Mega 3: When Giants Collide (Mega Series)

by Jake Bible

  “Gil, you need to relax,” Tank Top said as he grabbed the ladder. “They aren’t going to do shit, not with two Mexican destroyers pointing all guns at them. Trust me, Ballantine won’t come at us head on. That sneaky bastard like’s his attacks to be unseen.”

  Tank Top tapped at his ear.

  “Bokeem? You read me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Bokeem replied over their com system.

  “How’s it looking from Shabby Paul, Wonkers, and Bub’s angles?” Tank Top asked.

  “They have the chick sniper clocked and see the ship’s captain standing on the bridge with a pair of binoculars pointed right at us.”

  “You pointing your eyes at them?” Tank Top asked.

  “Nope,” Bokeem said, “that’d be too clichéd. John Bill and I are having some tea right now. You just give us a shout when you need us.”

  “Is he fucking joking?” the third man, Lug, nearly shouted. “Tea? They’re up there drinking tea while we do all the work?”

  While large like Tank Top and Gil, Lug had a nervousness about him that made him look smaller than the other two. He had the vibe of a fourth grader that had missed his last three doses of Ritalin.

  “You think we’re doing all the work?” Tank Top asked the man then looked over at Gil. “Gil? Would you say that we’re doing all the work?”

  “Our fair share,” Gil shrugged.

  “Exactly,” Tank Top smiled. “Our fair share. You hear those words, Lug? We’re all doing our fair share. It’s all good, so calm down. I need you calm, Lug. Are you calm?”

  The man twitched and ticked, but nodded.

  “I’m calm,” Lug said.

  “You don’t look calm,” Tank Top said then punched the man right between the eyes.

  Lug didn’t even flinch or stumble back. He shook his head and his whole body seemed to relax instantly.

  “Thanks,” he said to Tank Top, “I needed that.”

  “You punch him?” Bokeem asked.

  “Right between the eyes,” Tank Top replied then looked at the ladder and the man that peered down at them from the railing above. “Let’s go meet Ballantine’s new Team, shall we?”

  ***

  The shark rocketed through the water, ignoring the small fishing vessels above it as it sped towards its target. It wanted to stop and devour the boats, rip them apart plank by plank, and swallow the crews whole as they screamed their way to their ends.

  Even the desire for blood, food, and carnage couldn’t tear it away from its path. The target was so close and every nerve ending in the beast was alive with the thought of the final catch. All of its existence had built up to the last chase, the end game.

  The massive shark swam closer to the surface of the water and let its dorsal fin nudge the hull of one of the fishing boats. Even from under the water, it could hear the men above cry out in alarm. Marine biologists would have dismissed the grin on its face as anthropomorphizing since sharks don’t smile.

  Those marine biologists would have been wrong. Very, very wrong.

  ***

  Ballantine stood on the upper deck of the Beowulf III and watched as a ghost from his past climbed over the railing and gave him a huge smile.

  “Jason,” Ballantine said as he walked forward and offered his hand.

  “Fuck you and your mother, Ballantine,” Tank Top said, ignoring the offered hand. “This isn’t a reunion, so don’t get cute.”

  “Two more coming up, Ballantine,” Popeye said from the railing as he looked down at the side of the B3.

  “Thank you, Popeye,” Ballantine said.

  “Popeye?” Tank Top asked as he turned and looked at the smaller man as if he’d just noticed him. “Yeah, I can see the resemblance, but the cartoon guy had both his legs.”

  “You can have both of these,” Popeye said as he turned and raised the middle fingers of each of his hands.

  “Now, that’s cute,” Tank Top laughed. He turned his attention back to Ballantine. “Where’re the Thornes?”

  “They won’t be joining me,” Ballantine said.

  “Really?” Tank Top asked, folding his arms across his chest. “That is kind of the opposite of my instructions.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that,” Ballantine replied.

  Tank Top waited for more then laughed. “Jesus tits, Ballantine, you haven’t changed one bit.”

  “I like to think I have,” Ballantine replied. “What is the point of life if we don’t achieve growth?”

