewing thirty miles to the north. They started showing up on radar twenty minutes ago. Thought nothing of it at first, but their forces have built up quite substantially since.”
“Anything scary at this point? Over.”
“I don’t think it’s as heavy as their nighttime raid last night, but why take chances?”
“Got it. We’ll stay on Simbirsk. After this is settled, we must start getting the ships prepped for our attempt to get home, over.”
“Hang one, Colonel,” Johnson said as the radio went silent. Jack gave Carl and the others a worried look. “That damn master chief and crazy-haired Mr. Spock just stole one of the Zodiacs.”
“Alone?” Jack asked, forgetting to release the call button. Then he cursed and caught the tail end of Captain Johnson’s response.
“—took ten marines with him, over.”
Jack lowered the radio briefly and shook his head in wonder.
“Damn fools,” Carl offered.
“We have to send someone to help. Ten men and Charlie? Come on, not even the great Jenks can do that. No telling what in the hell they’ll run into.” Ryan kicked at the steel bulkhead.
Beyond the Sea--An Event Group Thriller Page 30
