by JE Gurley
His first round was an M40 fragmentary grenade. He had not had time to practice with the weapon’s attached M2A1 reflex sight. He trusted to his luck, estimated the distance, and fired from the hip. The grenade shot through the air in a perfect arc. For a brief moment, it looked as if an alert Wasp would intercept it, but to his immense relief, the projectile sailed between the Wasps legs and struck the exposed section of wall dead center. The explosion blew away a chunk of the ebony wall and crimson flesh beneath it, revealing a dark opening beyond. The intervening swarm of Wasps absorbed the brunt of the explosion and the flying shrapnel. Walker pushed his way through the few remaining Fleas, kicking them aside with his feet as he fired into them. Talent followed close on his heels. He had no idea where the dark, uninviting opening led, but it was an exit from the chamber of death.
20
Wednesday, Dec. 20, 0300 hours U.S.S. Mississippi, New Hebrides Trench –
Fire Team Bravo was safely away and Mark Talent was with them. Relenting to Walker’s request had gone against everything Commander Murdock had learned at the Academy, but fighting new enemies required new rules. Walker was convinced he needed Talent, and as the captain of the vessel delivering the fire team, he could not deny him every available asset necessary for the completion of his mission. His decision could quite possibly cost him his career, but that was the least of his worries. If Doctor Rutherford were right, the device the Squid were working on could wipe out half of Australia. He would have to let Walker deal with the Kaiju. His primary mission had now shifted to the destruction or the disarming of the alien gravity wave bomb.
Since he knew nothing about alien technology, disarming it seemed an unlikely scenario. Destroying it would be tricky as well. Accidently exploding the bomb and initiating the annihilation of Australia and the South Pacific nations would not look good on his record. He had the rough outline of a plan in mind to deal with the situation, but every variation he plotted ended in disaster for his boat. Somehow, he had to tip the odds in his favor.
His intercom crackled to life. “Captain, we just received a signal from Fire Team Bravo. They’ve entered the Kaiju.”
He nodded his head. At least that part of the mission was a success. They were beyond his help now. “Notify USPACOM of the fact. Contact Captain Wilkins of the Hatcher and request that he keep his remaining Fast Attack Craft standing by to extract the fire team. Then inform the exec that I will meet him in the control center.”
From the somber expression on Dobbs’ face when he arrived in the control center, he had had time to digest the abrupt change of mission priorities, and it had soured his stomach. He was an intelligent man and an exemplary officer and had undoubtedly arrived at the same conclusion as Murdock. True to his nature, though, he did not protest.
“Lieutenant, luck has blessed us with the very equipment we need for the completion of this mission.”
“You mean the LR5.”
Murdock smiled; pleased he had not underestimated his executive officer. “I do indeed, Lieutenant. The Royal Australian Navy delivered the DSRV to the Mississippi in the hope that a rescue of the crews of the Essex or the Colorado might be possible. The nature of their sinking dashed that hope. I almost ordered it dumped over the side to gain speed. Now I’m glad I didn’t. It’s ideally suited for disarming the bomb. Its manipulator arm, under the control of a qualified operator, can perform wonders.”
The bulky, white monstrosity secured to the hull of the USS Mississippi reduced her speed by an agonizing three knots. It made the submarine heavy in the stern and reduced her maneuverability to that of an inner tube with no paddle. He had considered cutting it loose when he began his pursuit of the Kaiju, over the loud protests of its two-man crew.
“You trained on the Mystic didn’t you, Commander?”
Murdock smiled. “I did indeed. The Navy DSRV isn’t that different from the LR5.”
“The DSRV came with its own crew, sir,” Dobbs pointed out.
“The diver will accompany me to operate the ROV. With its four video cameras, the Scorpio 45 can keep an eye out for Squid, freeing me to tackle the alien pod. Between us, we might improve our odds. You, Lieutenant, will assume command of the Mississippi while I’m absent from the boat.”
“I have to point out, sir, that your place is on the bridge. The Royal Navy diver is proficient at his job or they would not have sent him. I’m sure his assistant is equally qualified.”
“They were sent to rescue downed submariners, not fight aliens. I am the captain of a fighting vessel. That makes it my job.”
