by J. E. Gurley
Secondly, why release him at 1:30 in the morning? He knew submarines operated on a twenty-four hour schedule, but it seemed odd that he had not simply waited until morning. He suspected he knew the answer to his third question – why had Major Walker been present at the meeting? Murdock’s thinly disguised dressing down of the major in front of him had not fooled him for a moment. Waiting almost three days to admonish him was pushing the envelope. The commander seemed a strictly by-the-book officer. If he believed Walker had helped him stowaway, the major would have been sitting in the brig with him, impending mission or not.
Unless Walker’s team was rendezvousing with the Kaiju by air, the sub must be closing with it. He closed his eyes and visualized a map of the South Pacific. If the Mississippi had maintained the same speed the entire time he was in the brig, they were somewhere near Efate Island. The Kaiju had devastated Efate Island three days ago. It should have already reached Australia, meaning the Kaiju had stopped moving. Why? Whatever the reason, the delay gave Walker his chance.
The galley was busy for 0130 hours, as sailors enjoyed a quick breakfast before the sub reached the Kaiju. He had retrieved his familiar Stetson and cowboy boots and most of the crewmembers recognized him as he entered. They were also aware of his stowing away. He expected scowls or jeers, but surprisingly, a few flashed him smiles or nodded their head in greeting. One young torpedoman shook his hand.
“Anyone willing to go to so much trouble to join the fight it all right by me,” he said.
In the food line, the server offered to prepare him a fresh omelet any way he liked it and offered to bring him a fresh batch of biscuits straight from the oven.
“No, that’s okay,” he said as he added a biscuit from the hot line chafing dish to his plate. “These look fine.” He added a spoonful of gravy and a sausage patty.
The crew’s attitude mystified him, but put him at ease for the first time since he had boarded the submarine. Even the food seemed to taste better free of his jail cell. He wolfed down his meal and considered seconds, but decided against it. He did refill his coffee cup.
One bit of information the commander had let slip concerned Walker’s team leaving via the deployment airlock. With a little searching in the ship’s library, he uncovered a plan of the submarine and the location of the deployment hatch near the missile room. He intended to be there when Walker left and join Fire Team Bravo. To stop him, security would have to restrain him physically. At this point, he had nothing to lose. He would go big or go home, except he had no home to go back to.
At the appointed time, he worked his way to the airlock through the missile room, avoiding crewmembers on duty. To his dismay, Walker’s team was suited up in wetsuits and SCUBA gear. He hadn’t expected to swim to the Kaiju. He had seen the white submersible attached to the sub’s hull and assumed they would use it. The closest he had come to diving was an afternoon of snorkeling in Rocky Point, Mexico. Talking a deep breath to help calm his nerves, he stepped through the door.
Walker glanced up at him, pointed to a pile of gear on the floor, and said, “I was wondering if you were going to show up.”
While he stood there trying to figure out what was happening, Costas tossed him a pair of stubby swim fins. “Here’s a pair of Force fins.”
Talent eyed the fins with concern. They looked nothing like the awkward long fins he had worn snorkeling. These were short with split toes like frogs’ feet and fit like sandals, leaving his heel and toes free. His confusion showed in his face. Costas mistook his concern about the fins for nervousness about the dive.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a short swim. Even you desert rats can make it. We’re riding to the Kaiju in style.”
Bewildered by his reception, he asked, “You were expecting me?” He had been anticipating a fight with little chance of actually going on the mission.
“I knew something as minor as the brig wouldn’t keep you out of this,” Walker said.
“But the commander ….”
“Technically, you’re still a stowaway. It might look bad on his record to have a prisoner escape the brig. If we survive, you’ll receive a stern reprimand from the commander for your escape, but his hands are clean.”
“What about your hands?”
Walker winced. “Hmm. My hands haven’t been clean in a long time. I’ll take what comes.”
Talent was touched. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. Now, let me show you how to use a SCUBA rig.”
