by Summer Lane
The people I kill are the enemy. I am acting in self-defense. It’s different.
“You okay?” Elle asks, regarding me coolly.
“Fine,” I reply quickly. “Let’s get out of here.”
I move forward without looking at her. I am sure that the shock of Uriah’s revelation is obvious on my face. I need to get away from it – think about something else. We walk to the sub and Captain Stanley is standing there, his blue uniform pristine and his jaw set.
“Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Peter, Commander Hart,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply.
We walk up the gangplank to the hatch, the dark water lapping the sides of the sub beneath our feet. Elle and Bravo are directly behind me. I hear Cheng say cheerfully, “Let’s hope we don’t all die.”
Manny laughs and replies, “I gotta say, this is the one thing I’ve never done: taken a ride in a submarine. And a ballistic missile sub, at that!”
We duck into the hatch and climb a long flight of metal stairs. The sub is lit from within, dimly illuminated with orange and white lights. It smells like ocean water and recirculated air. When we hit the first level, the first thing I notice is that it is not as small as I was afraid it would be. Even Manny and Uriah have enough headspace to stand up straight. There is a long row of doorways and hatches stretching straight down a hallway before us, and behind us, another flight of stairs continues to a lower level.
Crewman are scurrying through the halls, curiously glancing at us as we follow Captain Stanley down the hallway. As we walk, I am barely aware of the slight movement of the sub as it bobs in the harbor.
Good thing I don’t get seasick…not as far as I’m aware, anyway.
We walk and walk, climbing down one more flight of metal steps and reaching a hallway with narrow doors and harsh white light.
“These will be your quarters while you are onboard,” Captain Stanley announces. “You can house two crewmen per room, so choose your roommate and carry on.” He points to the left. “Down this hall and to the right is Command Control, and beyond that is the Wardroom. CPO living quarters are at the helm of the sub. If you need to locate me at any time, Command Control will be able to help you out.”
“Where’s the food?” Cheng asks, unceremoniously pointing out what we are all thinking.
“The Wardroom is the mess hall,” Captain Stanley explains. “You will take your meal rotation at 0600 every morning, lunch at 1200 and dinner at 1800. Understood?”
“Perfectly, Captain Stanley,” I say. “Thank you.”
“When we reach our target, you will be notified and summoned to Command Control,” he goes on, looking directly at me.
“Sounds good.”
“I will even go so far as to say that in all the years that this submarine has been active duty, we have never had women onboard.” His gaze flicks first to Elle, then Vera and back to me. “I would encourage you to stay in your cabins as much as possible.”
And with that, he is gone, disappearing into the bowels of the sub, probably off to stand in Command Control.
“What, does he think I’m some delicate flower?” Vera gripes. “Like I’m going to stay in my cabin the entire time just because my presence might upset the men? You’ve got be kidding –”
“He’s just trying to be helpful,” I tell Vera. “Calm down.”
“Whatever.”
I open the door to the first cabin. There are two bunks attached to the wall, along with a tiny bathroom and sink in the corner. It’s incredibly small, but it’s better than nothing. I walk in, plop my backpack on the floor and Vera follows me.
“What’s up, roomie?” I ask, smiling faintly.
“Don’t get creepy with me, Hart.” She turns away, but I can tell that she is trying not to smile. Elle and Bravo get their own cabin, while Cheng and Manny snag another one. Andrew rooms with Uriah. Once I have secured my gear, I leave the cabin behind and venture into the hall. The crew is still getting ready for departure.
“So much for staying in your cabin as much as possible,” Vera calls after me, poking her head out the cabin door.
“Come with me,” I say. “Don’t you want to see this thing submerge?”
Vera shakes her head, looking queasy, and then shuts the cabin door.
I guess I can see her point. I’m not crazy about being contained in this sub, either, but I’ll be better off embracing it than pretending it’s not happening. So I follow Captain Stanley’s directions and find Command Control, ducking into a hatch and taking a step into a large room filled with glowing computer screens.
Crewmen are sitting at chairs around every screen, their hands on controls and button-boards, chattering into headsets. Captain Stanley raises an eyebrow when I walk in.
“Cabin fever already?” he asks.
“I want to see this thing submerge,” I reply.
He almost smiles.
Emphasis on almost.
“Very well,” he replies. “Have you ever been on a submarine before?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you are about to be educated, Commander Hart.”
Several minutes pass. The control room is full of concentrated, controlled activity. I place my hand on the metal wall and take a deep breath.
Just think. In a couple of days, you will be back in California, with Chris. This submarine ride will be well worth it…not just for you, but for the entire militia.
At some point, the hatch above is closed by the crewman and the submarine comes alive. I feel a shiver of fearful anticipation. Now I am literally in the belly of the beast. I look at the screens mounted on the wall. I can see the surface of the water as the sub pulls away from the harbor. I feel the movement of the vessel now, and I tell myself to breathe evenly.
Five minutes pass, then fifteen, and then twenty. We put more and more distance between us and Whittier’s port. We push out farther and farther, the water foaming and frothing around the visible strip of submarine at the surface – all five hundred and sixty feet of hulking metal and machine.
