“No, it’s heading for the castle,” Seton said. “Look.”
The sub seemed to rise and fall as if taken by a swell then it became clear on looking at the screens that Seton was right—the broad silvery back of the beast showed clearly between them and the castle ruin. It came up out of the water, beaching itself in the curved, cliff-lined, bay to the north of the castle rock and settling into a coil that almost filled all the space available to it. The great head rested on the edge of the cliffs, almost level with the highest point of the ruins.
“Arm the Spearfish,” Green said.
“No,” Seton replied almost immediately. “We can’t fire here. We’re too close to the town. I told you, I have a plan. Can we broadcast by air as well as by sea?”
Green looked like he might argue but Banks gave him the cold stare, and the sub captain once again backed down.
“Yes, we can do that,” he said, grudgingly.
Seton held up his phone.
“I have an audio file on this that I need to be broadcast on a continuous loop.”
Green motioned towards the operators.
“One of my men will help with that,” he said, and pointedly turned his back on Seton, as if washing his hands of the matter.
“You’re up, wee man,” Banks said. “I hope you’re right.”
“You and me both, Cap,” Seton replied and stepped over to the operator’s desk.
In the meantime, Banks kept an eye on the screen. The beast was showing every sign of settling down in position, as if it had found a comfortable spot.
“We’ve got company,” one of the operators said. “Duke class frigate, two miles south and closing.”
“Tell them to back off. We’ve got this,” Banks said.
Again, Green looked like he wanted to argue but something in Bank’s stare dissuaded him, and he gave the order, reluctantly, while Seton busied himself at the console setting up the audio loop.
“Ready to go,’ the older man said a few minutes later.
“It’s your show, Sandy, you give the order,” Banks replied.
Sandy grinned.
“Make it so,” he said and pointed at the screen.
The now familiar chant echoed through the sub.
He sleeps and he dreams with the fish far below.
He dreams and he sings in the dark.
“What nonsense is this now?” Green said.
“‘However daft it seems’, that’s what your orders said, was it not?” Banks replied. “Just keep quiet and watch. I’ve told you, the man knows what he’s doing.”
Banks studied the screen closely. The beast’s head came up and cocked, almost comically, to one side as if it was listening.
He sleeps and he sings and he dreams far below.
The huge head shook, like a dog shedding water then dropped to rest again on the castle rock. The huge tail rose slowly, and descended again, slapping the water along the shore.
Then it was still.
And the Dreaming God is singing where he lies.
“It’s working,” Seton said, almost a shout. “Look, it’s working.”
Banks wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t been looking directly at it, and even then, watching on a screen made it look more like a big-budget effect than he would have liked. But the solidity of the beast was definitely in question; it faded, like a developing photograph running in reverse, the color leeching out of it until the rocks of the cliff behind it could be seen showing through.
The beast’s wailing song rose up, somehow audible even here in the sub, a mournful sigh more than a song, fading even as the beast faded.
“It’s working,” Seton shouted again.
Then the captain of the frigate to their south did something really stupid.
He opened fire on the beast.
They didn’t hear the shot, only saw the result, an explosion of rock and earth and smoke and debris that fell over the beast like a shroud. One of the sub’s crew yelled in triumph but it was short lived. A breeze blew the aftermath of the explosion away, revealing the beast, still there, uncoiling now from its snug in the bay and gaining solidity again by the minute despite the fact that Seton’s chant was still going out across the waves.
“The stupid bastard,” Seton said. “We had it. We were that close.”
“Harm’s done now,” Green said and barked out an order. “Arm the Spearfish. Let’s give it something bigger to play with. And please, somebody, switch off that fucking singing; it’s getting right on my tits.”
But they weren’t going to be given time to fire a torpedo; before anyone had a chance to put the captain’s orders into action, the beast launched itself out of the bay, its tail taking a large chunk of cliff-face with it as it left. It headed, faster than any torpedo, directly out to sea and straight for the frigate.
“Get me eyes on that boat,” Green shouted.
By the time the scope rotated and they had a view of the frigate, it was too late; the serpent had already reached it. The frigate fired one more round that hit the beast in the belly and had as much effect as a pea-shooter against a stone wall, then the creature rose up out of the water, towered high above the vessel then simply let itself fall. The frigate broke in half midship under the weight, the rear end going down fast. The serpent took more time with the front end and superstructure, dismantling it in a similar manner that they had seen it do to the rig the night before, tossing bits of metal weighing tons high in the air like confetti, but in a matter of seconds the frigate was gone. As the remains sank, so too did the serpent, as if following its prey down to the depths.
There were no survivors left behind.
“Do you still have it on radar?” Green shouted.
“Aye, sir, but it’s moving away fast.”
“Then get after it; full power. We can’t lose it now.”
“You need to let me try again,” Seton said. “We were so close.”
“I need to do no such thing,” Green replied. “I’ve gone along with your nonsense long enough. We’re going to get it out into open water and nuke the bastard.”
“What are you armed with?” Banks asked.
