Someone nearby cries out to God as another voice calls for their mother. This was not the adventure it was supposed to be. This is no adventure at all. It is just unending fear, misery, and suffering. I see one man missing a leg, another with half his face gone, and an officer in more pieces than I can count. I vomit as I see the carnage around me. I’m trapped in a nightmare.
I slowly peek out of the trench as the shelling comes to a stop. Smoke rises from the impact craters and medics hurry to the wounded crying out for help. We see one of our platoon, Bob Morse, dragged away. He is missing an arm and most of a leg.
‘Jesus,’ Campbell mutters beside me. ‘Poor git didn’t deserve that.’
‘Help me!’ a voice cries from another foxhole. ‘I shouldn’t even be here! I should still be in school! Jesus, somebody help me!’
You’re not the only one who shouldn’t be here, I think to myself. I’m only sixteen years old; I shouldn’t be in the midst of all this mud, blood, and death.
‘Keep your eyes on the river, lads!’ I hear Captain Grayburn order.
Captain Colin Grayburn, the commanding officer of the company, walks among the three platoons issuing orders and seeing to it that all of us are focused on the objective, defending our side of the river. The captain is well-liked by the men, harsh but fair when needed and pushes us to be the best company in the regiment. He leads from among us, on the front lines, and all of us want to prove ourselves worthy in his eyes.
‘Get your God-damned eyes on the far side of that river!’ Corporal Brooke barks at us.
The grizzled corporal, commander of our section that once numbered ten men, reminds me of a dozen teachers back at my school. He is always angry, always pissed-off at one of us for some mistake no matter how small and petty. If the captain motivates us to be better, Corporal Henry Brooke forces us to be better through our shared disdain.
‘I wish he was on the other side of that river,’ Wilson mutters under his breath, his rifle aimed across the water.
‘We should be so lucky!' Campbell replies.
‘It will take more than bullets to kill that bastard,’ I whisper back.
‘Shut your chat,’ the corporal says, looking to the sky.
Dread courses through us as sirens scream above.
‘Dive-bombers,’ I mutter, my voice shaken and terrified.
‘Stukas! Take cover!’ Corporal Brooke shouts as he dives into a trench.
We duck down into our foxholes as the planes pass over our heads to unleash their payloads of bombs. More screams of horror and agony echo across the bank, but they are drowned out as machine gun fire tears toward us from the far side of the river.
‘They’re trying to cross!’ Captain Grayburn yells, raising his own rifle and pulling the trigger. ‘Return fire lads!’
With body trembling, I force myself up as enemy bullets hiss past me. My hands shake uncontrollably as I lift my rifle and take aim. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home, at school, not here.
Through the smoke and chaos, we see dozens, hundreds of German soldiers massing across the river, ready to attack.
‘Open fire!’ Corporal Brooke commands from beside me, and I pull the trigger of my rifle. Though I cannot see if I hit anything, I shoot again and again until the rifle clicks empty and I need to reload.
‘Tanks!’ Wilson yells from our trench. ‘They’ve got tanks!’
‘Hold your ground, boys!’ the corporal tells us. ‘Return fire and do not move until ordered!’
‘We can’t stay here!’ Wilson cries.
‘Hold your ground!’ Corporal Brooke repeats, his eyes glaring at Wilson, Campbell, and I.
‘B Company have broken and fallen back on our right flank,’ Captain Grayburn warns the corporal. ‘C Company are gone, too.’
‘What are your orders, Sir?’
‘Well we can’t hold off the whole German army on our own, can we, lads?’ the captain jokes with us, making me laugh nervously. ‘We ain’t staying here to get overrun. Corporal Brooke, notify first and third platoon they are to fall back on my order and not a moment sooner. Tell our medics to evacuate the wounded immediately.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ the corporal replies, hurrying away to spread the message.
‘Keep firing, lads,’ the captain tells us. ‘Keep…’
His words are cut short as he is hit, staggering with the impact and falling beside us. Campbell and I grab him, pulling him into our trench.
‘Medic!’ I cry out, already certain he is dead.