  “Oh, go fuck yourself with your cock sucking wisdom,” Tank Top said. “It was all just words when I worked for you and it’s all just words now. Go get the fucking Thornes so I can get back to my ship.”

  “Like I said, Jason,” Ballantine sighed, “the Thornes will not be joining me.”

  Tank Top closed on Ballantine in a blink, his hands clutching at Ballantine’s shirt collar.

  “This is not a negotiation, Ballantine,” he snarled, “call the Thornes up here or I’ll have the Mexican Navy blast this ship out of the fucking water.”

  “Then give the order,” Ballantine said. “Be my guest.”

  “I’ll do it,” Tank Top warned, “as soon as I have you down in that raft and we’re halfway back to the MB, I’ll have every gun open up on this tin can and send it to the bottom of the ocean forever.”

  “Ooh, not forever,” Ballantine grinned. “Forever IS such a long time.”

  Tank Top gave Ballantine a hard shake, and then shoved him away as he turned to the two men that climbed up after him.

  “Lug? Gil? Search below deck,” Tank Top ordered, “be thorough. I want every corner and shadow checked and double checked.”

  “I know how to search a ship,” Gil said as he pushed past Tank Top and Ballantine to the main hatch. “Come on, Lug.”

  Lug was busy looking Popeye up and down. “Is this guy for real?” he asked as he reached out and pressed a finger to Popeye’s shoulder. “What happened to your leg?”

  “Big fucking shark is what happened,” Popeye said.

  “Bummer,” Lug nodded then turned and followed Gil through the hatch.

  “That one with Gil is new,” Ballantine said, nodding after Lug and Gil. “How’d you sucker him into joining your rag tag crew of miscreants?”

  “Miscreants?” Tank Top sighed. “Are you going to use that high and mighty affectation the whole time? It gets old, Ballantine. Everyone knows your mother was a street whore and your father was a random john. Don’t even pretend to be above any of us.”

  “Bokeem is still alive,” Ballantine said, ignoring the insult. “John Bill? Shabby Paul? Wonkers?”

  “All still breathing,” Tank Top said.

  “Morningside?”

  “Nah, he died a year or so ago,” Tank Top said. “Took a knife to his belly and bled out in my arms.”

  “How poetic,” Ballantine replied, “he wasn’t worth that end.”

  “I kind of agree with you,” Tank Top said. “The guy was a bit of a creep, but damn if he didn’t know how to blow shit up.”

  “Slaps? Is the man still hairier than a mountain gorilla?”

  “Hairier than that,” Tank Top laughed. “I think his hair is growing hair.”

  “That all?” Ballantine asked. “Any more new names I should know about?”

  “None you should know about,” Tank Top said. He shielded his eyes and looked up at the bridge. “Obviously, we are going to have to do this the hard way. So how about you take me up to the bridge and introduce me to the captain of this little tug of yours. Lake’s his name, right?”

  “It is,” Ballantine said, “but I’d rather not. You came for me and you have me. No need to involve Captain Lake or any of the crew.”

  “There’s all the need in the world,” Tank Top replied. “Leverage. You know about leverage, right Ballantine? Isn’t that the entire backbone of how you operate? Find the leverage and use it against your marks?”

  Tank Top motioned towards the stairs leading up to the bridge.
>
  “Coming?” he asked.

  Ballantine didn’t move.

  “Listen, Ballantine,” Tank Top sighed, “I don’t have all day here. We both know what’s coming for you. You cooperate, bring me the Thornes, and all of you come with me to the MB without resisting or trying anything and I can call off the big, scary shark. If you make trouble then I let it sink this ship like it’s made of paper.”

  “The Beowulf III is not the same as the Beowulf I, Jason,” Ballantine replied. “It can withstand a lot more than you think.”

  “So can the Monkey Balls,” Tank Top said. “Which is its new name, okay? We don’t use the B-word anymore. The MB has been modified to avoid a repeat of the last time we saw each other. My ship can take whatever that giant fish wants to give out. Up to a point, of course. I think we both know that what’s coming for us wins eventually, right?”

