“Well, I guess it’s time for breakfast but my stomach is telling me I just had breakfast. It’s confused!”
There were a few chuckles.
“We haven’t had second breakfast,” said Lambert, arching her eyebrows.
“Oh,” laughed Castillo. “That’s right. Hobbits do it all the time, don’t they?”
“Let’s become Hobbits,” said Lambert. “I’ve heard middle earth is nice this time of year.”
“I’m game,” replied Castillo.
“Sir!” said one of the young sonar operators. “I’ve got something on the array.”
“What is it?”
“I…don’t…know.”
Castillo could read the confusion on his face. “Put it on speaker.”
He flipped a switch and they heard a faint sound. “Let me amplify it,” said the operator.
It got louder but was still muffled:
rumble rumble rumble thunk rumble rumble rumble thunk rumble rumble
then nothing. After a few seconds it started again:
rumble rumble rumble thunk rumble rumble rumble thunk
Castillo couldn’t identify what it was either. It almost sounded like something heavy rolling down a wooden board. What? A large rock? “Where’s it coming from?”
The young petty officer studied his screen then switched to another view. “It’s about 18 miles out, sir. Bearing 188.”
“That’s not too far out of our way. Let’s have a look. Pilot, come to new course 188.”
“Aye, sir. New course 188.”
Castillo picked up his receiver, turned a dial and said, “Maneuvering, make turns for 20 knots.”
“Aye, sir. Making turns for 20 knots.”
They didn’t hear the sound again, but within 30 minutes they had closed the distance to the contact to 7 miles. That’s within visual verification distance. Castillo ordered their speed reduced to 6 knots and periscope depth. He deployed the photonics mast and swept the horizon ahead of them.
“Wow!” he said. “Look at that!”
“It’s an old sailing ship,” said Lambert.
Mason Taylor came in and stared open-mouthed at the forward view screen. Castillo touched his controls and magnified the view until the ship filled the screen.
“That’s a replica of a Spanish Galleon,” observed Lieutenant Tanaka. “16th century. I wonder who it belongs to.”
“It’s not flying any flags, but it’s perfect in every other detail.” Taylor walked up close to the screen, craning his neck. “A proud old man-of-war. 1000 tons at least. 48 guns!”
“Whoever built her did a good job!” said Castillo.
“They did!” agreed Taylor.
The three-masted ship was the color of dark oak with red gunnels and masts in black. It had an elaborate black bowsprit with a walkway extending beneath and two rows of 12 gun portals. The early morning sun glinted off the raised black and gold decorative window shutters beneath the high afterdeck, or stern castle, where the captain’s quarters usually were, and just above them was a row of colorful coats of arms in bright reds and blues and greens and a detailed carved gold colored rail attached to the aft weather deck. There was a balcony-like observation platform extending off the aft gun deck with men walking on them. It appeared to be getting under way. Sails were unfurling on all three masts with men in the rigging. Large white square sails slowly swelled like great balloons, emblazoned with the pronged blood red empirical Spanish cross of old. At the top of each mast was a long white fluttering pennant also with the red Spanish cross.
“Man, it’s perfect in every detail,” marveled Lieutenant Tanaka, his onyx eyes twinkling.
“Do you study those things, Eric?” asked Castillo.
“Sure,” replied Tanaka. “I was a guide on the Constitution for one summer and I crewed on the Coast Guard’s tall ship, Eagle, in college.”
“Coast Guard? How did you swing that?”
“My dad pulled some strings.”
Castillo recalled that Tanaka’s father was Sacirro Tanaka, CEO of Advocate Shipping and running for a California senate seat. “Any idea who this one belongs to?”
“None. I’ve never seen this one before.”
Castillo said nothing for a long time. He folded his hands in his lap and lowered his head. He looked like he was praying, but the crew knew he was trying to come to a decision. He nodded his head slightly and his lips silently formed words as if he were having an internal dialogue. Finally he looked up and said, “Screw it. Let’s go up and get a better look. Pilot, take us up.”