‘It’s all right, Cooper,’ the captain mutters. ‘They just caught my arm. The whole blasted thing’s gone numb, damn it.’
‘Their tanks are crossing the river, Sir!’ Wilson warns us.
‘Thank you, Private Wilson,’ Captain Grayburn replies. ‘Time we got moving then, lads.’
With his uninjured arm, the captain draws a whistle from his pocket and gives it two sharp blasts. It is the signal to retreat.
5
ADAM—Aboard U-4718, a real second war German U-boat. Thirty miles east of Edinburgh, Scotland.
‘Are you with us, Abbey?’ I ask as we enter the U-boat. The headset automatically switches to night vision, giving me perfect version down the narrow dark corridors. Matt and Emma use torches to light the way.
‘I’m with you. Just be careful,’ Abbey says. ‘There could still be hostiles lurking in the shadows.’
‘I’m sure of it,’ Matt says, his handgun raised as he proceeds with Emma and me close behind.
We navigate the tight corridors. Everything is cramped and claustrophobic. All is eerily silent; the vessel is a ghost ship, a tomb. A great deal of the engineering and equipment look in pristine condition and barely used. The dials, piping, hatches all look brand new.
‘It’s like it’s been taken straight out of a museum,’ I mutter quietly.
‘This could’ve been their maiden voyage,’ Abbey says. ‘It would explain why there’s no record of it ever being commissioned. Adam, look back towards that console. There, the switches, activate the three across the top.’
A sudden humming emanates from the machinery around us.
‘Abbey, what did you make me do?’ I ask, just as the lights throughout the U-boat flicker on.
‘This sub still has power after all this time?’ Emma says in shock. ‘How?’
‘The Elektro U-boats were the latest designs,’ Abbey says, ‘and meant for long periods at sea. I guess if the ship was lost during its first voyage, then the generators might still hold power.’
‘Be careful with your firearms,’ Matt warns. ‘God knows what fuel and ammunition there is still on board.’
‘Wouldn’t want to set off a torpedo,’ I say.
‘Besides, a gunshot in here would deafen us,’ Emma adds.
‘I’ll stick to my arrows then,’ I reply, keeping an arrow lined up on the bow.
As we pass the crew cabins, we discover the first bodies; skeletons in German naval uniform.
‘Abbey, are you seeing the emblems on these uniforms?’ I ask.
‘Skull and flames,’ she replies. ‘It’s not showing up on any of our records, or those of the German navy.’
‘According to schematics, those cabins are the captain and officer quarters,’ Abbey says. ‘Check them for any logbooks that might give us details about where this ship came from, and where it was going.’
‘Somebody’s already cleared them out,’ Emma says after a quick check. ‘Papers are scattered everywhere but nothing that looks like logbooks.’
‘Somebody already came through this way,’ I say. ‘We’re not alone in here.’
‘Keep moving,’ Matt instructs with handgun held at the ready. ‘We can search more when the area is secure.’
There are no signs of the mercenaries who attacked the dredging crew and we push on, stepping over skeletons and trying to remain quiet. We pass more crew quarters and radio and map rooms which give us no further clues before emerging into a wider command area, directly bene
ath the conning tower. The periscope is lowered into the centre of the walkway, the steering controls to the submarine around us.
‘That’s strange,’ Emma says.
‘What?’ Matt asks.
‘There was no damage to the exterior or to most of the rest of the ship,’ she explains, ‘yet in here…’
‘It looks like it’s been torn apart,’ I finish for her.
All around us are bodies and destroyed equipment, especially at the base of the U-boat’s conning tower. The uniforms and bodies are shredded, the pipes destroyed, and the periscope caved in and almost ripped off its mounting. Some of the corpses are wearing lab coats, suggesting they were scientists or engineers.
‘This wasn’t a fight,’ Matt says as he inspects the bodies. ‘This was a massacre.’
‘There are weapons and bullet casings everywhere,’ Emma adds.
‘The crew shot each other?’ Abbey questions.
‘There are claw marks on the bones,’ Matt says. ‘It’s like a wild animal got loose in here.’