“Four Trident IIs. Each missile carries four Mk-5 RVs with four hundred and fifty-five kiloton W88 warheads. That’s about thirty Hiroshimas each in layman’s terms.”
“Fuck me sideways,” Wiggo said.
“Bend over, the missile’s ready to go,” Green replied with a grim smile. “You’ve had your turn, gentlemen. Now please stand aside. This one’s all mine.”
19
The sub captain’s plans proved to be short-lived. They were only a mile or so away from the site of the frigate tragedy when the radar operator spoke up.
“Lost it again. It was there, and then it wasn’t.”
“How in hell could it do that?” Green asked.
“You saw how,” Seton replied. “I showed you how.”
“All you showed me was how daft you all are,” Green answered.
“Aye, well, show us how smart you are then,” Wiggo said. “What’s your plan now?”
“Same as before. We find it and nuke the bugger.”
“Good luck with that,” Seton said and without another word turned and headed out of the bridge.
Wiggo followed him out and found him in the cabin, taking his hip-flask out of a pocket.
“At least I managed to fill this from your colonel’s supply back at the barracks,” Seton said. “The one good thing to come out of this mess so far. Will you join me?”
“Aye, just don’t let on to the captain. He just prompted me and I don’t need to give him a reason to go back on it.”
Seton passed him the flask. The whisky went down smooth and warm and set a wee fire in his belly like all the best stuff does. He passed it back reluctantly and spoke while Seton took a swig for himself.
“You really think the nuke won’t work?”
“I think it’s a possibility…maybe even a probability. But although I had a
go at the captain back there, I can’t really see another option unless we can lure it to some known location away from people. And I can’t see how we could do that without being too close to it when the nuke went off.
“Some deserted island?” Wiggo said, accepting another swig of the whisky.
“In the North Sea? Not much chance of that…but…”
It looked like Seton had just been hit by a eureka moment. Without finishing the sentence, he left the cabin in a hurry.
Wiggo was right behind them as they returned to the bridge.
“I’ve got an idea,” Seton said.
Green looked skeptical until Banks spoke up.
“You still have your orders, Captain. And the beast has vanished. Would it hurt to listen?”
Green waved his hand that Seton should continue.
“I was thinking about the rig again,” Seton said. “And I remembered. There are numerous derelict rigs out in these waters. What if we find one far enough from everything so that the nuke could go off without killing anyone…including us? We set up a beacon, a pinger like the one that drew it to the castle, then we back off out of range of the nuke, set off the pinger and wait for the beast to approach. If we leave a camera with the pinger, we should be able to see it on screen, and then the captain here can do his thing, take it down. Or at least try to.”
Wiggo saw Green thinking.
“I hate to admit it,” he finally said. “But that might be the best idea anyone’s had yet.”
He turned to his operators.
“You heard the man. Find me a rig that’s got a wide enough blast radius that we won’t be blowing up anything we shouldn’t be. And remember, it’s got to be totally inside British waters; the brass are going to have enough trouble explaining a nuke going off without us fucking about in somebody else’s territory.”
Five minutes later, they had their target and were headed for it at speed.
“Do you carry all the equipment we’ll need?” Seton asked Green.
“I believe so,” he replied. “As I said, we’ve got the seismograph survey gear. I’ve detailed a technician to get it set up for remote operation, and he’ll get the video link and electric batteries set up for it at the same time. He’ll have it ready for transport by the time we reach the rig. We’ll be there in two hours.”
Wiggo piped up.
“And what about the beastie in the meantime? What if it decides it enjoyed itself so much that it wants to run riot somewhere else; Inverness maybe, or going the other way, even Edinburgh?”
He suddenly had a mental picture of the thing coiled around Edinburgh Castle amid the crumbling, smoking ruins of the auld city. It didn’t bear thinking about too closely. The more he thought about it, the more he hoped that Seton was wrong; he needed the nuke to work, he needed the beast dead, not just for his own peace of mind, but for the memory of all that had already been lost.
He’d been wool-gathering and missed some of Green’s response, but caught the gist.
“…and every camera in Scotland is watching the sea right now, you can be sure of that. If the thing does turn up anywhere else, the brass will have a welcome waiting for it.”
“Aye,” Wiggo replied. “And how many more will die then? Can we no’ go any faster… it’s high time we nuked this fucker into oblivion.”
The next two hours passed painfully slowly for Wiggo, even allowing for another trip back to the cabin for a snifter of the auld man’s whisky. Even after they reached their destination, time kept crawling for Green insisted that his own men went over to the rig to install the gear and wouldn’t hear Seton’s pleas to accompany them. He allowed two concessions; Seton was allowed to have his chant installed in the broadcast equipment that was being installed on the rig and, much to Wiggo’s relief, the squad were allowed to go out on deck for a smoke while the installation was taking place.