“Aye, sir. Blowing tanks.”
“Really?” said Tanaka, beaming like a little boy about to look at model trains.
“Yes, besides I’d like to ask some questions of the skipper. Maybe these guys have a working radio we can use.”
Chapter 6
Aboard the San Luis Hidalgo
Western Irish Coast
July 28, 1588 A.D.
Capitan Martin de Cordova would be glad to be rid of this place. He had regretted this mission from the outset and had tried to protest to Admiral Medina Sidonia, but it had been a waste of his time. The duke had been set on getting his spies into England. Well, he had succeeded. He had delivered the men into the hands of the duke’s Catholic allies in Ireland, and now they must leave. They were deep into enemy waters, cut off from any reinforcements and caught in the daylight hours without protection. This was a suicide mission. But God had watched over them so far, and his men had eaten well here and gotten their fill of Irish whiskey.
He took hold of the broad brim of his black felt hat of office with the gold imperial lion insignia, removed it and mopped his broad bearded face with a handkerchief. The early morning air was cool for July, but he was sweating anyway. He replaced his hat on his head then replaced the handkerchief in his red uniform coat. He watched a crewman come out onto the main deck with a bucket. The man stuck a finger up to test the breeze. Always a good idea when you’re about to throw something overboard. The man emptied the bucket overboard on the leeward side and immediately the seabirds began screaming and squawking as they dived into the slick of food scraps and started a feeding frenzy. Cordova walked to the opposite side of the deck and peered down. Good! His men were back aboard and the small boat was pulling away.
“Jesucristo, give me wind!” he prayed softly with his gray eyes to the sky. There were only a few flat high clouds overhead. He came inside, climbed two ladders that creaked with his weight and emerged on the upper weather deck of the stern castle behind the stern mast. He heard a fluttering and tilted his face upwards. His prayer had been answered. The breeze was freshening and the high pennants were beginning to pop. The wind appeared to be out of the south southwest! Where was Estevez?
“Estevez!” he screamed.
“Yes, capitan!” came an answer.
Where was that skeleton? He could hear him, but couldn’t see him. He was below somewhere. No matter. “We have the tide and we have wind! We go! Retrieve anchor!”
“Yes, capitan!” Estevez’s whip thin visage soon appeared on the main deck below and began screaming and clapping his hands, “Anchor crew to stations! Anchor crew to stations! Hands aloft! Hands aloft! Look alive!”
Men began to scramble. Some ran forward, others began climbing the ratlines. Cordova looked up and saw a lookout in the crow’s nest scanning the horizon. He screamed, “Anything?”
“No, capitan!” he replied.
It didn’t hurt to check these things. He didn’t want to be caught here by the English. Cordova faced the breeze, closed his eyes and breathed the fresh salt air. The breeze was getting stronger. If the wind held, they could rejoin the main fleet in two days. He would much rather be with his family in Madrid, but duty calls.
rumble rumble rumble thunk rumble rumble rumble thunk rumble rumble
Cordova smiled. It was the sound of the anchor windlass drawing up the anchor. It took eight men to turn the large spoked wheel that slowly drew up the large
links in the anchor chain. The thunk was the sound of the bottle pin dropping to arrest forward progress. It took tension off the wheel and allowed the men to renew their grip on the wheel.
rumble rumble rumble thunk rumble rumble rumble thunk
The masts creaked and halyards moaned as the sails filled and thundered. They started putting a strain on masts and rigging. Men swarmed like monkeys down out of the rigging and tied off halyards and sheets. Cordova watched the bow plunge forward out into the frothy olive Irish Sea. He screamed through a command port to the helmsman two decks below, “Just keep us on this course until Mr. Estevez tells you otherwise.”
“Yes, capitan!”
“I must prepare a message for Sidonia. Mr. Marten, bring a pigeon.”
“Yes, capitan,” replied a serious young man standing behind Cordova.