  Ballantine looked past Tank Top to the MB and frowned.

  “I’m still not sure how you survived,” Ballantine said. “That ship should be in an undersea canyon right now.”

  “Long story,” Tank Top grimaced, “and not one I like to think about. Let’s just say that physics was on our side that day, which is more than I can say for you.”

  “I was always on your side, Jason,” Ballantine said. “You just decided not to be on mine.”

  “You know what?” Tank Top responded, aiming his M4 at Popeye. “I’m done with the tête-à-tête.”

  He pulled the trigger and Popeye screamed before tumbling over the side of the railing.

  “No!” Ballantine yelled as he rushed forward, but was quickly stopped by a rifle butt to the side of the head.

  Ballantine collapsed to the deck and tried to get back up, but another blow between his shoulder blades sent him sprawling.

  “Stay down and listen,” Tank Top said as he pressed the hot barrel against the back of Ballantine’s neck. “From this second forward, you will do as I say, when I say it. No more banter. No more misdirection. I’ve already guessed you have people in the water. Guess what? So do I. That sniper you have in the crow’s nest is outnumbered and nowhere near as fast as my folks are. She may be good, but my guys are great and you know it. What we are going to do now is you are going to get up, walk me to the bridge, then make a general announcement to the rest of the crew that they have five minutes to come out of their hidey holes and show their faces on deck or I order Lug and Gil to shoot anyone on sight.”

  Tank Top pressed the barrel harder.

  “Are you with me, Ballantine?”

  “I’m with you,” Ballantine said. “May I pull a handkerchief from my pocket? I’m bleeding a little.”

  “You’re bleeding a lot, asshole,” Tank Top said as he stepped back and kicked Ballantine in the leg. “Get up and pull out your handkerchief. Fuck, pull out your cock. I don’t care, as long as you start doing what I say.”

  “To the bridge?” Ballantine asked as he looked at Tank Top then the stairs.

  “To the bridge,” Tank Top nodded.

  Ballantine summoned all his strength and pushed aside the dizziness that wanted to drag him down. He walked slowly to the stairs then took hold of the railing, but before he started to climb he looked at the patters of blood by the railing where Popeye had stood just seconds before.

  “Should have had his spinach,” Tank Top said then jabbed Ballantine in the ass with his carbine. “Move.” He tapped at his com. “Bokeem?”

  “Yeah?” Bokeem replied over the com.

  “Get some guns in the water,” Tank Top said. “I think I know where the Thornes are.”

  “Copy that.”

  ***

  Carlos, Moshi, Ingrid, Gunnar, and Dr. Morganton all turned and looked at Mike as they stood in front of a bank of monitors that showed nearly every angle of the B3.

  “Yeah, I know,” Mike said as he tapped at the com in his ear. “Monkey Nuts.”

  “Are they there in front of you?” Thorne asked over the com.

  “No,” Mike replied. “We’re all still in the Toyshop. They just killed Popeye.”

  There was silence over the com for a second.

  “Copy that,” Thorne responded finally. “We’re almost to the ship. We’ll plant the tracker then get back to you ASAP. We can’t risk you guys exposing yourselves, so don’t bother opening the specimen bay back up. We’ll find our own way back aboard.”

  “Be careful,” Mike said. “From what we heard, they are about to have people in the water with you. Watch your backs.”

  “We always do,” Thorne said.

  ***

  The dark bulk of the Monkey Balls loomed over Team Grendel as they pressed their hands to the hull. The magnetic feature of their suits kicked in and they all grinned around their mustaches as the ship pulled them along. Thorne took out the tracker box from a bag at his hip and placed it on the hull. It magnetized as well and clung to the Monkey Balls, sending out its never-ending sub-frequency signal.

  “They’re tagged,” Thorne said. “Now we get back and help our people.”

  “Doesn’t look like it’s going to be that easy,” Max said as he put his channel gun to his shoulder.

  Shane, Darby, and Darren did the same while Kinsey pulled two channel pistols from her hips and aimed them at the divers that were swimming right at them.