“Your dedication is admirable, Commander, and no one will question your bravery, but this sounds like a final goodbye.”
Murdock winced. Dobbs’ words were too close to the truth. “Better men than I have given their lives for freedom, and alien invader or communist threat, this is about freedom.”
Dobbs stood straighter. “Yes, sir.”
“The DSRV will undoubtedly attract the Squids’ attention. You will load the forward tubes with the modified Mark 58 sonic compression torpedoes. Since the Squid offer no sonar profile, I will direct your fire visually. You will detonate the Mark 58s manually on my command when they close to within fifty yards. This should eliminate some of the Squid and might help mask the DSRV’s approach.”
“That’s cutting it dangerously close, sir. You might catch the edge of the blast.”
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take. With you clearing the field for me, I should be able to reach the goal line.”
“What then?”
This was the tricky part. He had not yet gotten that far in his planning. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to improvise as the situation unfolds. At the very least, I will take possession of the bomb for the home team.”
Dobbs nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He could see in his exec’s eyes that Dobbs thought the plan was mad, and he was right. It was more a crudely drawn sketch scribbled on the back of a paper napkin than a true plan, but it was the best he could do. The Academy had not prepared him for battling aliens or defusing gravity bombs while fending off alien Squid.
His first instinct was to blast everything in sight, but that shotgun-assault approach could detonate the bomb. Like all modified Virginia-Class nuclear submarines, the USS Mississippi was a floating arsenal. Normally, her four forward torpedo tubes could deliver twenty-two Mark 58 and Mark 60 torpedoes, but two torpedo racks had been removed to make space for the survivors from the Radiant Princess and not yet been replaced. Her twelve missile tubes could launch over eighty Tomahawk cruise missiles, six armed with W76 100-kiloton nuclear warheads. The rest delivered thousand-pound conventional explosive warheads or BLU-97/B cluster bombs. An assortment of UAVs and ADM-160 MALD antisubmarine sensor drones could augment the boats defenses. For surface fighting, she carried a retractable 20 mm Phalanx M61 Vulcan Cannon positioned forward of the conning tower and mounts for two .50 caliber machineguns atop the Sail. Yet, for all practical purposes, he was reduced to hand-to-hand combat, using a one-armed rescue submersible.
Twenty minutes later, he sat in the uncomfortably small pilot’s seat of the Australian DSRV. The thick Plexiglas windows below, forward, and above him allowed him a wide visual range. The control panel looked like any normal aircraft control panel with the addition of monitor screens for the video cameras and grips for the manipulator arm. Beside him sat Master Diver Lance Meyers, a twenty-four-year old former high school high dive champion from Adelaide. Meyers, at 5’6’’and 145 pounds, looked more comfortable, but their elbows kept knocking in the cramped quarters. At first, Murdock’s insistence that he would man the controls troubled Meyers, but after safely maneuvering the bulky DSRV away from the Mississippi, he relaxed.
“You handle her like a pro,” he said.
Murdock smiled. “I know you’re more qualified, but I need you to handle the Scorpio 45 remote. This is going to be tricky, and we’re not likely to get more than one chance.”
He had informed Meyer
s about the alien gravity bomb before leaving – he owed him that much – but the young diver had taken it in stride.
“I could work better outside in the ADS.”
The Atmospheric Dive Suit was a hard shell dive suit rated to 2000 feet used to clear away debris from downed submarine hatches.
“We’re not rescuing sailors, son, we’re disarming a bomb. The suit offers no protection against the Squid.”
Using the forward video camera, he spotted the alien pod floating at a depth of 125 feet. His sonar screen showed only a blurry haze. The Kaiju was no longer there. Did its absence mean he was too late? He radioed the Mississippi. “Where is the Kaiju?”
Dobbs answered. “It got under way about three minutes ago, following its original heading. The Bluefin UUV drone picked up six Squid around the pod, two working on it and four spaced around it as guards.”
“Are the concussion torpedoes ready?”
“Yes, sir. On your order.”
“Stand by.”