• • •
Cordova was in his stateroom composing his message to Admiral Medina Sidonia when he heard the commotion, feet running and raised voices. A cabin boy put his head through the door and said, “A leviathan, capitan!”
“A leviathan?” Cordova scratched his chin under his salt and pepper beard. “What do I care about a leviathan?”
“It is not a normal leviathan. Mr. Estevez says it is most unusual.” The boy withdrew his head and closed the door.
“Unusual?” Cordova tried to continue his message, but found he could not. He had to see this unusual leviathan. He put down his quill and shrugged on his red uniform coat and donned his black captain’s hat. When he emerged onto the weather deck of the stern castle, he found Estevez on the larboard rail with a spyglass trained on something in the water.
“What do you make of that, capitan?” He handed the spyglass to Cordova.
Cordova put it to his eye and saw nothing at first, just empty sea, then he swept over it and quickly returned to it. It appeared to be a great leviathan with something attached to its back. A sizable box of some kind, and there was another box attached to its tail. But as it turned toward them, he realized they were not boxes at all, but large square fins.
“That’s not natural,” said Cordova. “It has great square fins and it’s black as satan’s heart!”
“It came up from the depths like a sea dragon straight out of hell!” shouted a young seaman.
“It’s coming straight for us!” screamed the helmsman.
• • •
Castillo and Tanaka climbed the ladder inside the Kansas’s sail and emerged at the top. Tanaka smoothed his jet black hair and tugged on his black Kansas ball cap. Then he put the binoculars to his eyes.
“Magnificent!” he exclaimed.
Castillo donned a headset, then put on his black ball cap and his aviators. He said, “Okay, pilot, ease us up next to the galleon. We want to be within hailing range.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll get us close.”
“What do you think, Eric? Who are these guys?”
“I would guess they’re re-enactors, sir. I’ve read about them. There are clubs and societies that get together and re-enact famous battles. In the U.S. It’s mostly the Civil War. These guys are re-enacting a sea battle probably.”
“Really?”
“They’re dressed very authentically. I don’t see a T-shirt in the bunch. The guys in red coats and black broad-brimmed hats are Spanish officers, and the guys in the white shirts are seamen. These guys are a class act.”
Castillo put binoculars to his eyes and studied the galleon. “They seem to be running around quite a bit, aren’t they? Are they conducting a drill of some kind?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
• • •
“To quarters! To quarters! Gun crews to stations! Gun crews to stations!” screamed Estevez. There was concern in every face that passed him.
Cordova didn’t know what to make of it. Whatever this evil thing was, it was on a collision course with them. He wanted to alter course, but they couldn’t point much higher against the wind to maneuver away. They could however make a ninety degree turn to downwind. Then they would pass behind the monster. It was worth a try. “Helmsman, ninety degrees to larboard! Now!”
“Yes, capitan. Ninety degrees to larboard.”
“Estevez, resheet mains!”
“Yes, capitan,” responded Estevez from the main deck. He and several others began playing out sheet lines on the larboard side, taking them in on the starboard and trimming jib and spanker lines. As the ship slowly turned, boards and masts creaked and groaned with the stresses of wind against sail and the rolling sea against hull, but the big ship gradually increased speed and began surging through the troughs and waves once again with a rocking motion.
Castillo put the spyglass to his eye and scrutinized the sea creature. This thing was large. At least twice the size of Hidalgo. After a few seconds it turned and was back on an intercept course with his ship. This monstrous thing is stalking us, he thought. The skin on the back of his neck crawled and his hands began to sweat. What is it? All about him he could see the faces of his terrified crew.
“It’s turning too!” screamed a voice, hysterically. “It’s coming for us.”
“It won’t take us without a fight!” shouted another.
• • •
Kansas was within 300 yards of the galleon and closing. Tanaka and Castillo watched the deck activity on the galleon through binoculars.
“Hey,” said Tanaka. “They’re opening their gun ports.”
“Really?” said Castillo.
