Prehistoric WWII

by Dane Hatchell

  “Stop firing and make shore!” Brazo still had the megaphone with him, and, at this distance, everyone should have heard the order. “All men take up paddles and head to shore.”

  Slick shot a questioning gaze at Brazo.

  “You too, XO,” Brazo said.

  Jim Stone didn’t need affirmation. The man secured his rifle and picked up his paddle.

  A large splash followed by screams of surprised meant the kraken was not yet satiated. Another raft full of men caught in the vile suckers, and a tentacle that ferried them, would see their last sunset.

  Brazo gritted his teeth. A snarl pulled his upper lip toward his nose. With fire in his eyes, he yelled through the megaphone, “To the shore! To the shore! To the shore!”

  His men had to stay focused. It was the only way any had a chance of surviving. Again, time was not in their favor. The quicker to dry ground, or at least to water depths unsuited for a giant squid, the better. “To the shore! To the shore! To the shore!”

  He then realized the cadence of his order mimicked the drummer on a Viking ship. He was setting a pace for all to follow. He watched Stone and the others stroke in rhythm to his command. Looking around, it was evident the other rafts were, too.

  More terror-filled cries, and then another raft disappeared into the deep.

  How many more men had to die? Brazo looked up into the sky and had the urge to curse God, and would have if he only believed. Ironically, it almost seemed worthy to accept the unseen, just to have the satisfaction to blame this situation on someone else. Then it wouldn’t be his responsibility. Someone else, a higher power, would excuse him.

  Brazo pushed his weak thoughts from his mind. He was T.W. Brazo, and he would look anyone, including Death, in the eye and own the situation.

  He continued his chant, but the megaphone’s volume rapidly began to decrease. Weak battery. Damn the luck! Not now. Not this close.

  Water rolled over something larger than a man toward them just beneath the surface, off the starboard bow. The slick dark green crown of the creature’s head peaked first.

  “Starboard bow!” Brazo yelled as he reached for his side weapon.

  All eyes in the raft turned and saw a huge, relatively flat, elongated snake-like head periscope from the water. The sea creature opened its mouth, brandishing rows of railroad spike-like teeth. The six front top and bottom teeth slightly jutted forward, making it easier to skewer its prey. The head kept rising on a long neck that at first seemed endless. The neck rose well above ten feet from the water.

  The occupants of the raft had certainly captured its curiosity. It patiently assessed the interloper and meandered its head about as if it were choosing which morsel to sample first. Then, its reptilian-like eyes bulged, eager for action.

  They were backed into a corner. It was time to fight.

  Brazo drew first blood as he aimed his pistol and fired at the head. The bullet smashed into the side of the creature’s mouth. Bits of teeth and splatters of red blood erupted from the projectile’s impact. The .45 caliber wasn’t the fastest of bullets, only traveling 830 feet per second. Its more than half-ounce of lead carried a considerable impact at that speed, though.

  The elasmosaurus hissed in obvious pain. Before it had a chance to retaliate, the beast became the target of four handguns and one rifle. Only a few bullets made contact as its head and neck swung wildly about. It was enough to take the fight out of it. The head went back underwater, and the elasmosaurus dove underneath the raft.

  The pit in Brazo’s stomach deepened. This beast was huge! The water clear enough for him to see the entire length of its body as it passed underneath the raft. He guessed it to be nearly fifty feet!

  “They don’t grow fish that big in Tennessee,” Stone said, his M1 at the ready in case the thing decided to turn around and try again.

  “We need to get to shore,” Brazo said. He kept his vigil with gun firmly gripped in both hands by his side.

  The crew quickly manned their positions and began paddling again. At least the tide was in their favor. The raft had traveled toward land even when they weren’t paddling. Despite the turmoil, the flotilla of rafts quickly approached the shore. Hope swelled in Brazo’s chest. If there had been a God, he would have given thanks for that small gift.

  Again his unconscious pulled up God. Why? He had seen combat many times before. Even when his fate looked bleak, he never succumbed to praying to a being hiding in empty air.