One of the officers climbs down a ladder from the level above. He is young, his hair bright red, freckles dotting every inch of skin on his face.
“Ready for dive, ready for dive,” he says.
“Ready for dive, aye, sir,” another seaman responds from the control panel.
“Quartermaster, sounding,” Captain Stanley says.
The Quartermaster – a burly man with bushy eyebrows – reads off a long string of depth numbers.
“Very well, Officer Greene,” Captain Stanley says. “Submerge the ship.”
“Yes, sir.” Officer Greene flips a switch and a mild klaxon rings through the ship. “Dive, dive,” he says into the radio. The siren continues to wail and he repeats the warning over and over again.
And then we begin to dive. I clutch the wall as tightly as I can, staring at the screens. Water begins to wash over the submarine and I can feel the pressure change in the cabin as the ballast tanks fill with water, using the weight of the ocean itself to submerge the vessel. We start sinking into the sea. I can feel the slow downward movement of the sub as we plow through the sea, the negative buoyancy taking us down, down.
“The deck’s awash,” someone calls out.
Down we go. My ears pop. I yawn and the pressure is released. I continually move my jaw and yawn to release the pressure as we continue to submerge deeper and deeper, disappearing from the surface of the earth and plunging into the black, icy depths of the unforgiving ocean.
***
The crushing deep of the sea does little to help me sleep. It’s maybe 0200, and I am lying wide awake on the top bunk, Vera sleeping on the bottom. A dim orange light glows in the corner of the room. I can hear the creak of the sub and the low rumble of the engine. I sit up in a cold sweat, imagining a hole puncturing the shell of the sub, the pressure of the water immediately killing all of us.
Come on, Cassidy. This submarine is well protected, and so are the others.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and clutch the gold chain around my neck, kissing it lightly. If Chris were here, I’m sure he would know what to say. I would feel safe and secure. Besides, the water is where Chris has always felt most at home. I often forget that. We have only ever fought on dry land…but Chris’s background as a SEAL makes him conducive to water operations.
I wish I could have seen Chris when he was my age, a young gun in the Navy. I wonder if we would have been friends then. If we would have fallen in love. If he had known me, would we have gotten married? Or would he have married Jane instead?
It’s strange to think of Chris’s late wife, to know that there was another woman before me. Not that I’m bitter – she was murdered, and I can’t imagine what that must have been like for Chris.
Who knows? All that matters is that I love Chris right now.
I slip out of my bunk and keep my gun on my belt, as well as my knife. I open the cabin door and step into the hall, still brightly lit. I wander down the hallway, most of the sub silent. There are still a lot of men on duty. This vessel is manned by at least one hundred and fifty crewmen, although I suspect that the number is lower right now. All five of these subs are carrying militiamen.
“Hey, Commander.”
Em Davis is standing in the hallway leading to the Wardroom, looking worn and weary. Her dog, India, is sitting beside her leg.
“Em,” I say. “You okay?”
“Couldn’t sleep. You?”
“Same.”
“This sub is freaking me out,” she says, and grins.
“It’s a little disconcerting, yeah.”
Silence. Then, “Thanks for letting me come with you.”
I shrug. “Thanks for coming.”
“I want to do my part in this war,” she goes on. “I really do. I left for a while, but now I’m ready to come back, just like you.”
I lick my lips.
“These weapons we’re going to unleash on the coastline,” I say. “We’ll be killing more Omega soldiers at once than ever before. It’s kind of scary, you know? But necessary.”
“Very.” Em looks grave. “They killed my family. Omega, I mean. They killed them all…every last one. My two brothers, my parents, my grandparents. They even killed our stupid goldfish.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her, and I mean it.
“Don’t be. We’ve all lost someone.”
She’s right about that.
“What about your family?” she asks. “What happened to them?”
“My dad was KIA,” I reply. “My mom…I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since before the Collapse. Heard she moved to San Francisco. If that was true, then the chances of her surviving the Omega forces there were slim. She’s probably dead, too.”
Saying that out loud is sobering. I feel a deep wash of sadness.
It’s as if I’m finally acknowledging the death of my parents.
“That’s too bad,” Em says. “Sucks to live in this world these days.”
“Not always,” I whisper. “There are still good people left.”
“A few.”
“The militias have a lot of good people.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I can’t argue with you there. I mean, Margaret Young and Isabel are nice people, I’m glad they’re here.”
I say, “Thank you for watching out for them when I was in Mendenhall.”
Em shrugs.
“How long have you had your dog?” I ask.
“Since she was a pup,” Em replies, and there is a hint of pride in her voice. “I was training to be a K-9 handler in the Marines, once upon a time. I was stationed at Camp Pendleton before the Collapse. My dog had never seen active combat before Omega came. We learned quickly.”
“She’s beautiful,” I remark.
“She’s my best friend.”
“If all of this ends,” I say, “what are you going to do? Stay with the militias?”
“Fighting is what I do best,” she tells me. “Don’t you feel the same way?”