As Walker explained the proper use of the equipment, Talent stripped, donned the black pants and shirt in a neat pile on the floor, and wriggled into the wetsuit. His delight in succeeding in his quest faded as he noticed Captain McGregor’s intense glare focused at him. He knew that before the mission was over, he and the captain would have to finish what they had started.
The SCUBA equipment the fire team wore was unlike any Talent had ever seen. The mask covered the entire face and resembled a WWI gas mask. It was cumbersome, but Walker assured him it was more comfortable than biting down on a rubber mouthpiece. The SCUBA gear was an Inspiration rebreather, an enclosed system that reduced the chance of nitrogen narcosis and eliminated bubbles, which were very acoustically active underwater, perfect for covert operations. After Walker helped him strap on the gear, its almost 60-pound weight surprised him. The rebreather tank, belt weights, and other gear strapped to him weighed half as much as he did.
“How can you walk around in this get up?” Talent asked as he struggled to stand up.
“It’s not designed for walking. In the water, you’ll have neutral buoyancy. If you had to carry a bailout tank and extra tanks for decompression, then you’d have something to complain about.”
“Decompression?” Talent asked, alarmed at the sound of the word.
“If we exit the Kaiju too deep, we won’t have enough oxygen to reach the surface without stopping to decompress to allow the nitrogen bubbles to reabsorb into our tissue. It could kill us.”
“That’s a cheery thought.”
“Don’t worry,” Costas bellowed, “you can list me as your beneficiary on your death benefits package. That way, if your head explodes, I’ll go to the Bahamas and lay on the beach in your honor.”
“I don’t have a death benefits package. Should I have signed a paper or something?”
Costas shook his head. “Too late now. That’s too bad.”
Walker slapped Talent on the shoulder. “Don’t listen to the sergeant. I don’t have time to acquaint you with the rebreather’s operation. It comes with a ninety-seven-page manual if you find a few minutes to read it. Breathe normally. Stay close to me.”
Talent swallowed and nodded, unsure of what he had gotten himself into. Walker gathered up Talent’s boots and his Stetson and handed them to one of the crewmen helping them.
“You don’t want to risk getting it dirty,” he said. Then he picked up Talent’s socks and a pair of army boots and placed them in a plastic bag. He pulled a 9 mm from his waistband and added it to the bag. To Talent’s surprise, he also added the kukri machete before tying it to Talent’s weight belt. “Just in case. Okay, let’s go,” he called out to the others.
They filed into the deployment hatch. Wearing their rebreathers, they squeezed together like sardines. Talent felt a moment of panic when a crewman shut and sealed the door. The cold water started pouring in, and he fought the urge to pound on the door to let him out. He closed his eyes as the water rose over his head.
He remembered to breathe normally. It sounded easier than it was, but he didn’t die immediately. The outer hatch opened, and they all swam out. It was daylight, but the water absorbed most of the light. The surface was a faint silvery smear high above him. How high? He wondered. He remembered the depth gauge on his wrist – 90 feet. It didn’t seem so bad. Then he looked down into the inky depths below him. 25,000 feet below, he remembered. Vertigo climbed up his spine like a drunken monkey climbing a coconut tree. His hands shook so badly he h
ad to make fists and clutch them to his side. Walker switched on his helmet light, and then switched on Talent’s. Floating just a few yards away were two black and white orcas. Before the fear of becoming orca food could loosen his bowels, he noticed the open canopies and assumed they were the SDVs, the S.E.A.L. Delivery Vehicles. He wouldn’t have to swim after all.
Walker motioned for him to swim to the closest SDV. He floundered for a moment, falling behind the group until he figured out how to use his fins by watching the others. He took a seat in the vehicle and buckled in. Watertight crates strapped behind him contained their weapons and extra gear. He wondered at the purpose of a black drum that looked like a small beer keg.
Walker spoke to him through the mask’s built-in communications system. “The Kaiju is now on the surface. The Hatcher reports the small nodule is a hundred feet below it with six Squid surrounding it conducting some kind of operation through an open panel.”
A smaller alien pod? Talent wanted to ask about it, but then decided not to. Maybe I don’t want to know, he thought to console himself.
