The Lance

by Alex Lukeman

  They swam over a scattered string of phallic shapes, artillery shells for the guns. There were box like outlines, unidentifiable mounds. Then a pair of boots, the toes splayed outward. She wondered what his thoughts had been, this German seaman, in those last seconds when the water rushed in.

  The hulking ruin of the sunken submarine emerged from the blue-green gloom of the deep. Ghost-like and silent on the ocean floor, U-886 still looked like the menacing predator she had once been.

  The sub had struck end on and settled upright. The stern section was crushed and buckled. The bow pointed straight down a steep slope covered with thick mud and silt. The slope ended at an undersea cliff that dropped off into fathomless depths.

  Sea growth encrusted the wreck. Bizarre clumps and shapes hung from the railings and guns. Pale yellow fronds and long green streamers trailed in the current. The sea floor around the submarine was stained reddish brown from rust, as if U-886 had bled to death in her final agony.

  The visibility was good, but Selena reminded herself to be cautious. It wouldn't take much to stir up a cloud of particles and turn everything murky.

  The British depth charges had ripped a long, ragged gash on the starboard side, exposing the central corridor to the sea. A painted white shield with a black sword and swastika was still visible on the conning tower.

  Nick's voice sounded in Selena's earpiece.

  "Lamont. What's your status?"

  "It's the right sub. We're looking at her. She's almost upright. She's ripped open and the stern is collapsed. We're not going to find anything aft. The center section looks accessible. I'm going to take a look now."

  "Roger that. Selena, you okay?"

  "I'm good. You should see this. There's a painted badge on the tower, sword and swastika on a white shield."

  "Most of the U-Boats had badges. They identified the boat and her crew."

  Lamont and Selena reached the breach in the hull and turned on their lights. The bright white beams lit up the dark interior of the wreck. Cables and wires hung down and swayed in the current, their crisp outlines blurred by sea growth. Fallen pipes lay rusting on the deck.

  Selena's light cast strange shadows inside the sub. If this were a recreational dive, she'd never have thought of going in. The opening into the hull was jagged and sharp. It reminded Selena of the maw of a primeval beast, waiting for unsuspecting prey to swim through.

  Waiting for her and Lamont.

  The transceiver crackled. "Nick, I'm ready to go in. Selena, you hang back behind me, give me some light."

  "Roger."

  Lamont eased through the gap and hung suspended. He shone his light down the passageway.

  "I can see the control room. The hatch is open, that's a break. They must not have had time to get it closed. Some pipes down, cables, not too bad."

  He moved into the blackness of the sub's interior. Selena followed him in and shone her light through the dark water after him. Through the open hatchway she could see the periscope column and a bank of gauges in the control room. Clusters of valve wheels, rusted pipes and sagging conduit lined the ceiling and walls. Debris lay everywhere, covered in yellowish silt. Lamont's passage sent small clouds of sediment drifting in her beam.

  Her light caught something white. A half buried skull looked up at her from the floor.

  Lamont paused in the control room. "Bones on the deck," he said. "The depth gauge glass is cracked and the needle is stuck right on 76 meters. 228 feet. That's about right. There's a box by what's left of the radio. I'm going to open it."

  Selena watched Lamont fumble with something out of view.

  "It's junk. Looks like some kind of typewriter."

  Lamont moved about in the wreckage of the control room. He tugged on a cabinet door above his head. The door came open in a cloud of rust particles. He reached in and withdrew a flat, black object. It turned to a soggy mass in his hands.

  "Found what was probably the log book. It's no good, turned to slime." He dropped it on the floor. He turned away from the periscope column.

  "Now I'm looking at the captain's corner. There's still a piece of the curtain left."

  Selena felt a vibration. She glanced outside. Sediment swirled around the sub.

  "Lamont, the current is picking up."

  "Roger. Hold your station." She saw him grasp a bulkhead and disappear from view as he moved into the captain's alcove.