‘Must’ve been quite something to do this much damage,’ Emma says. ‘There’re some crates of glass vials, too. Looks like the vials were destroyed before they could get them into the cargo bay.’
‘Wait a second,’ I say, approaching one body that lies away from the others. It wears no uniform or clothing but has two tags on a chain around its neck, a circular one and a hexagonal one.
‘They’re identification tags for British soldiers,’ Abbey says in surprise. ‘What would they be doing here I wonder?’
‘I’ve found something far cooler than that,’ I tell her, seeing what’s in the hands of the corpse.
‘Is that…?’ Emma begins to ask in shock.
‘A solid gold bar,’ I say, lifting the shining treasure up. It weights a ton!
‘See that emblem on it?’ Abbey asks.
‘The swastika?’ I reply.
‘No, the one below that. The letter P with the W that hooks at the bottom,’ Abbey says. ‘That’s the…’
Her words are silenced as the world explodes in light and sound around me. I am blind and deaf in an instant, ears ringing and eyes unable to focus, searing with pain. As the ringing lessens, I can hear a woman’s cruel laughter.
‘Greetings to the brave men and women of the British Museum,’ she cackles. I can barely make out a blurry figure climbing down the ladder of the conning tower. She continues to chuckle and hits my brother across the face as he struggles to rise up and defend himself.
‘I knew you would arrive sooner or later,’ she mocks as she kicks away our weapons. ‘In fact, I was looking forward to it.’
Emma lunges at the woman, and though she puts up a decent fight, she is still disorientated and struggles. Her attacker carries what looks like a police baton, electricity crackling at its tip. Though Emma makes a brave stand, she cries out in pain each time the baton and its electrical charge catch her until she is thrown back and crashes into the U-boat’s pipes behind.
‘Who are you?’ I ask as the woman’s features slowly became visible. She is in her thirties, tanned with red and black dreadlocks for hair. Across her back is strapped a sword, a narrow Japanese style Katana blade. What I notice most of all are her eyes. They are open wide and manic.
‘My name is Follia, sweetie,’ she says before kicking me hard in the gut. My body armour takes most of the impact, but then the shock baton strikes and the electricity tears through me, leaving me gasping for air.
Three more of the mercenaries descend into the U-boat, holding us at gunpoint.
‘I am afraid we were here first, my friends,’ Follia taunts as she takes the gold bar from me. ‘And this is most certainly a case of finders keepers.’
‘All this for one gold bar?’ Matt questions.
‘Oh, it’s much bigger than that, my brave boy,’ she replies with a chuckle.
‘You’re murderers,’ Emma yells, trying to rise up before a gun is lowered to her face.
‘Murderers, thieves, tax-evaders, litterers… the list goes on,’ Follia says cheerfully, stepping close to Emma and urging back her accomplice. ‘You’re a pretty one.’ Follia forces her lips onto Emma’s cheek.
Emma tries to attack, to butt her head forward, but Follia is too quick and draws her Katana blade, holding it to Emma’s throat. The tip of the Katana rests against Emma’s neck, cutting the skin with the lightest of touches.
‘Nice girl,’ Follia says, ‘but not my type, I’m afraid. Now I wish I could stay here all day and chat but I have places to be and priceless pieces of history to steal.’
‘You won’t get away with this,’ Matt warns.
‘I’m afraid you will be the ones not getting away,’ she taunts as another person is forced into the U-boat. It’s Gabriel, and strapped to his chest are what look like explosives.
‘Sorry, guys,’ he apologises. ‘They cornered me.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I tell him.
‘Attempt to leave this ship and your friend goes bang, along with the entire submarine,’ Follia says as she begins to climb the ladder out of the conning tower. ‘Goodbye, new friends. It was lovely to meet you. Rest in pieces.’
With a final bout of laughter, she is gone, leaving us with her three accomplices.
‘You realise the blast will kill you as well?’ I ask the thugs, but they don’t answer.
‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!’ Gabriel begins to rant louder and louder, utterly freaking out in hysterics. He begins to scream until our guards turn to silence him.