He positioned the DSRV a hundred yards from the pod and hovered, amazed that the Squid had not already attacked. He then fired a low-frequency sonic burst from the active sonar that was certain to get the Squids’ attention. To Meyers, he said, “Send out the ROV. Take it to a depth of five hundred feet beneath the pod.”
Meyers turned to the panel in front of him and flipped a switch. The Scorpio 45 shot out of its bay and dropped below the DSRV. The top-mounted camera showed the white underbelly of the LR5 receding. Meyers panned the cameras to face the pod. The four Squid surrounding the pod ignored the ROV but homed in on the source of the sonic blast.
“Fire all tubes,” Murdock ordered Dobbs.
The Squid could have covered the distance in seconds, but they took their time, first examining the DSRV with their array of sensors. They seemed perplexed that they detected no weapons on the miniature sub and were undecided about what to do. However, when they detected the first two modified Mark 58 torpedoes approaching at 70 mph, they went immediately into attack mode. One of the nineteen-foot long missiles shot by the DSRV’s porthole, a black, red, and orange streak in the water. Six seconds later, two more torpedoes passed below the DSRV.
The modified Mark 58 conventional explosive warheads had been replaced with a low-frequency sound pump generator capable of emitting a low-frequency sound wave pulse at 200 decibels, deadly to humans and damaging to delicate electronic equipment. The generator directed the pulses forward and to the sides of the torpedo in an expanding cone-shaped pattern. Fifty yards behind the torpedo, he hoped the DSRV would be outside the lethal range. The Squid moved to intercept the first two torpedoes. When he deemed the torpedoes were far enough away from the DSRV for safety but near enough to the Squid to be effective, he spoke into the radio, trying to keep his nervous excitement under control. His entire plan hinged on the effectiveness of the torpedoes. If they failed … he didn’t want to think about that.
“Detonate 1 and 2 on my command. Detonate 3 and 4 five seconds later.”
He followed the track of the torpedoes on the sonar screen. When he had visual confirmation in the video monitor, he shouted, “Now!”
The pulse was too low to hear, but the rapidly expanding bubble of superheated water turned to steam by the acoustic blast struck the DSRV like an underwater tidal wave. It picked up the sub, rolled it onto its port side, and twirled it like a baton, leaving the nose facing the surface. Murdock fought the controls to right the small vessel as alarm bells began sounding. Half the lights on the panels went out. He barely slowed the vessel’s spin when the second pair of torpedoes detonated. This time, the DSRV shuddered like a struck bell and dropped like a rock, passing four hundred feet before he got it under control.
“Bring up the pod on the video cameras.”
Only one of the DSRV’s two cameras still functioned. Meyers focused the image. Two of the squid were obviously dead. Their dismembered and cooked bodies floated in the water, surrounded by clouds of alien blood. Two more were intact but motionless. Murdock did not know if they were dead or merely stunned. The two Squid arming the bomb were farther away and had escaped injury. They continued to work on the pod. It seemed to Murdock that they had increased their speed to complete their task. He pushed the DSRV’s control stick forward and edged closer to the pod.
“Bring the ROV up directly beneath the pod,” he told Meyers. “I’ll try to draw them away.”
“What am I doing?” Meyers asked in a panicked voice. “I can’t disarm a bomb.”
“Shove the ROV’s manipulator arm into the open panel to prevent it from closing. I’m betting that the open panel will compromise the pod’s overall integrity. We’ll use the ROV to drag it to the bottom and let the pressure at 25,000 feet crush it.”
“Won’t that detonate it?” Meyers asked.
Murdock did not answer. He was operating on pure speculation. He had no idea what would or would not set off the bomb, or if the ebony material of the pod had a depth limit. It was a spacecraft designed for travel through the vacuum of space, not withstanding enormous outside pressure. He could think of no other options. “We’ll soon find out.”
One Squid moved away from the pod and placed itself between the pod and the DSRV. It did not move closer, but began waving its tentacles in the water as if telling him to bring it on. Murdock brought the manipulator arm forward. The Squid’s tentacles outnumbered him 8:1 and beat his reach by ten feet. The tentacles moved like lightning, while his manipulator arm, designed to move debris or heavy objects, was slow but powerful. If he were in a boxing ring, his opponent would plaster him with punches while he swatted air. He reminded himself that he wasn’t going for a knockout punch, just sparring long enough for Meyers to make his move.