  Lamont shone his light around the confined space. A disjointed skeleton lay on the floor. Fragments of dark cloth clung to the bones. The empty sockets of a narrow skull gaped up at him, the lower jaw fallen away. The legs still wore high leather jack boots, turned a soggy, brownish green. Something poked through the white bones. Lamont reached down and pulled it out, brushed silt aside. It was a brown oilskin pouch. He placed it in the bag hooked on his belt.

  The sub moved. The delicate balance keeping U-886 in place for so many years had been disturbed.

  "Lamont, the sub's moving. Get out!" Selena tried to keep the fear out of her voice.

  "Roger."

  The submarine groaned and tilted. Selena braced against the movement. Pipes broke away from the ceiling and Selena saw one strike Lamont on the head. A sudden, thick cloud of particles blocked her view.

  "Lamont. Lamont, talk to me."

  There was no response.

  "Selena, what's going on?" Nick's voice came over her headset.

  "The sub moved. Lamont's hurt. He's not answering. I'm going in after him."

  "For Christ's sake, be careful. Talk to me, Selena. Let me know what you're doing." Fear flooded her body and her heart began thumping in her chest. She forced herself to slow her breathing. With more than two hundred feet of water above her, too much breath could be fatal.

  "I'm going in. I can't see much, too much stuff in the water. I can't see Lamont yet. There are pipes and cables down, but I can get past them." She pushed a tangle of wires aside, death traps moving about in the murk like slime covered spiders reaching for her.

  "Talk to me." Nick's voice was calm, soothing. "Take your time. Lamont's gear will keep him alive. Don't rush."

  "A couple of pipes came down in the corridor, but I think I can get through them. Wait one."

  Selena pushed one of the pipes aside and swam past. She swam through the hatchway. In the swirling silt she saw Lamont pinned against the deck, a pipe across his chest. His eyes were closed behind the mask, his mouth open.

  "Lamont's unconscious. There's a pipe across him, not too big." She reached down with both hands and lifted the pipe away. She heard a strange groaning, an eerie, low, metallic moan. She felt the sub moving. She wanted to get out of there. She fought her panic, concentrated on Lamont.

  Selena started back through the passage, pulling Lamont behind her. The sub groaned again and began to vibrate. The water inside was filled with clouds of silt. She could see nothing at all in the murk. She worked by touch and instinct through the fallen pipes, dangling wires and cables, praying she wouldn't get snagged. She reached the opening in the hull and pulled Lamont out. The wreck was beginning to move away under her feet. Grasping him under one arm, she backpedaled toward the mooring line.

  The sub picked up speed as it slid down the steep slope. Roiling clouds of silt churned out from under the stern, as if the huge engines had come back to life. The black swastika and white shield gleamed like a demon's eye in the ocean light as the long, narrow shape moved away. Streams of seaweed trailed from the conning tower. They look like flags, she thought. Flags, on a ship of the dead.

  The submarine went over the edge of the cliff.

  For a brief moment she held her course, as if a ghostly hand was at the helm. Then the bow nosed down and the wreck disappeared into the black depths. A thick cloud of particles billowed up from the sea floor.

  "Nick, I've got him, I'm coming up. The sub's gone." She looked at Lamont's oxygen meter. Still safe.

  "Roger. Remember your stops."

  Selena began the ascent. She watche
d her depth meter. She felt the cold weight of what seemed like miles of water above her.

  Lamont's eyes fluttered, opened. He looked at Selena, her mask next to his as she swam upward. She saw him open his eyes.

  "I've got you. You're okay. Your meters are good."

  "What happened?" His voice was hoarse.

  "You got knocked out. We're going up. At one hundred fifty feet now. Decompression stop."

  "I can swim."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, hook on to me, but let me go."

  Selena tethered him to her belt and let him go, ready to grab him if she had to.

  "Shadow. Can you hear me?"

  "Yeah, Nick. It's all right. We'll be up soon. I found something."

  When at last they reached the surface, Selena had never been so glad to see the blue sky above her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  "You might have a concussion." Nick held up three fingers. "How many?"

  "Three."

  "Good answer." Nick peered into his eyes. Both pupils were the same size.