The storm of the night before was now little more than a memory left in the swell. The sky was clear with only light clouds scudding across it and there was a warm breeze on Wiggo’s face as he lit up. The rig itself showed signs of disuse, even from quarter of a mile away, its gantries and walkways sagging, its pillars and buildings reddened with rust. They saw the crew members working on the flat area that had been the helipad.
Wiggo sucked smoke before addressing Seton.
“Is this going to work, wee man?”
Seton lifted his hand and made a see-saw motion.
“Fifty-fifty at best,” he said. “Don’t place any bets.”
Then finally, the waiting was over. The crewmen returned from the rig, everybody went back below then the sub made its way at full speed out of range of the expected blast. A little over an hour later, they were at periscope depth, the scopes screen showing the sea in the direction of the rig, another screen showing the seismic gear sitting on the rig’s helipad.
“Start her up,” Green said. “And weapons ready. Fire on my signal.”
The rhythmic ping echoed around the bridge.
“Can I ask a favor?” Seton said. “Can we start my chant too? Please? After all, what harm can it do? It might even slow the beast down and keep it still.”
“I see no harm in it,” Green replied and echoed Banks’ words of earlier with a smile. “Make it so.”
Seton’s chant rose to join the beacon.
He sleeps and he dreams with the fish far below.
He dreams and he sings in the dark.
As before, the result was almost immediate. The radar operator shouted out.
“Got it, sir. It’s back. Twenty miles out and headed straight for the rig.”
“This is it, lads,” Green said. “Let’s get this bastard.”
“Ten miles, closing fast,” the radar operator said a minute later.
Above the sound of the chanting, they heard the beast’s bagpipe-like wail in counterpoint to Seton’s words.
He sleeps and he sings and he dreams far below.
And the Dreaming God is singing where he lies.
On the video feed from the rig, they saw the grey bulk of the beast approach the helipad, although it seemed to be almost insubstantial, fading in and out of reality.
“The chant’s working again,” Seton said. “Can we just…?”
“No,” Green replied, and without a pause gave the order. “Fire.”
The sub shuddered and a deafening roar echoed around the bridge as the missile was launched. The scope view showed it arcing up and away; Wiggo was reminded of the flares he’d sent up from the dinghy in the storm. Then it began to fall. Wiggo switched his gaze to the view of the helipad, just as the screen went brilliant white, then black.
“Got it. We got the fucker,” Green said.
The scope view showed a rising column of light and smoke in the distance rapidly rising and forming into the classic mushroom-cloud shape.
“Good job, lads,” Green said.
The radar operator shouted out.
“We’ve got incoming, sir. It’s big, and it’s coming right at us.”
The wailing howl of the beast filled the bridge.
20
Seton was first to speak.
“Switch on the chant, loud as you can get it. Do it now, no time for discussion.”
Green seemed momentarily to have lost his composure, so Banks stepped in and took charge.
“You heard the man,” he said to the operator. “Start the chanting. It might be our only hope. And while you’re at it, arm the torpedoes or whatever you call them.”
The chanting rose to overpower the wail of the beast.
He sleeps and he dreams with the fish far below.
He dreams and he sings in the dark.
“Ten miles and closing,” the radar operator said.
He sleeps and he sings and he dreams far below.
“Five miles.”
“Get that torpedo ready,” Banks said.
“No,” Seton shouted. “It’s slowing down. Look, the chant’s working.”
&n
bsp; “Two miles, and slowing,” the operator confirmed.
“Can we surface?” Seton asked.
Banks wasn’t ready to make that kind of decision for the submarine crew but was surprised when Green capitulated immediately.
“Sure, why not,” he said. “Nothing else has worked. It’s your show now.”
The sub rose and surfaced.
“One mile out and closing slowly,” the radar operator said.
Banks followed Seton up and outside onto the deck with the other squad members close at his back.
The beast lay quiet in the water, the huge head almost touching the prow of the submarine, eyes wide and fixed directly on where the squad stood. The chanting seemed to come from everywhere around them.
He sleeps and he dreams with the fish far below.
He dreams and he sings in the dark.
The beast sang in time, its wailing bass drone sending vibration thrumming through the hull.
He sleeps and he sings and he dreams far below.
The serpent faded and solidified in time with the beats of the chant, becoming fainter with each beat.
It began to sink, fading fast. Its song faded with it. Seton added his voice to the chant as it sank beneath the swell and was gone.
And the Dreaming God is singing where he lies.
“Won’t it just come back again?” Green asked when they went back below.
“Not if you keep the chant going,” Seton said.
“We can’t stay here forever.”
“You won’t have to. I’m thinking a series of buoys each broadcasting the song and a naval blockade of the immediate area should do the trick, as long as there is no renewal of drilling in this area.”
“I can’t authorise that,” Green said.
Banks got the last word.
“You don’t have to worry about that. I know a man who knows a man who can.”
The chant was still echoing around them as they returned to their cabins to prepare to go home.
He sleeps and he dreams with the fish far below.
He dreams and he sings in the dark.
He sleeps and he sings and he dreams far below.
Operation: North Sea (S-Squad Book 10) Page 10