The Squid put on a burst of speed and raced toward the DSRV. At first, he thought it intended to collide with the sub as it had the two submarines and the cruise ship, but it halted ten feet away, matching speeds with the DSRV. It studied the mini-sub for a few minutes, and then shot one tentacle, grabbed the light bar across the front of the vehicle, and pulled itself forward. Suddenly, Murdock was staring into the four alien eyes of the Squid. There were no irises; it had no expression, but he thought he could see anger in the creature’s countenance.
Then it opened its mouth, revealing the razor-sharp teeth capable of chewing through metal. He raised the manipulator arms like two beefy arms with fists coming together, and clamped the Squid’s body between them. It squirmed free before he could increase the pressure. Another tentacle shot out and struck the thick Plexiglas porthole in front of him, leaving a spider web of fine cracks. The porthole could withstand the pressure at a depth of over 2,000 feet, but the Squid had almost cracked it like an egg. He switched on the outside floodlights and the Squid backed away.
As he kept an eye on the Squid, he also watched the monitor showing the ROV rising from beneath the alien pod. The second Squid now floated a few feet away watching the battle between machine and alien creature. It had not yet detected the ROV. The panel was still open, but Murdock did not know how much longer they had. For all he knew, the bomb was already armed. Just as the ROV drew level with the pod, the Squid saw it.
“Now!” Murdock shouted.
Meyers shot the ROV’s arm forward into the panel just as the Squid reacted. It touched a spot beside the panel, and the panel slammed down on the arm, leaving a four-inch gap. The Squid went on a rampage, attacking the ROV with all its tentacles. It stripped pieces of metal from the frame and punctured the two ballast tanks. The cameras died one by one, and then the lights, but for all the damage the creature did, it could not extract the ROV’s arm.
“Take it to the bottom,” Murdock told Meyers.
He pushed the power lever up to full but the pod did not budge. “It’s not powerful enough.”
His plan was quickly falling apart. They had prevented the panel from closing, but couldn’t move the pod. Eventually, the Squid would succeed in yanking it free. It renewed its efforts on the
ROV but the sturdy little vehicle resisted its attack. Finally, it settled for the next best thing. It wrenched the ROV free of the arm. Murdock watched the ROV sink out of sight.
Now, both Squid were free to attack the DSRV.
“Brace yourself,” Murdock warned Meyers, as both Squid raced for the DSRV with a flurry of tentacles propelling them forward.
One struck the mini-sub head on, spreading the cracks in the porthole wider. The second latched itself to the bottom of the sub pounding at the belly hatch. Murdock knew they would either crack the porthole, flooding the DSRV, or damage the motors beyond repair. He pushed the vehicle forward toward the pod.
Meyers rose from his seat. “I’m going aft to check for leaks.”
Murdock nodded. He was too busy tracking the Squid to discuss it. Meyers opened the hatch dividing the control cabin from the pressurized crew transport, stepped through, and dogged it shut behind him. When one of the Squid came at the porthole again, he raised the arms to block it, and then clamped them closed on one of the tentacles. He was now holding a tiger by the tail. It opened its mouth so wide he thought it was trying to swallow the DSRV whole, and chomped down on the arm chewing into the metal. He jerked the controls back and forth, singing the Squid around like a rag doll.
When he heard the hiss of the airlock cycling, he thought a squid had managed to open the hatch. Then he realized Meyers had donned the ADS and was leaving the DSRV. He yelled into the radio, praying that Meyers was on the same frequency.
“Meyers! Get back in here. What do you think you’re doing?”
“I have a spear gun, a shark stick, and half a kilo of C4. I’ll see if I can get their attention while you secure the pod.”
Murdock shook his head. Meyers was foolish but brave. The spear gun was not powerful enough to do any damage. The shark stick held a shotgun shell at its tip, fired by shoving it into a shark’s body to discourage them from becoming too nosy during a rescue. The C4 was used to blast any debris too large to move with the manipulator arm. “The shark stick won’t detonate the C4.”