  "I think you're good. But pay attention, will you?"

  "I'm fine Nick. It's just a bump on the head."

  Selena had changed into sweats and jacket and was sitting near the stern, watching the wake trail out behind.

  Lamont walked to the stern and sat down next to her. He looked out over the water, then down at the deck.

  "When I was a kid, I almost drowned."

  Selena waited.

  "It was a hot summer day. I was eight years old. My mom took me to the city park, to the pool. It was mobbed. Everyone was running around, rough housing, splashing each other. You know how kids are."

  "Sure."

  "There was this long line for the diving board. The water was twelve feet at the deep end and kids were piling off the board, one right after another. I got on the board, ran to the end and jumped. A big kid jumped in right behind and kicked me in the head. It knocked me out and I went right to the bottom. When I came to I was breathing water. Then everything got kind of peaceful and I started drifting down there, on the bottom of the pool."

  Lamont looked out over the South Atlantic.

  "I remember the paint on the bottom was blue and it was all chipped and cracked and there was this Baby Ruth candy wrapper stuck on the drain. It felt easy. I wasn't struggling or choking, just drifting in the water. Then someone grabbed me and pulled me out and dumped me on the cement by the pool. I never saw who it was, only a pair of feet walking away. Then my mom was yelling and pounding me on the back and I coughed up water and got sick."

  Lamont paused.

  "That pipe hitting me down there, it was like when that kid kicked me. I gotta tell you the truth, I wasn't sure about this when we went over the side, about having you down there. You know, Seals—we have our own way of doing things." He looked embarrassed. "Thanks for getting me out."

  "You'd have done the same."

  "Yeah, but thanks anyway."

  In the wheelhouse, Ronnie turned the pouch Lamont had found over in his hands.

  "Let's wait until we're back on shore to open it." Nick made a course adjustment.

  Ronnie set the pouch down. "Boats heading toward us." He pointed out over the water. The line of cliffs and beaches along the coast was still three or four miles away. Dark, low shapes were coming hard over the waves, throwing water behind them in a wide wake.

  Carter scanned them through his binoculars.

  "Three speed boats. Big engines. They're in some kind of hurry. Two men in each."

  The boats were headed straight for them.

  "You call for pizza, Ronnie?"

  "Don't think so."

  "Break out the weapons." Nick lowered the binoculars.

  Selena had come back to the wheelhouse. "How would anyone know what we were doing?" she asked.

  "We seem to be asking that question a lot these days. I don't know. But whoever they are, they're coming this way. They're not here for the fishing."

  Ronnie lifted MP-5s out of the weapons case. Lamont took one and inserted a 30 round magazine. He tapped the magazine with his hand to make sure it was seated. He racked the bolt and grabbed an ammo belt with five extra magazines.

  "Reminds me of the old days," he said. "I carried one of these for years."

  Nick moved the throttle forward and turned west. The speedboats altered course.

  "No doubt about it. They want to intercept us. They're a lot faster, they'll get here in a few minutes. Ronnie, you and Lamont cover the stern."

  Ronnie pulled an Airtronics RPG-7 launcher out of the case. It looked like a ray gun from a pulp science fiction novel. It had an elongated trumpet on one end, a large bulbous section in the middle and a black pistol grip and trigger in the front. He opened a knapsack with five rockets sticking out of it.

  "Latest stuff," he said. "Your basic Russian design but made in America with improvements. We're ready to rock and roll. The guys in those boats are in for a little surprise."

  "Selena," Nick said. "You position yourself here in the wheelhouse. Don't get behind that launcher. I may have to do some fancy turns and I need you to watch my back. We'll play it by ear until we know for sure they're hostile."

  She nodded and loaded her weapon. Cocked and locked and ready to go. She put on her sunglasses and stood calmly in the wind and sun looking out at the approaching boats, legs slightly apart and holding the MP-5 across her chest.

  Nick watched her. The sun gleamed off her weapon and framed her hair in a halo of light. She looked like an avenging Amazon from a new, modern myth of war. He felt something clench in his gut. He put it out of his mind.