  Team Grendel almost laughed when they saw the old school, bulky rebreathers the men wore, but the idea of laughing was quickly forgotten as guns started to fire and bullets whizzed at them through the water.

  “Looks like they have their own modified firearms!” Darren yelled. “Split up and divide their fire!”

  Slugs hit the hull of the Monkey Balls and slow motion ricocheted this way and that. Max felt one clip his elbow, sending his first shot wide of its mark. It hurt like hell, but when he looked down he didn’t see any blood and the compression suit was still fully intact.

  “Remind me to thank Carlos for adding bulletproof to the list of features these suits have,” Max said. “That would have been good to know, too.”

  “Remind yourself!” Shane yelled as he kicked out and ducked his body under a line of bullets that ripped right past him. “A little busy here, bro!”

  “Didn’t I just say these were bulletproof?” Max said. “That means we can- Ah, fuck!”

  “Max!” Darby shouted as she looked over and saw blood billowing out of a wound in Max’s right leg. “Max!”

  “Not bulletproof! Not bulletproof!” Max cried out. “This leg was almost fully healed! Fuck!”

  “No, shit, moron!” Kinsey yelled as she squeezed the triggers on both her channel pistols and swept them to the side. A diver was kicking past her, but the resistance of the water slowed her aim and all of the slugs missed the man by inches. “Fuck!”

  “Close combat,” Darby said suddenly as she slung her channel gun to her back and tightened the strap. She pulled two knives from her belt and kicked her legs towards the closest attacker. “Take it to them.”

  The man closest to her fired round after round, but Darby dove down, avoiding the bullets, then came up fast with a turn of her torso and a few hard kicks from her legs. The man was ready for her and instead of firing again, he turned his rifle to the side and brought it down towards Darby’s arms.

  The rifle stock caught Darby in the left forearm, but she was able to twist her body so it missed her right arm. That arm she brought up fast and plunged one of the knives into the man’s thigh. Bubbles exploded from his mouth as Darby buried the blade to the hilt and gave it a couple quick turns.

  The water turned dark red as arterial blood poured from the man. Before Darby could pull the knife free, the man was dead, the pressure of the water making him bleed out twice as fast as if he’d been above the surface.

  “Darby! Drop!” Max yelled.

  Darby didn’t hesitate and shoved her hands upward so her body moved deeper. She watched as three bullets left a trail of bubbles above her, right where her head had been. She kept going deeper and deep
er then turned about to see another blood shrouded diver several feet behind and above her.

  “Got him,” Max said. “I may be bleeding, but I can still shoot. Thank god these dipshits don’t know that the rounds for the channel guns actually pick up speed as they move through water.”

  “They’re catching on,” Shane said as he fired shot after shot towards two men that whirled and dodged each round.

  Darby started to swim to Shane’s aid, but something caught her eye. She steadied herself by waving her arms and kicking her legs so she could focus better. At first, she thought she was seeing a shadow of one of the other cutters, but then she realized the shadow was moving much faster than the ship above.

  “People,” Darby said, “we have company.”

  “Sugar, we’ve had company for a little while now,” Max replied. “Did you bump your head?”

  “Shark company,” Darby said, “coming fast on our eight, and it’s big.”

  ***

  “Nice and easy, Captain,” Tank Top said as he leaned against the wall, his M4 covering Lake and Ballantine as they stood next to each other by the wheel. “Just bring us around slowly. I think what this ship could use is a good old-fashioned boarding party. I’m sure you have the skills to get us close enough without playing bumper cars, right Captain Lake?”

  “I could park this ship right between your mother’s legs, if I wanted,” Lake said. “The problem would be getting it out since I’m sure the suction of her gaping hole is stronger than any whirlpool in this ocean.”

  “That was mean, man,” Tank Top said. “My mom is actually a very nice woman. She volunteers at the local animal shelter back home and takes cookies to her friends in the nursing home. I’d ask you to apologize, but I know you were just letting off steam. I’d probably say the same thing if I was in your position.”