Beyond the Sea--An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  “A laser range finder. Leave it to little Sarah to cover all your aged shortcomings,” Henri said as Jack shot him a be careful look.

  “We may not have a chance, but the Doc and Jenks might,” Carl said as he turned and faced Ryan. “Grab four men and get to turret number three; you know what to do.”

  “Ah, shit, you’re kidding!” Jason said as Farbeaux had just caught the drift of what the American naval captain was proposing.

  Carl didn’t answer as he started for the ladder that led skyward toward the top of the command and control tower of the World War II battle cruiser.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Jack asked.

  Everett stopped just short of the ladder and pointed up. “Fire control directory. Ryan has to know what in the hell he’s shooting at. Jason, secure yourself and your fire team in that turret and fortify it, because it won’t take Salkukoff very long to figure out what it is we are up to. I’ll pass you fire control readings. I suspect you’ll have only three shots—don’t waste them.”

  They watched as Everett started climbing the steel stairs toward the highest point of the Simbirsk, the ancient fire control directory once used by every surface ship in the world for directing fire.

  “Jack, keep that ass-hat Salkukoff occupied until we make our play.”

  Henri turned and faced Collins. “And just how are we supposed to do that? I mean before or after he executes us? If he had no particular qualms about killing his fellows, what chance do we have?”

  “That’s what I like about you, Colonel—forever the optimist.”

  “And not facing reality is what I so admire about you.”

  Jack turned as he saw Salkukoff approach, and Everett vanished into the high towerlike structure at the top of the mast.

  “I’ll make you a deal, Henri. No matter what happens here in the next few minutes, we seriously do that man harm before we die.”

  Henri Farbeaux watched as the Russian and his commandos approached. They were disarming Russian sailors and marines. The bulk of the Royal British forces vanished with Ryan into the aft number-three turret after they had removed the foul-weather caps from the enormous muzzles of the three fifteen-inch guns.

  “That will be a pleasure and, I might add, a worthwhile way to die.”

  Jack only smiled as Salkukoff stepped up to them.

  23

  COMPTON’S REEF

  For the third time, Jenks sent an angry Charlie back into the deeper part of the mine with the children. After Ellenshaw had passed on the information from Carl to Jenks, he was then placed in charge of getting the children to safety if this plan didn’t work. The ten marines and Jenks lined the mine’s opening, preparing to fight for the time Everett needed to make whatever happen, happen.

  “Twenty grenades and a thousand rounds of ammunition. Four flash bangs, two claymores, which we already laid two hundred yards downhill. One LAWs rocket. That’s all we have between us and the fish boys.”

  Jenks nodded at the marine lance corporal, who delivered the bad news as gracefully and as bravely as any marine could. The master chief managed a look up and over the large rocks they had placed for defense. He saw the Wasakoo as they hesitated only a thousand yards from their position. They were confused as to what these strangers were up to. Many of them threatened to break free of their group, and every time one of them would stand to possibly charge, one of the youngest marines, a private who grew up shooting squirrels in Virginia, took it down with a cleanly placed and long-distance shot. This action, three thus far, had kept the Wasakoo hesitant about charging. But Jenks knew that the situation would soon change as soon as the enemy found out their true numbers.

  “Well, that may not be enough firepower to win, but it’s enough to make those bastard barracuda-faced pirate fuckers wish they had picked another area for a stroll.”

  The lance corporal smiled as he went into a prone position next to the master chief.

  Jenks felt a tug at his pant leg, and he looked back. It was the same little girl who had hiccupped for thirty minutes through her fear. Jenks grimaced and then snatched the child up. He stuck out his tongue and then winked. She was cautious, but she returned a smile that warmed the gruff old master chief’s heart. He thought about losing what was left of the villagers, and he stood with the girl in his arms and then returned her to Charlie, who had been frantically looking for her. Ellenshaw expected a tongue-lashing from Jenks but was relieved when he just handed the girl over. The master chief pulled out a pen that had been given to him by a navy puke a few months before and was one of his possessions he had bragged and showed off to everyone who would listen and admire it. He held it up and then leaned into the girl as he showed her the cheap ink pen he had been given. He turned it up and then down in front of her eyes, and she smiled and clapped her hands, amazed at the magic.