‘Now!’ my brother yells, and we all strike at once, Matt, Emma, and I. We attack hard and fast, but the men and women we face are tough and strong, easily holding their own against us. I hit my foe three times hard, taking a punch to the stomach myself but am able to finally floor him with a broken piece of pipe to the temple. Matt and Emma also defeat their opponents, though neither emerge unscathed. Thankfully, we are able to take them down before they can get off a shot or a warning.
‘Nice diversion, Gabriel,’ I say.
‘What diversion?’ he replies. ‘Get this thing off me!’
‘You guys okay?’ Abbey asks via the headset.
‘Still alive, for now,’ I reply.
‘There’s no trigger or radio receiver,’ Matt says, disconnecting the explosive from Gabriel’s chest.
‘But there is a timer!’ Emma warns with fright. There are only seconds remaining.
‘Get out! Get out!’ Abbey yells.
Emma clambers up the tower ladder, but the hatch above is jammed shut.
‘Follia must have broken the mechanism to trap us,’ Matt says.
‘Back the other way!’ I shout, running through the way we entered the U-boat. As I hurry, I grab the identification tags from the British corpse, snapping the chain and taking them with me.
Matt, Emma, and Gabriel are right behind me as I hurry through the narrow corridors and then out of the submarine’s side-hatch and onto the hull.
‘Don’t stop!’ Matt yells. ‘Don’t…’
We hear the explosive detonate inside the U-boat before more eruptions buckle the vessel’s hull and finally engulf the entire submarine. We are thrown by the blasts and land hard in the sand, rolling clear and dodging the flaming shrapnel as it falls around us.
‘Guess it reached the torpedo magazine,’ Matt says, breathing hard.
‘And there go the bad guys,’ I say, seeing one of the mercenary’s helicopters rise up and thunder away southwards. ‘Follia rigged those explosives to blow whether we tried to escape or not. She was covering her escape with the timer.’
‘There’s nothing we can do about her now,’ Matt says, as he turns to look at the burning wreckage of the U-boat. ‘We need to get emergency services for the dredging crew and to get these fires under control. Then we can try to figure out what else they stole.’
‘The sub isn’t exactly museum pristine condition anymore, is it?’ Emma says, shielding her face from the heat of the blaze.
‘Neither am I,’ Gabriel winces. Embedded deep in his side is a piece of metal shrapnel. His blood rapidly stains the sand around him.
6
PRIVATE ANDREW COOPER—1ST June 1940. Dunkkirk, France
‘We sure made a bloody mess of all this, didn’t we?’ Wilson says as we look out across the beach. What is left of our platoon is huddled together on the sands, trying to dry out and keep warm.
‘You won’t find any argument from me,’ I say.
I eagerly joined the army with my schoolmates when war was declared eight months ago. Most of us were only sixteen-years-old, me included; we lied about our ages to pass the entry requirements. A few months in France and Belgium to throw the Germans back, that was what we were promised. This whole thing has turned into a bloody nightmare.
‘It’s our own fault,’ Campbell, the oldest in our platoon says. ‘We’re using the same methods and tactics from the Great War. Jerry have certainly developed theirs. Our own fault really. Most of our army are boys who’ve barely fired a gun before and should still be in school.’
‘Me included,’ I mutter.
‘Most of our army included,’ Wilson says. ‘A guy from C Company called it Blitzkrieg.’
‘Blitzkrieg?’ I ask.
‘Lightning war, so he said,’ Wilson replies. ‘Hit the enemy hard and fast.’
‘Sounds about right,’ I confirm, throwing a stone into a far off sand dune.
‘Jerry has better tactics, better equipment, and had plenty of time to prepare,’ Campbell says. ‘We just weren’t ready for this. Not even close.’
‘Colossal military disaster, if you ask me,’ Wilson says.
‘Don’t let our miserable corporal hear you,’ I warn.
‘Corporal Brooke would agree with us if he has any sense,’ Campbell replies. ‘Look at the tanks and planes we’ve faced. They put ours to shame.’
War of the Damned (Relic Hunters) Page 4