“The Australians have pulled back ten clicks. The Hatcher and the Amanda Gray are two clicks away monitoring the situation with an Albatross aerial drone and a Guppy underwater surveillance drone. They report Wasps circling the Kaiju but they haven’t attacked any ships. They seem to be guarding the Kaiju. The Guppy hasn’t detected them, but we can assume there are more Squid in the water, so we’ll approach slowly.”
“What if we’re attacked?”
Talent recognized McGregor’s voice even through the tiny headset speaker.
“We split up and try to reach the Kaiju. Last ditch, abandon the SDVs and swim. Priority 1 is the K-2 devices.”
Talent turned his head as far as he could turn his head strapped in the rebreather harness and glanced at the Mississippi floating like an enormous gray whale, barely visible in the faint glow filtering down from the surface. Then, someone closed the hatch and he could see nothing. The SDVs were much faster than he imagined. They covered the two miles to the Kaiju quickly. Walker brought the one he piloted to a halt. Glancing through the tiny window in the front, Talent could make out the Kaiju very faintly ahead of them.
“I’m picking up nothing but the nodule below the Kaiju,” Walker informed them. “The Squid are sonar invisible when not in motion. We proceed as if they are there.”
He eased the SDV forward. Talent braced for the impact of a Squid slamming into the side of the tiny vehicle. He had seen what they could do to a steel hull. They would have no trouble with a fake neoprene orca. He began to feel dizzy until he realized he was holding his breath. He relaxed and tried to breathe slowly. To his delight and surprise, they reached the Kaiju safely. The SDV nuzzled up against the monster and attached itself by a suction cup like a remora fish attached to a thousand-foot whale. Walker waited a full minute before popping the hatch.
A single line of blisters, the openings along the creature’s flanks through which the Wasps and Squid emerged, lay just above them. Talent followed Walker, swimming awkwardly trying to look all around him for Squid, while the others unloaded the cargo. The second SDV anchored twenty yards away. Just as he began to wonder how they were going to enter the closed blister, Perez, recognizable by her shorter stature, swam to the edge of the blister, attached a small device to one corner, and flipped a switch. An electrical current tickled what passed for a muscle in the alien creature, and the blister popped open, sliding upward into a recess.
Next, she struck an underwater flare and dropped it inside the cavity. Talent was delighted to see the blister was empty. No creatures were waiting for them. Illuminated by the flickering green glow, Perez uncoiled a twenty-foot-long flexible antenna and attached it to a second black box she placed just inside the open blister. This was the repeater to boost their headset comm signals to the Mississippi. Finally, Perez pulled a pistol-sized spear gun from her weight belt and positioned herself to the rear of the cavity to stand guard. The high-pressure six-inch darts it fired would be effective against sharks or barracuda, but Talent doubted it offered much protection from alien Squid.
“All clear,” Perez reported.
“Move out,” Walker announced.
Walker hustled the team through the opening with the cargo and waited until everyone was inside before following. He entered just in time. The blister closed behind him with a sudden snap. If one of the team had been beneath the blister when it closed, it would have cut him in half.
Trapped! Talent’s mind yelled at him. He hadn’t bothered to ask how much breathing time the rebreather allowed. Too late now.
“What about the antenna?” he asked. If the antenna were severed, how would the sub know when to pick them up? It was a big ocean.
Perez answered. “The cable is neoprene reinforced with woven tungsten fibers. The antenna core is less than a millimeter thick. Our signal is going out.”
Satisfied, Talent examined the cavity in which they huddled. The blister was a snug fit for the eight of them and the four crates and two drums. They swam a dozen yards deeper into the creature along a narrow tunnel until they reached a second chamber, slightly larger than the blister. A fleshy curtain sealed one end. Perez removed her black box and repeated her operation. A second curtain irised from the wall behind them, creating an airlock. For a brief panicked moment, Talent was in absolute darkness. Then, Perez ignited another flare. Seconds later, the water began draining away and the distant flap opened.
Walker glanced at his wrist computer and raised his thumb. “Air’s okay. Remove your tanks but carry them with you. We’ll leave them in the corridor beyond this one. It runs the entire length of the creature.”