  “I don’t believe it. They still make those?” Charlie asked as the girl relaxed as she watched the magic before her eyes.

  The pen was one of those you might have purchased years ago at a liquor store checkout counter that depicted a slender, beautiful woman on the pen itself, and every time you turned it over, the black dress she wore would slowly vanish. Turn it back and the dress reappeared. The children watched and laughed at the magic coming from the world of the master chief.

  “Yeah, well, just don’t look too closely at the face of the woman in the pen, Doc, or you’ll find me on the short end of the stick that kicks your ass.”

  Charlie watched him move back to his defensive position. Then he looked closely at the face of the woman, and then his brows rose. The woman’s face was the exact twin of Assistant Director Virginia Pollock. A mere coincidence, but it was her all right. Jenks, Charlie knew, had it bad.

  Ellenshaw smiled for the first time in days. He soon lost the grin when the noise from the front of the mine froze his blood.

  “Here they come!”

  KIROV-CLASS BATTLE CRUISER SIMBIRSK

  Once inside the number-three gun turret, Jason stood momentarily confused as to just how he was going to do this without blowing them and the Simbirsk to pieces. Then his eyes fell on the elevator control switches that would allow the silk powder bags to be delivered from the powder stores eight decks beneath him. On the opposite side, he saw the same control system to raise the thousand-pound, fifteen-inch projectile to the turret. Ryan also saw the communications console that would connect him to the projectile and powder bunkers. He hit the switch.

  “Hey, is anyone down there?” he asked, hoping beyond hope that the system didn’t send his voice out all over the battle cruiser.

  “We’re here, Commander,” said the cockney-tinged voice of the Royal Marine sergeant. “I don’t know what it is we’re supposed to do, but we’re here.”

  Jason knew his education at the academy had barely touched on surface warfare to the point where he knew how to fire the main guns that were designed right around the turn of the last century, but he quipped to himself that he had seen plenty of movies on the subject. He just hoped they were accurate. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember his instructions.

  “Okay, there is an automatic lift near the powder stores on the starboard side of the armory.”

  “Yes, we see it.”

  “Now, very carefully go into the vault and, using the elevator, load three bags onto the slide. The switch to raise it up is right next to the aft bulkhead. For God’s sake, be careful—we don’t know how this powder has been treated the past seventy years.”

  It seemed like a lifetime until Ryan heard the elevator engage. The noise was tremendous as the automatic doors sprang open, waiting for the delivery.

  “Three shells and six bags of black powder, Commander. I don’t know about your end, but we are bloody making a lot of noise down here.”

  In the turret, Ryan heard the motors engage, and he flinched again as the machinery made a tremendous amount of noise as the elevator transferred its heavy load. As he watched, the steel-reinforced door sl
id up, and before he realized what was happening, the large fifteen-inch shell fell forward, and he closed his eyes as he waited for the detonation that would end them all. Instead, the large thousand-pound shell eased into the steel slide just below it. Jason took a deep breath as a pushrod hydraulically pushed the shell into the breach. He repeated the same motions on the number-two and -three guns. The shells were in. Now if he could only get the most dangerous part over with and see if he could send these shells outward in the right direction.

  “Bag elevator has stopped and has delivered your load. We’re out of here. We’ll take up station in the aft area and wait for orders. I’m sending two men up to you.”

