The Dead Walk The Earth II

by Luke Duffy

  She stood with her hands on her hips and breathing deeply in an effort to slow her heart rate and speed up her recovery. Shifting her weight from one leg to the other, Tina shook her feet alternately in order to keep the blood flowing and preventing her limbs from cramping up.

  “So,” she blew out a long breath, “that’s us done for the day, Chris. Good effort and tomorrow we will do some…”

  “I think we should close the gate,” he cut in flatly.

  Tina hesitated, unsure of what he meant but then realised that he was referring to the side gate leading into the loading bay from the main parking area in front of the building. They had left it open as a possible escape route. Through the gate and along the front of the adjacent warehouses, they could make their way up to the access road leading into the industrial complex and away to safety if the situation called for it.

  “Why?” She asked in confusion. It was not just the fact that Christopher believed the gate should be closed but also the cold blank expression on his face. “We don’t need to. It’s out of the way and it’s our escape route.”

  She turned and headed for the offices.

  “I saw some of those things over in that area, Tina,” he informed her. “I think it’s only a matter of time before they wander in there and if they do, we’ll be trapped in here. We can’t go out through the front door and the back fire escape is on a blind wall with no windows. We won’t know what’s out there and could walk into a hundred of them.”

  Tina stopped in her tracks and spun around to face him. She thought for a moment and recapped herself on what he had just told her. He had a point. Even with the gate closed they still had breathing space to consider climbing the fence as an escape. He was also right about the front and rear doors. If the side gate was left open indefinitely, there was always a chance that a horde of them could eventually stumble into the staff car park and cut them off.

  Could this really be you talking? She wondered as she studied his bemused face carefully. She struggled to understand where his sudden logical and strategic thinking had come from.

  “Hey, what can I say?” He beamed at her and shrugged. He could almost hear her thoughts beyond the shocked expression in her eyes. “I’m learning.”

  “That you are, Chris, and you’re right, I think we should close the gate.”

  10

  “What the hell is that?” Bobby gasped with his mouth hanging open.

  The six of them were standing close to the massive floating dock. It had been moved into position on the south side of the island early on during the evacuation of the mainland. With The Solent, the strip of water that separated the island from the mainland, being so heavy with traffic at the outbreak, the military had built a Mulberry Harbour beneath the bluffs close to the village of Niton Undercliff to the south of Newport. The few remaining war ships of the British Navy remained in the area, protecting the Channel and out of harm’s way from the south coast of England.

  The dock stretched out from the beach and on to the sea for about two-hundred metres then formed into a number of manmade mini harbours over deep water. The Channel in that area was far too shallow to allow the larger ships to approach the coast and any supplies being brought ashore or loaded onto the vessels would have needed to be flown over or carried on smaller boats. With the harbour in place, the heavy ships could remain in deep water and their cargo and passengers could be transferred along the joining sections of the Mulberry Harbour stretching out from the shoreline. The design had changed very little since it was first used in 1944 during the D-Day landings in Normandy and was a testament to the engineering of the time.

  The Channel was mostly empty. Far off to the east sat the aircraft carrier, HMS Illustrious, with a small number of destroyers and frigates scattered around her. The harbour itself was deserted of ships. All except for the last birth on the far right of the floating structure. Tucked up close to the dock wall sat a grey shape that was roughly eighty metres long. Compared to most navy vessels, it sat low in the water and from a distance it would have been easy for it to go unnoticed.

  “It’s a submarine, Bobby. What do you think it is?” Taff replied as he puffed away on his cigarette, the blustery Channel Sea air whipping the smoke away as he exhaled. “For the past week we’ve known we were going to be inserted by sub, so what did you expect to see, the Titanic?”

  “Yeah, I was expecting to see a sub, Taff, but that doesn’t look like any submarine I’ve ever seen.”

  None of them had seen a vessel like it. When they were told that they would be inserting by submarine up along the River Thames, they had all expected to see one of the big black nuclear versions with its smooth sleek hull and tall conning tower reaching high above the water. Instead, they were looking at a long grey monster that appeared like something from a history book.

  “Me too,” Bull nodded. “They usually look like giant black dicks.”

  “It’s a German Type Twenty-One from World War Two,” Danny said from the rear as he continued to eye the ship. “It’s a U-boat.”

  “A U-boat?” Bull snorted. “Fuck off, Danny. I’ve seen that movie, ‘Das Boot’, and that looks nothing like a U-boat. I suppose you’ll be telling us we’ll be exchanging our M-4s and Minimis for muskets next?”

  “Honestly, it’s a U-boat. It was one of the later models, built by the Germans towards the end of the war. All the submarines of the world’s navies that followed on afterwards were based on its design. It was the first true submarine. Up until that point, all its predecessors were classed as surface ships with the ability to submerge.”

  “Head’s up, everyone,” Bull announced in a raised voice and a smirk creasing the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like we have a nerd in our midst. You’re not a re-enactor as well are you, Danny?”

  “Danny’s right,” Stan said as he became bored of listening to their squabbling. “The Captain is an old friend of mine and I expect you all to watch your manners around him. He’s very protective of his boat and crew, so be careful what you say.”