“And now they’re rolling their guns out. I can see the muzzles.”
“Maybe they’re going to give us a gun salute.”
Tanaka squinted and refocused his binoculars. “I don’t like the looks of this. I can see the expressions on some of their faces. They look kind of freaked out. And the guns…”
“What about them?”
“The gun crews are taking direct aim at us.”
Castillo’s eyes went wide as he realized what was about to happen. “Shit!” He barked into his headset, “Emergency dive! Emergency dive!”
“Aye, sir,” said the pilot. “Emergency dive!”
BOOM! BOOMBOOMBOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The big guns opened up on them and scored several direct hits to the sail. The sail lurched violently and Castillo tumbled out. He clung briefly to plexiglass spray shield with his right hand, then he lost his grip and fell. He glanced off the rounded deck of Kansas before hitting the water. Pressurized air roared from three ballast vents in Kansas’s bow throwing geysers of water 200 feet in the air and three more geysers roared from her stern as Kansas flooded her ballast tanks and prepared to dive.
“No,” shouted Castillo. “Wait!” But no one heard him. He had lost his headset.
Tanaka slid down the sail’s access ladder in one smooth slide using his hands and feet on each side of the vertical supports. When his feet touched down on the deck, he felt Kansas tilt as the ship began its downward descent. He looked up through the open hatch expecting to see Castillo descending, but there was no one! The sea began to pour in, so Tanaka secured the hatch then ran to the control room.
“No! No! We have to go back up! The skipper is still on the sail!” he screamed, anxiety in his oriental features.
Mason Taylor shouted, “Emergency blow! Emergency blow!” He flopped down in the captain’s command chair and began cycling through the cameras on the mast intently watching the forward screen.
“Aye, sir. Emergency blow!” The dive systems screen before the pilot showed iconic images of valves turning red and closing and other valves opening and turning green. Eventually the slope in the deck leveled and then began to angle up.
“There he is,” said Mason. They could see Castillo in the water swimming after them. “Shit!” As they watched, the galleon changed course and began bearing down on him. “They’re going to reach him before we can. Who are these guys, Eric?”
“I don’t know, but they’re definitely hostile.”
• • •
“Stand by to slacken sails,” screamed Cordova. He was sure they had wounded the beast. After they’d fired on it, it blew and sounded. Six blowholes! Three in its nose and three in its tail. A strange leviathan indeed. And something had fallen from its square dorsal fin. He’d seen it hit the water. He wanted to see what it was.
He was coming up on it now and… It looked like a man!
“Slacken sails,” Cordova ordered. His men played out sheets until the sails flapped loosely on the yardarms. “Estevez, see if you can hook it with a cargo hook.”
“Yes, capitan!” Estevez began swinging a metal hook from the end of a long line. On the third try, he was able to hook the thing and pull it aboard. It collapsed in a heap on the deck and the crew gasped. It was a man!
Castillo stared up angrily at the men surrounding him. “Hey, you ruined my coat!” He stuck a finger through the hole the cargo hook had made in the collar of his weather coat. They parted and a large aggressive bearded man in a red coat and black hat came up and started screaming at him. He was speaking Spanish. That’s okay. Castillo spoke Spanish fluently. His grandparents had come from Puerto Rico and he’d learned Spanish at an early age. The man was demanding to know who he was.
His Spanish was a little rusty, but he told the man he was Commander Don Castillo, United States Navy.
This seemed to enrage him. He began spouting a lot of words. This is when Castillo realized that this was not the Spanish he was used to. This man had a heavy accent and the verb forms were slightly different, but he was able to understand what was being said. If these guys were re-enactors, they were carrying it to an extreme. He had to get some answers.
“Where are you from?” he demanded in his best Spanish.
“Quiet!” screamed the big man and backhanded him. He frowned and ran a hand over Castillo’s cheek. As Castillo looked around he noticed that all the faces were bearded. And he couldn’t help but notice this man had a rather strong fetid odor.
Deadly Apparition Page 8