The last statement was for Talent’s benefit. The others were aware of the internal structure of a Kaiju. Walker was pointing out the exit sign for him. He wore a similar miniature computer on his wrist, but not being computer savvy, he barely knew how to turn it on. He removed his mask and wished he hadn’t. The air was good; at least it was breathable, but a heavy smell like damp rotting wood permeated the air. Mixed with that cloying pall was an entirely alien odor, stronger than the stench of Wasp blood, more pungent and biting. It reminded him of a dead bighorn sheep he had stumbled across out in the desert, four days dead. Compared to the reek of the Kaiju, the rotting sheep carcass smelled like roses.
He realized the others had almost stripped off their wetsuits and hurriedly joined them. Costas and Perez began passing out weapons from the crates, as he sat down to lace up his boots. He took the HK MP5 and the grenade launcher from Perez and slipped the grenade launcher over his shoulder by its strap. It felt heavy and reassuring on his shoulder. He kept the HP5 out and ready to use. Lastly, he slipped on the Kevlar helmet. He wished he had his Stetson, but the helmet provided more protection than a flimsy felt hat.
Costas passed out four clips each of 5.6 mm ammo for the SAW and 7.62 mm for the SCAR. He tossed Talent half a dozen clips of .40 calibers for his MP5, and then handed Hightower two belts of 7.62 mm for the M134 minigun. “This here is something new. I’m not sure how they do it, but basically, it’s pieces of chipped up Kaiju armor dissolved in concentrated Kaiju stomach acid, kinda like acid reflux. Then they desiccate it, put it in molds, and form bullets from the powdery residue. When it hardens, it becomes tiny pieces of Kaiju armor with a gunpowder kick.” He held up a black-tipped .50 caliber bullet for his M107 SASR. “This can blow a Wasp to hell and back, but we don’t have much of it, so use it wisely.” He handed Wiggins and Perez each a box of shells for their 12-gauge shotguns. “These are loaded with double-ought Kaiju buckshot.”
Wiggins and Hightower wrapped coils of thin nylon rope around their shoulders and clipped metal quickdraws, carabiners, and cinch belay devices to their belts. Talent had discovered a climbing harness in his pack, essentially three strips of nylon held together by three even smaller strips with metal rings attached for the carabineer. He had tried rappelling once with an experienced mountaineer on Mount Lemon o
utside Tucson but found the experience unpleasant at best. Dangling in space held in place only by a thin clothesline seemed more risk than sport. Some people enjoy the rush. He preferred both feet firmly on the ground. He was not looking forward to this second outing.
“We move toward the mouth,” Walker said.
Talent noticed new worry lines on the major’s face and appreciated that Walker took his responsibilities seriously. Costas, on the other hand, was his usual self.
“In case of emergency, let the bastard swallow you and shit you out the other end.” He looked at Talent. “Don’t worry. Shit floats.”
In spite of his nervousness, Talent laughed. “Are you ever serious, Sergeant?”
Costas narrowed his eyes, patted his weapon, and said, “As serious as a bolt of lightning when I need to be.”
“Mic check,” Walker called out.
Each one of them responded through their comm link. Costas had to show Talent where the push-to-talk button was located. He moved the Velcro attachment to Talent’s collar just below his chin where he could activate it with a simple nod if his hands were full. Sergeant Rhodes took the lead with Wiggins following. He watched the lights on their weapons bouncing until they faded into the darkness. Costas and Hightower trailed as rear guard. Talent clicked on his own flashlight. The brilliant white beam did not reflect from the ebony material of the Kaiju. Instead, the alien substance absorbed the light, making it difficult to judge his steps. Each footstep felt as if he were stepping off into infinity. He felt comfortable sandwiched in the middle of the group, allowing them to guide him.
Perez wore one of the black drums strapped to her back. She had insisted on hauling it, and no one argued. Wiggins carried the other. Walker had informed him the drums contained a Kaiju poison delivered by an explosive device. Talent didn’t know how large the explosion would be, but being somewhere else when it detonated seemed like a good idea.