  “How did he end up driving a U-boat?” Taff asked in confusion.

  “He used to be a nuclear sub commander in the late eighties but he had a falling out with his bosses that resulted in one of them losing a few teeth. Rather than kick him out of the navy, they busted him down to riding diesels and this is what they gave him.”

  A dark figure appeared out from the top of the conning tower. He paused for a moment when he saw the team standing at the far end of the dock then waved with long sweeping gestures. Stan raised his hand in return and the man began to climb down the ladder rungs fitted into the boat’s superstructure.

  “Just remember what I said,” Stan reminded them as he watched the man making his way towards them. “Watch your Ps and Qs and that includes you, Bull. Otherwise, Taff won’t be the only one you have to worry about putting you on your arse.”

  Taff grinned broadly and his shoulders juddered with a silent laugh. Bull shot him a look that instantly wiped the smile from his face.

  As the boat’s commander drew nearer, they were able to see him more clearly. He was tall and lean and walked with a charisma that seemed to spread out around him over a wide area. The man definitely had an aura about him. He did not strut or swagger but his gate was that of a man of extreme confidence in his own skill and abilities. He seemed to know where he was going and how to get there and already, even from a distance of fifty metres, the team could see that he was a man of presence.

  He wore a dark sheepskin jacket with a white woollen collar over a pair of grey trousers, and the thumps of his heavy black boots could be heard as he pounded across the planks of the Mulberry Harbour. His footfalls made him sound twice as heavy as he looked. On top of his head, he sported the distinctive white Captain’s hat. It was discoloured from years of wear and tear and crumpled down around the rim around the sides, sitting at a skewed angle to the rest of his face.

  “Jesus,” Bull grunted, “he even looks like he belon
gs on a U-boat.”

  Stan turned to them and nodded.

  “Wait till he tells you his name then,” he said.

  Stan stepped forward as the Captain approached and they shook hands heartily and smacked each other on the shoulder. Stan actually managed to smile and the rest of the team wondered just how far back and how deeply their friendship reached.

  “How the hell are you still alive, Stan?” The man asked with a broad grin. “I thought you would’ve been finished off a long time ago.”

  “I’m still ticking, I’m happy to say,” Stan replied. “For how much longer, none of us know, but I’m here today.”

  “Good to hear it, old friend.”

  They turned and walked a couple of paces back towards Stan’s men. For a short while the submarine Captain stood in silence, watching the five soldiers intently with his piercing pale grey eyes. His face was narrow and long with a nose that seemed to stretch far out from the rest of his features and the visor of his cap, giving him the appearance of an ever vigilant hawk. His cheeks and chin were covered with a thick growth of almost black hair but the grey moustache and silver streaks around the corners of his mouth contrasted greatly with the rest of his beard.

  Finally, the Captain smiled. His eyes flashed with a genuine gladness to see them. His white teeth shone brightly from behind his beard and he stepped forward with his hand outstretched towards the first man in line.

  “Great to meet you,” he began in a gruff voice that had been created from years of cigar smoking. “I’m Captain Werner.”

  Bull was not sure if he was being lined up for a practical joke and as he took the man’s hand in his own he looked across to Stan for confirmation that the navy officer in front of him really did have a German name. His face was etched with doubt and confusion and for a moment, he was unable to speak until he had clarification.

  Stan nodded back at him.

  “I’m Bull, pleased to meet you too, mate. Uh, sir, I mean, Captain.”

  Werner laughed and shook his head. He moved along the line and introduced himself to each of the team. When the preliminaries were out of the way he turned and raised his open palm towards his vessel.

  “Well, what do you think? She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  The affection he held for his submarine was unmistakable in his voice. The rest of the men could also see in his eyes how he looked on at his boat and they saw a love that could only have come from years of familiarity and dependability.

  “Grab your gear and come have a look,” Werner continued as he led the way along the floating dock.

  The rest of the men fell into line behind him, carrying their weapons and packs over their shoulders as they headed for the submarine. Without anyone saying a word or asking for it, Captain Werner launched himself into a verbal tour and history of the boat.

  “It’s a Type Twenty-One Unterseeboot, built by the Germans at the Blohm and Voss dockyards in Hamburg in late nineteen-forty-four. Her original designation during the war was U-3514 and according to the official records, she was scuttled as part of Operation Deadlight in February of forty-six.”

  He turned and flashed the men a mischievous smile.

  “But she wasn’t sunk. The Royal Navy kept hold of her in secret. At first, she was used as an operational boat to help offset the ever-growing armada of submarines and surface ships that the Russians were developing during the late forties and early fifties. Eventually, as we caught up with and surpassed the technologies involved in building the Twenty-One, she pretty much became redundant but the navy held onto her as a spy-boat and eventually, she became a research vessel.”

  Werner stopped short of the gangplank that was resting against the hull and leading up on to the foredeck. He turned to Stan and his men, folding his arms across his chest and staring back at them with an intense expression.

  “Here she is,” he said in a low voice that was filled with pride.