  A raft a good distance in front of them propelled several feet up out of the water as massive crocodile-like jaws sprang to the surface and clamped shut on the screaming crew. Whatever had them was another behemoth in this accursed place. Giants lived under the waters, would giants roam the land?

  Ocean boiled as men feebly swam for freedom, and the basilosaurus’ jaws snapped for food. It caught a crewman by his legs, and with its head above the ocean, it turned it at an angle and opened its mouth wide. In one gulp the sailor’s legs disappeared down its throat. It threw its head back again, and the mouth clamped down on his chest.

  The elasmosaurus’ head popped up near another raft, and this time its attack was swift and decisive. The prehistoric monster plucked a crewman from his seat in mid-row. The spike-like teeth dug deeply into the sailor’s soft flesh. Crushed like a grape, blood dripped down like new wine.

  All Hell was breaking loose now.

  The giant squid continued to slake its hunger with the United States’ finest treasure. The feeding tentacles cut swaths through the ocean and harvested victims as easy a plucking cans off a grocery store shelf.

  Just as before, another raft was upended from underneath by a pair of jaws the size of a car.

  More elasmosauri arrived randomly in the mix and wasted no time becoming part of the feeding frenzy.

  As the flotilla of rafts continued the course, the ocean exploded erratically, like depth charges near the surface. Rafts were being picked off one by one, and the cries of men had become a constant chorus.

  It was chaos unknown. Brazo watched as men steadily paddled. He knew they were doing their best to wall off the fear and concentrate only on making it to the objective. The situation wasn’t much different than what the soldiers faced on D-Day back in 1944. The men hit the beach in Normandy as a barrage of bullets and artillery shells blasted around them as they advanced. It was one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Not knowing if the next step was going to be the last. Friends next to you crumpling to the ground after being nearly cut in half from machine gun fire. Body parts slinging blood as the man next to you catches a grenade. War was war. Be it against man or beasts. Right now, in the ocean, the beasts had the advantage.

  One of the rafts had made it to shore. Brazo leaned forward in his raft as if to will it to travel faster. Go, go, go. His desires were for his men reaching safety first. Yes, he wanted to live, too. Not for a selfish desire, but to know that he had saved as many men as he could. If he could sacrifice his life knowing it would save his men, he would take that offer right now.

  His raft moved past an arm cut off at the elbow floating by. The ocean was stained red in splotches. More body parts, deflated rafts, ripped and mangled clothing paved the way to freedom. They were getting closer. Everyone was getting closer to end this madness. But the devils of the deep showed no quarter.

  SKEER-AK!

  The ear-piercing cry rang from above. A huge, leathery bat-like creature plummeted from the sky and snatched a leg from the surface.

  There was no question the dastardly beast was a pterodactyl. The distinctive triangular-shaped head held the leg in its long crocodile-like beak. Its wingspread must have reached thirty feet.

  Pterodactyls had been extinct for millions of years. The sea creatures, prehistoric-looking beasts unknown to modern man, feasted up his men. What was this accursed place?

  Another raft made it to shore. The sailors hurriedly struggled to pull the raft to dry land.

  It was a race. Winners got to live, and
losers died in the most violent ways imaginable.

  SKEER-AK!

  The commotion had called attention to more than just one flying reptile. Several more pterodactyls, of various colors and sizes, streaked over from land to enjoy the leftover flesh from gluttonous ocean predators.

  Shots rang out as some had to abandon paddles to thwart the aerial attack. Still, more rafts had entered the safety zone. It occurred to Brazo that the rafts, twenty-strong in number when they first hit the water, were now less than half. Even though each raft could hold fifteen men, none of the rafts had been filled to capacity. Small consolation, as the loss of innocent lives, counted well over a hundred.

  As Brazo scanned what was left of the flotilla, his men steadily stabbing paddles in water, churning eddies in the sea-green ocean, something emerged behind a raft lagging behind. It was a shark’s fin, no mistaking that. The slick, glistening grayish-black dorsal fin rose toward the sky.

  The captain’s jaw dropped. The fin was as large as a Sherman tank. Looking like a fore and mainsail of a sloop cruising leisurely on a windy day, it quickly closed in on the unsuspecting raft.