I rake my hair back with my hand.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I guess I do.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Wardroom is crowded. I mean, in high school, I thought my house was crowded – and I only shared it with one person: my dad. But here in the submarine, the christened mess hall is filled with more bodies than I think is humanly possible. Seamen and militiamen alike are crammed into this room, complete with three tables, each packed with as many chairs as possible. Each person takes a plate, goes to the cafeteria window, receives their rations and then sits down – either with a mug of hot coffee or a tall glass of ice water.
I am sitting in the corner with Em Davis and Elle. Their dogs are in their cabins – there’s just not enough space for canines in this room. Manny is crammed between two seamen. His long, gangly legs are smashed under the table, and I can see the irritation on his face as he tries to take a swig of coffee, but he’s bumped in the arm by the man beside him.
“Sorry, mate,” the guy says.
Manny just glares.
I look down at the remains of my meal: meat and potatoes with gravy. I drain the last drop of coffee from my mug. Vera sits next to Andrew across from me. She has barely touched her food, and her pale face is a muted shade of green.
Seasickness.
“I think I’ll get her back to her room,” Andrew says, sighing.
“I’m fine,” she hisses.
“Take her to see the medic,” I say. “He’ll give her some seasickness meds.”
Andrew nods and helps Vera out of her seat. She follows him out, muttering under her breath until they leave the room. I make a mental note to check on Margaret and Isabel later…they have been eating in their cabins, the two of them both plagued by seasickness, as well. I can’t help but laugh a little at Vera’s exit, and then I turn my attention to Uriah. He is sitting by himself in the corner of the room, surrounded by strangers. And all he does is drink coffee and watch me.
“Lieutenant True is very intense,” Em says.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I guess,” I reply absently.
“He’s always watching you. It’s almost like he doesn’t care about anyone else.”
“That’s not true. Uriah’s just…conflicted.”
I clutch the coffee mug, nausea rising in my throat. Am I actually afraid of Uriah? He revealed his past to me, yes. But does that make him any different than the Uriah I know and care about? The Uriah who has faithfully fought by my side since the days of guerilla warfare in the high mountains?
The klaxon wails. I snap upright. The siren is followed by: “Commander Hart, report to Command Control.”
A stone drops to the pit of my stomach. We have reached target position.
I stand and walk out of the room – the eye of every seaman on me as I go. Elle and Em trail after me. Manny slams his food down on the table.
“Thank God – an excuse to leave this tin can!” he exclaims.
He storms out of the Wardroom and follows us into the hallway.
“We must be in position, then?” he asks me.
I don’t reply. I am too busy thinking about what lies ahead – the eradication of Omega’s presence from the coastline. By the time we reach Command Control, I am almost shaking with nervous anticipation.
And then Uriah is there, standing behind me, his breath hot against my neck.
“This is it,” he says, low.
I take a step away.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“Commander Hart,” Captain Stanley says, raising an eyebrow. “You brought an audience.”
“These are my platoon leaders,” I say. “I want them here.”
He nods, clearly not in the mood to argue with me.
“We’re in position,” he says. “We’re waiting for the order.”
“Who gives the order?” Elle asks, folding her arms across her chest.
“Commander Hart,” Captain Stanley replies, looking at me. “Norm
ally, the release of such a weapon is issued from a civilian to the military – such as the President of the United States to the Pentagon. But these are dire times, and this is a para-military operation. Commander Hart, as a representative of the Pacific Northwest Alliance, this gives you the authority to give the order.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. Of course it has to be me. It’s not like these subs are linked to the military at home. This is our mission – and ours alone.
The internal war within me is powerful – a hurricane of emotions, of guilt, of bitterness, of sadness. Here I am, able to pull the trigger on Omega at last – the ultimate act of vengeance, an idea that keeps me awake at night and bleeds into my every breathing moment.
So why is this so hard for me?
I can’t do it, I think. I don’t want to be the one to do this.
“Cassidy,” Manny says. He puts an arm around my shoulders, lowering his voice. “This is not just your decision. This is our decision, my girl. We will all carry it with us – this is not something that you have to bear alone, my girl.”
I look up at him, tears blurring my vision.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He nods, squeezes my shoulders, and then lets go.
This is the moment. This is it.
“Captain Stanley,” I say evenly. “You have a green light.”
He nods.
“May God forgive us,” I say quietly, and for the first time since I have met Father Kareem, I grasp the importance of his reliance on his faith. There is simply no other way to deal with something of this magnitude.
I blink my tears away. This is a decision that had to be made – an order that had to be given.
“Weapons system is in condition,” Officer Greene says, as monotone as ever.
“Key code is valid, roger,” Captain Stanley responds.
More chatter, more codes. More radio call signs and communications with the sister subs traveling with us.
“SSBN-627, this is SSBN-939,” the radio crackles.
Elle raises an eyebrow.
“SSBN-939 is one of the other subs,” I say. “It’s the U.S.S. Stinger.”
“We copy you, SSBN-939,” Captain Stanley replies.