  Jason didn’t answer as he saw the first white-colored powder bag arrive and the auto-loader come into play. He hurriedly moved to the number-one gun of turret three and turned the large stainless steel handle, and he opened the breach. Then he bit his lower lip as he thought about what he had to do next. Then he remembered. He saw another stainless-steel slide and moved it into place. The slide went right to the breach’s opening and stopped. The powder bag was now right in front of the breach. Jason kicked at the steel next to the breach in frustration. Then before he could move and think on it, a large piston came free of the bulkhead and then pushed the first silk bag into the breach. Jason was amazed at the sophistication of the Russian design. He knew they were freaks of nature when it came to fully automated systems, and any time the old Soviets could take it out of the soldiers’ hands in favor of assurance from automation, they did.

  Finally, the last bag was pushed into the gun, and Jason closed the breach. He took a deep breath as the hatch came suddenly open. He quickly pulled his nine millimeter from its holster but stopped when he saw the two hands raised in deference to his threat.

  “Scared the hell out of me,” Jason said as he shoved the gun back into his shoulder holster.

  The two marines came inside and dogged the hatch.

  “Now look, even if we pull this off, we’re bound to have company.”

  “The sergeant has that aspect covered, Commander. His four men will lie in wait for any visitors.”

  Again, Jason took a deep breath and then raised his radio to his lips.

  “Ryan to Everett.”

  There was no answer to his call. He immediately started thinking the worst. Was he caught going up to the directory tower?

  “Ryan to Everett,” he said once more, looking at the Royal Marines.

  “Everett,” came the soft return. “Ready down there?”

  “Yeah, but where in the hell are we going to point these cap pistols?”

  “We’ll have to wait until our friends pop smoke for a more detailed sighting, but the preliminary coordinates are as follows.”

  Ryan punched in the numbers on the directory system. It had taken him three full minutes to decipher the Cyrillic language, but he finally saw the small diagram that explained it all.

  “Preliminary coordinates entered.”

  “Okay, now we wait.”

  Ryan looked at the two marines.

  “If we lose our landing party, I think it only fair to warn you gentlemen that I intend to use those shells against the submarine out there.”

  “Look, Commander,” the oldest of the two marines said, “we were shown film once of the old Missouri shooting those big bloody guns of hers—they are quite devastating. I don’t see why we don’t do things the old way.”

  “What’s that?” Ryan asked curiously as he saw the smile on the face of the marine take shape.

  “Two of these monstrous things will kill every fish man in that area. The concussion alone would kill them. If that is the case, why don’t we save the third shell for our unwanted guest?”

  The smile became infectious as Ryan raised the radio to his lips and called Everett and informed him of their new plan.

  Someone was going to get shot.

  * * *

  The two men faced each other, and not a word was said between them. Even as Salkukoff’s men gathered up the remaining weapons of the ship’s defenders, men from both forces became silent and hateful. Jack had been worried that the Russian had seen Carl and the others vanish, but thus far, Salkukoff gave no indication that he had. Thus far, the commandos had rounded up seventy-five men in varying states of injuries and anger. The Russian sailors were particularly having a hard time facing the very countrymen who had stabbed them in the back. One of these came close to being executed as he refused to raise his hands to be searched.

  “I may assume your Master Chief Jenks and Professor Ellenshaw are in the phase shift engine spaces?” Salkukoff said as he stepped closer to Jack. “Ask them to secure the space and join us, please.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t know what Salkukoff was speaking of.

  The Russian nodded toward one of his men. The Russian sailor he grabbed could not have been more than nineteen years of age. Collins and Farbeaux knew what was coming, and they also knew they had to talk as the hammer of the Makarov clicked back as the boy was sent to his knees.

  “One more time, ask Dr. Ellenshaw and the master chief to join us, please.”

  Collins allowed his eyes to move from the frightened boy to those of Salkukoff.

  “Both men are dead. The engine spaces are empty. We had everyone above decks fighting your creatures.”

  Salkukoff studied the American for the untruth that would surely be there. He seemed satisfied as he nodded for his men to secure the phase shift engine. The Russian sailor was released.