  For the next few minutes nothing happened. The three boats fanned out in a widening arc, angling to come at them from the stern and sides. Nick looked through the binoculars again.

  "Armed. Looks like AKs. I guess they're not friendly."

  The sides of the boat offered some protection where they rose above the deck. It wasn't much. Ronnie and Lamont crouched behind a large metal fish locker near the stern. The lead boat closed and the passenger lifted his assault rifle and fired. Splinters flew from the fantail.

  Ronnie and Lamont opened up. Two of the boats thundered by on each side of the wheelhouse. The roar of their engines blotted out the sound of AK's firing from the cockpits. Nick and Selena ducked.

  The wooden frames of the wheelhouse turned to splinters. The windows shattered into a thousand bits of glass.

  Selena stood up when the boats had passed and fired after them. Nick gripped the wheel and pushed the throttles to the firewall. Two of the attackers veered off into another turn. The third boat crossed in front and raked the wheelhouse. What little glass that was left disappeared.

  Selena waited until it was past, then emptied her magazine. The bullets made a trail of spouts up to the stern of the speeding boat and into the rear. The gas tank exploded. The boat skewed left and stopped. Black smoke roiled skyward as the burning craft sank by the stern. The two men in the boat were screaming, engulfed in flame.

  Nick tried to ram one of the pursuers. The boat roared past. Aft, Lamont let off short, steady bursts. Ronnie picked up the launcher.

  The two remaining speedboats came in for another run. Bits of wood flew all around. Bullets smacked into the metal locker and whined away. Ronnie knelt with the launcher and fired.

  The rocket shot from the tube in a trailing curl of white smoke. It passed over the lead boat and was swallowed in the water beyond.

  "Damn," Ronnie said. He loaded another. Selena slammed in another magazine. Lamont was firing. Nick spun the wheel to port and the boat heeled over. Ronnie lost his balance and slid across the deck. He recovered, stood up and zeroed in on one of the boats. This time the rocket went straight in. The boat disintegrated in a billowing black and orange fireball.

  The third boat turned and raced for shore.

  Ronnie took careful aim and fired another rocket. It streaked toward the last attacker and blew the craft out
of the water. A body flew into the air and splashed into the waves. What was left of the boat sank in seconds. As they passed over the spot there was nothing to see but fragments of fiberglass and a slick of burning oil floating on the surface.

  Carter throttled down and headed for Mar del Plata. He kept one hand on the helm and looked around. Everything seemed lit with bright light.

  The railings of the boat were splintered and broken. The metal fish locker was holed and pocked from multiple hits. The deck was torn up in gouges where rounds had struck or ricocheted. All the glass was shot away from the wheelhouse and it was in bad shape. Only the corner posts still held the roof on.

  No one was wounded. That qualified as a minor miracle.

  "I don't think the guy that owns this boat is going to be happy," Lamont said. "What do we tell him?"

  "Pirates. We tell him pirates." Selena brushed hair away from her forehead. She looked angry.

  "Pirates off Argentina?"

  "Why not? They seem to be everywhere else. Why not here?"

  "We'll compensate him," Nick said. "We'll buy him a new boat. I've got ten grand right here." He patted a money belt strapped around his waist. "Hell, its government money."

  "We were lucky." Lamont cleared his MP-5 and placed it back in the case.

  "Yeah, Lamont, it's been your lucky day."

  They entered the harbor by the southern breakwater, past a tall statue of Christ waiting with open arms to welcome sailors home. It was a comforting sight. They headed for the dock.

  ***

  A non-descript man in a tan straw hat stood fishing on the end of the pier. He watched the battered red and white boat ease into the dock and a black man jump off and tie her down against the fenders hanging alongside. The fisherman noted the destroyed wheelhouse and bullet-scarred sides. He watched the four people on board begin unloading their gear. The owner of the boat appeared and started shouting and waving his hands in the air.

  The fisherman picked up his rod and sauntered past the curious onlookers beginning to gather. When he reached the street he stopped and turned back to look at the scene, then took out a phone and placed a call to Washington.