  Brazo could do nothing but yell a warning and wave his hands. With all the turmoil, his cry was drowned by those suffering into death.

  When the megalodon’s snout breached the surface, Brazo thought it looked as large as a submarine. A submarine with huge black orbs for eyes and a cavernous mouth filled with unbelievably large, sharp teeth. The knife-to-the-heart-like terror an ordinary shark brings into the unconscious of man was nothing like what Brazo felt now. His sphincter muscle in his backside quivered and threatened to release. He wasn’t too proud to admit he knew fear in the past, but this was something unlike he had ever experienced. A feeling he didn’t even know was possible. It was as if a thin layer of ice had formed around him and froze him in place. All Brazo could do was stare ahead and wait for the inevitable.

  The Reaper’s eyes rolled back into its head as if the horrific act it was about to commit was too terrible for even it to witness. Jaws opened wide, then wider, then wider still. Rows of yard long teeth, each sharpened to rival a straight-edge razor, loomed like a bear trap ready to spring.

  The jaws snapped shut around the whole raft, and only one edge hung from the side of its mouth. The eight men on the raft vanished in a single chomp. Its jaws went into action, shredding its prey into more digestible pieces. Blood mixed with ocean foam squirted and dripped from the megalodon’s mouth before it submerged into the depths.

  Brazo felt his spine grow back under his skin. Not far from the giant shark, the ocean turned black. What was this? An oil spill from the Sutton?

  Turning his gaze, the ocean surface rippled with the giant squid heading away from the feeding frenzy. Had it eaten its fill? Doubtfully. The shark’s unexpected arrival must have put fear in its heart. And why wouldn’t it? Brazo imagined that given the choice of small quantities of soft flesh filled with bones wasn’t near the delicacy as succulent, meaty squid. Predators and prey. The cycle of life depended on predators and prey. In this case, the squid predator had now become the prey. If only Brazo had some way to deliver a few depth changes or a well-placed torpedo. He would reverse the natural order, and the human prey would become predators!

  The raft scrapped its bottom on something. It was the first sandbar between ocean and land. He had become so caught up in watching the shark he didn’t realize this nightmare was nearly over. Only two other rafts lagged behind; the others were ahead of him. The winds had become silent of sailors’ pain. The ocean no longer boiled with frenzied carnivores, though a few pterodactyls harvested the last remains of body parts floating on the ocean.

  “Captain Brazo,” Slick said.

  Brazo turned his way, eyes heavy from the carnage that delivered the unspeakable violence to his brain.

  “We made it, sir,” Slick said.

  The ocean was shallow enough that Stone bailed off the side and starting pulling the raft to shore. Rodrigue and Underwood went in next, the others followed, with the captain the last to leave. He kept his gaze on the last two rafts until he was certain they were out of harm’s way. The whole time he watched, he kept fearing something would rise unexpectedly, and deny one of his men a chance to see the next morning.

  Brazo felt the wet sand shift under his boot, and then crunch as he emerged onto the dry shore. The life rafts had been moved away far enough to keep them being pulled out with the next tide. His men looked like they had been dragged by their feet all the way down to the 9th level of Hell.

  He stiffened his back and held up his shoulders. Some of his crew stood at attention, hiding emotion as they were trained to do. Others stared blankly into the void. A few cried. A few more lay in crumpled balls as if asleep, or dead—perhaps wishing they were dead.

  Fifty-one men, he counted. Fifty-one out of nearly three hundred under his command when they set sail. He had lost over two hundred men and the USS Sutton hadn’t even been commissioned for battle! Brazo was in charge of the ship’s shakedown and he had lost over two hundred men!

  He was the captain. His men waited for his orders. One man to lead them. The same man who lost two hundred men!

  Brazo took a deep breath. He was a natural born leader; from day one in school, he got in trouble for being so bossy to his classmates. The words always came when it was time to command and inspire, but not this time. He went to speak, but it wasn’t there; nothing was there.