  “Is that what you do now, Colonel—kill all of those in the path of your plans?” Jack asked as he heard sounds coming from the number-three turret and tried his best to cover the noise with his own words.

  “The sacrifice of some for the greater good is always acceptable. You know the old tale, Colonel Collins. Or are you that twisted inside that you cannot recognize your own shortcomings?”

  “I recognize them and have come to embrace them. But one thing I don’t do is turn on my allies—or my own people, for that matter. You, sir, do. A traitor to his country and fellow soldiers is the lowest form of life and always has been.”

  “Noble speak, that is what I like to call it, and that is the particular reason your nations have always been vulnerable: the illusion that you are the force of good in our world. There is no such force, Colonel. And today it will be explained to you in no uncertain terms.” Salkukoff moved away and faced Farbeaux. “Treason, as the old saying goes, is a matter of dates, am I right, Colonel Farbeaux?”

  Henri, to his benefit, remained silent.

  “Why did you attack our ships?” Jack asked as he again heard more noises coming from the turret and from below, where the carousel and elevator to the armory began to move, transporting powder bags and shells to the turret itself. He knew he needed more time.

  “Colonel, it is obvious to those who know how to rule with an iron fist. We cannot have witnesses to our dealings here. Blue diamonds are only a rumor, at least according to you Americans. No one can know how many we have collected. But alas, our mission here has come to an end, and now we have accounts to settle. Even our own people will be forever expendable in the constant endeavor to overcome the failings of our shared Russian history. Yes, they did their duty but will go down as merely missing at sea.” He smiled. “Just as yourselves and your brave Shiloh. An unfortunate way of doing business, I’m afraid, but a necessary one. My associates are now ready to make our move into the world, and you, sir, stand in the way of that. You and all these men. It was a fluke of science that brought us here, but that is why I will attribute that luck to destiny. It is our destiny to move now against the West.”

  Jack watched over the Russian’s shoulder as both Peter the Great and Shiloh continued to fight for their lives. Salkukoff saw this, and again he smiled.

  “As soon as we conclude our business here, we will sink both ships. A shame, but again, very necessary.”

  “Why didn’t you attack Simbirsk?�
�� Farbeaux spoke up for the first time.

  Salkukoff laughed as he watched several of the dead defenders of Simbirsk unceremoniously jettisoned over the side.

  “I think if given the time, your amazing master chief and your small portable computer, of which I must get a copy, would have figured it out. Our Captain Kreshenko was quickly becoming wise to our only vulnerability.”

  “You can’t lock onto this world. You need the constant appearance and disappearance of Simbirsk to lock on to. You can’t duplicate your own science, just like we Americans couldn’t do it in the Philadelphia navy yard in ’43. If you tried to go it alone without Simbirsk, you would randomly come out wherever the phase shift sent you. You can’t duplicate the frequency. USS Eldridge had the same frequency, and when you stole the design, you inadvertently dialed the phase shift to the same frequency.”

  “Your Jenks was getting close when he realized that the frequency of any phase shift engine is completely random. It all has to be precise to be useful; otherwise, you end up in even far more hostile worlds than this one. But since we could only come here with any hope of return, thanks to Simbirsk, we had no choice. The blue diamonds were found, and we used the constant phase shifting of Simbirsk to hitch a ride, if you will. Why she never powers down is still a mystery, but she’s become erratic, just as you saw in the North Atlantic, and that was the reason we are pulling the plug, as you Americans say. We didn’t expect her to produce the hurricane the way she did. Something is starting to fail in the phase shift engine. It’s deteriorating at an alarming speed. Her power is shifting our very atmospheric conditions. This is why we were caught off guard when she appeared in the North Atlantic. She has now outlived her usefulness. When she is powered up and we hitch our last ride home with her, she will immediately be scuttled in the deepest part of the Atlantic. And then, because of our missions to this world, we will be on an equal footing where blue diamonds are concerned.”