  He turned and made his way up the gangplank. As he reached the top, his footsteps rang out with a metallic resonance as averse to the dull thuds of the wooden planks on the Mulberry Harbour. He stopped by the conning tower and affectionately brushed his hand over the grey painted steel of the outer hull.

  “These things could’ve turned the war completely on its head if they had been set loose on the Atlantic convoys,” Werner said as he continued his tour into history. “They were faster submerged than they were on the surface, outpacing most of the hunters of the day. It could dive twice as deep as the other models of U-boat and had a hydraulic, automated torpedo loading system. In the earlier kind, it took ten minutes to reload just one tube. This thing could fire all her torpedoes and reload all six tubes within twelve minutes.”

  He paused for a moment and looked up at the conning tower. He pushed his cap back from his weather-beaten brow and stood with his hands on his hips as he gazed up towards the bridge.

  “Unfortunately for the Germans, they came too late in the war and in too few numbers. Lucky for the Allies I suppose.” He turned to the men assembled at the bottom of the gangway and waved them up towards him. “Come on up, I’ll show you around and introduce you to my boys.”

  As Stan and the others began the precarious journey up the narrow walkway, Captain Werner began scaling the ladder leading up towards the bridge. He continued to talk as he made his ascent.

  “You know, the MoD thought that sending me to command this boat would really piss me off, but nothing could’ve been further from the truth. After sailing on nuclear attack boats for all those years, commanding a diesel of this sort is a dream. There are less things to worry about and its simplicity compared to the nuclear types makes you really appreciate them all the more. I could never really get a feel for the modern ones after being with this old tub for so long.”

  One by one, the men began to climb down through the conning tower hatch and into the heart of the submarine. At the bottom of the ladder, they stepped onto the steel grated floor of the Control Room and found themselves in an open space roughly five metres wide by eight metres long. The room was filled with pipes, gauges, handles and levers, and a mind-spinning array of wheels and dials with workstations and machinery squeezed into every possible space. Everywhere they looked, they could see wires and cables running through conduits over the ceiling and along the walls, linking into circuit boxes and a countless number of instruments.

  Although the boat looked clean and well maintained, there was a distinct smell of mould and diesel inside the cramped pressure hull and despite the ventilation, there was condensation forming on the curved ceiling above them. A faint but continuous drip could be heard echoing throughout the interior. Small patches of rust had formed around some of the hatches and seals and a number of pipes had a steady rivulet of slow trickling water leaking from them along the walls and down into the bilge below.

  Werner was standing close to the periscope housing beside another man who was much shorter than he was and slightly built. The man watched them, as they stood huddled around the ladder in the cramped confines of the boat and staring about them in bewilderment.

  “This is my Chief Engineer,” Werner said as he placed his hand on the shoulder of the man beside him. “He’s the heart and soul of the boat.”

  Stan and the team nodded to him and one by one, they leaned forward and shook hands as they introduced themselves. Each of them came away with a palm covered in grease and oil and they began vigorously rubbing their grime-smeared hands against their trousers and shirts. The Chief Engineer appeared as an extremely serious man and he eyed the team with suspicion. He clearly did not like having non-submariners on his boat and his body language made no attempt to disguise that fact. Eventually he shrugged with a single nod of his head as if to accept the arrangement.

  “She’s had a few modifications over the years,” the Chief began. “New batteries and radar and such things like that but all in all, she’s still the same boat we swiped from the Germans at the end of the war.”

 
; “Thank fuck for that,” Bull whispered sarcastically to Marty standing beside him. “For a moment there I was beginning to worry that we were sitting in a rusty old tube that was more than twice my age.”

  “This is the Control Room,” the Chief continued. “Forward, you have the Sound Room with the Captain’s quarters and beyond that you have the Officers’ living area. At the very front, in the bow compartment, is the Torpedo Room. Aft of the Control Room is the galley and crew quarters. Next is the Diesel compartment and beyond that is the Electric Motor Room with the Stern quarters behind that. That is where you will be spending most of your time during the voyage, gentlemen.”

  Compared to its wartime compliment, the boat only had a skeleton crew. Originally, the vessel would have been crammed with more than fifty men and piles of equipment and provisions to last them for over six weeks at sea, leaving virtually no room for personal items. With just a handful of men on board, they were able to live much more comfortably, compared to their predecessors.

  However, all that was soon to change. Over the next three hours, as Stan and his men settled themselves into the Stern quarters and stored their weapons and equipment, other troops began to arrive and squeezed themselves into the ever-increasing cramped confines of the boat’s interior. As the teams from the SAS and Pathfinder Platoon filled every available space inside, the boats atmosphere quickly began to change. Before long, it had become stiflingly hot and the air had turned stale, reeking with a mixture of diesel fuel and body odours.

  “Well this is going to be a lovely trip,” Bobby grunted as he nodded to a fearsome looking man with a shaved head who was trying to make himself comfortable while pressed up against the rear bulkhead.

  “Living the fucking dream,” the man mumbled back to him with no expression in his face. He turned away and pushed his shoulder against the pack he was leaning against then closed his eyes in an attempt to get some sleep.