  His face flushed as he realized he was losing control, of his men and himself. Anger swelled from deep inside. He had been put in an unwinnable situation and there was nothing, nothing, to do or say to improve the situation.

  Brazo turned his back to his men and gazed up at the sky. His right fist came up, and he shook it to the heavens. Several uncomfortable seconds passed, and he said slowly and in a low voice, “Damn, you.”

  Several more seconds passed. Brazo again said, “Damn, you.” His words noticeably louder this time.

  “Damn, you!” He had screamed so loud he felt as if he tore his vocal cords.

  Brazo fell to his knees and pounded his fists into the sand. He didn’t stop until the white sand splotched with red.

  Chapter 8

  The kraken had sensed the megalodon long before it became a threat. There were many other creatures in the vast ocean that gave it concern, but none like the giant shark. The only thing it feared more were the pod hunters.

  A basilosaurus might be half the kraken’s length, but it was no match for the cephalopod’s powerful eight arms. The squid could easily snare the attacker in its long appendages while avoiding its gaping mouth and sharp teeth. And because the basilosaurus was an air-breather, patience assured victory every time. But patience didn’t offer the thrill of the hunt. The kraken would waste no time and would feed as soon as it subdued the ferocious sea mammal.

  Ocean survival had taught the kraken when food is available, to eat. Indecision or delay of any length might allow the opportunity to vanish. Food was vital for sustenance, but a full belly ensured sharp wits. The kraken’s size was a blessing and a curse. Giving it the advantage over the majority of the sea creatures, but making it a large target for those who could do it harm.

  The kraken was uncertain about the new food source floating on the water, but didn’t hesitate to explore with its long feeding tentacles and sample with its powerful beak. The taste was unlike anything else it had experienced. The meat didn’t have the familiar flavor of aquatic pong and eons-aged brine. Instead, the flesh had sweetness and a savory allure that only made it want to consume more.

  The kraken knew the megalodon was coming, but it stayed and feasted, plucking humans from the floating devices at will. It didn’t leave until the giant shark made its first strike and threatened to come the kraken’s way. A quick blast of its ink clouded the ocean, and the giant squid propelled to safety.

  The new food was still present. The kraken’s instinct pushed it to safety, but its gluttony tried to override.
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  The Sutton rested on the bottom of the ocean not far away at all. The vessel was three times the size of the squid. The strange object had unintentionally become an artificial reef and a perfect place for the kraken to hide until the megalodon ate its fill and left the area. Then, the kraken would return to the feeding frenzy and hope to eat again.

  *

  The megalodon had left the large interloper with impenetrable skin in pursuit of something that it could eat. The thing that had invaded its territory, the U-boat, was large enough to be a formidable challenge, but never once did it attack or put up a defense. Even when it tugged on an appendage, the worst action the thing took was floating to the surface.

  There was no flesh to consume, and the megalodon was hungry.

  Sound waves traveled through the ocean, alerting it that food was there for the taking. The shark pointed its nose toward the frenzy and waved its mighty caudal fin, shifting hundreds of gallons of water, and rapidly propelling it the few miles’ distance.

  It came upon something unknown bobbing on the surface. The body was small enough that it didn’t raise any sense of danger. There was only one way to explore, and that was with its teeth.

  It opened its mouth wide, then wider, then wider still. It overcame the floating body, and with its powerful jaws, snapped down on it.

  The teeth sank deeply into soft tissue, nothing like the other thing that the shark had encountered earlier. Juices rained down its throat, kicking its primordial lusts into overdrive.

  Blood.

  If it bleeds, it’s food.

  Instinct overrode reasoning. The shark no longer saw with its eyes. Uncontrollably, its jaws opened and closed. The food squirmed and made loud noises. Bones crunched, but a mass of something remained and couldn’t be broken down.

  Once the meat was in its belly, the megalodon expelled the mass that it couldn’t swallow. No matter, there was still plenty to be eaten nearby.

  The ocean turned black as the shark headed for its next victim. It knew the ink as a sign of a fleeing giant squid. This squid would rival the shark in size, but not in strength. And instead of a few mouthfuls of this new food source, tons of meaty goodness waited for its taking in the squid.