Undersea

by Geoffrey Morrison

  “She’s buttoned up tight, sir,” Thom sensor officer reported. “If they have any additional ships, they’re all still inside.”

  “Send a report to the Uni. We have failed to engage the Population. Currently in pursuit. All attempts at disablement have failed. ETA, 36 hours.” Thom’s comm officer acknowledged and sent the message. That was it. All he could do now was sit in his chair and watch. Watch his one official task hang before him, untouchable and unstoppable. Watch his chance to rescue Ralla slip away. Watch the Population, a juggernaut of fear and anger and destruction.

  But so close! He could take one of the scout subs. They would be easily fast enough to get him to the Pop and he could try to sneak aboard. He’d done it before. Even as he imagined it, he knew how foolish it was. No, for the moment his place was here, with his crew and his fleet.

  They’d be ready, though, and he’d be ready. As soon as the Pop slowed down, he’d tear the back of that ship off.

  If it slowed down.

  VIII

  They had been expecting a response from the Universalis for hours. The prolonged silence turned out to be by design, as no sooner had they received and decoded the return message from the Uni than the great citysub showed up on the Reap’s sensor screens. The Uni had maneuvered into a parallel course with the Pop. Running as hard as the Uni was, the Pop was still gaining fast and coming up on their starboard side.

  The Uni must have immediately left their station near the Fountain after receiving Thom’s message. The obvious last-ditch effort was ominous. Thom could do nothing but watch the monitors as the ships inched within weapons range of one another. Out the front viewport the turbulence and cavitations caused by the Pop’s building-sized propellers churned the water, obscuring everything else. It had been a bumpy and nauseating day, but Thom was adamant they stay in position so they could surprise the Pop from behind. Small dots on the sensors revealed the remaining ships in his fleet as they left the leeward protection of the Pop.

  The Population suddenly slowed as the cavernous shipyard doors opened, freeing dozens of ships from its hold. Already at speed, the attack force broke into three groups. The first spread out in defensive positions, the second towards the Uni itself. The third group broke off to starboard, accelerating directly towards n-pole.

  With the slowing, the Reap was finally in cannon range. Thom didn't hesitate.

  “All batteries fire. Target propellers.”

  The cannons started slinging their projectiles towards the rear of the enemy ship. The turbulence caused nearly all of the slugs to miss their target, impacting the hull and causing disappointingly little damage.

  “Keep firing!” Thom shouted; the ship shook violently from the wake and now the cannons as they let off their ordnance. “Get us below the wake, ensign,” he said, regaining his composure. “Pull us up underneath.”

  The Reap dove, entering smooth water and finally able to slide in under the Pop. The speed of the water past the enemy’s hull was still enough to knock the cannon projectiles off course. At this distance, the gunners were trying to hit targets half the size of a fist from a platform moving in three dimensions. As of yet, none had found their mark, but a substantial peppering of the rear hull was mildly satisfying. Ahead, his goal was in sight: the gaping, brightly lit cavern of the Population’s shipyard. He was close.

  Then the fighters were on them.

  Ralla jabbed her knuckles into the soldier’s bare throat. Gasping for air, he stumbled back, tripping and falling to the deck. Ralla was on him in an instant, removing his weapons and pressing his own rifle to his chin.

  “Get off this ship or you’ll die,” she growled, her tone as menacing as she could make it. He looked confused. “I’ve sabotaged the ship. One good hit and she’ll sink. I suggest you flee.” She pushed off him and stood up. “Now,” she barked, waving the gun towards the lifeboats nearby.

  The soldier got up slowly and staggered away, still massaging his throat and coughing. Ralla could tell that he had no intention of getting on the lifeboat, but he was unarmed. Maybe if the ship did start to sink, he’d come to the realization sooner than others.

  Ralla had watched the shipyard empty in an extraordinary display of controlled chaos. The subs were lined up, ready to slide into the water as soon as the vast lock doors slid open. As they split open down the middle, water rushed inwards, carrying equipment and containers aft with the flow, all crashing against the rear bulkhead of the shipyard. Ship after ship slid into the murky water and powered out of sight.

  Ralla immediately went into overdrive, going as quickly as she could from door to door, destroying them in whatever fashion she could. She had carelessly assumed there were so few people aboard that she could go about her malevolence unfettered. While pulling out the pneumatic hoses for one particularly large lock, though, a soldier had come around a corner and caught her. She had made the distance to him in four leaping strides, and was at his throat before he could blink.

  Now armed with multiple weapons and ammo, she was almost ready to make her way toward the engine rooms. She had already figured how to disable the ship, but her first stop was back to the shipyard. Racks of rockets and torpedoes sat unguarded on the floor. A rocket, roughly the size of her forearm, would be more than enough to destroy one of the engines. There was room in the baggy jumpsuit for at least two. Then she’d just have to figure out how to disable the other engines. One problem at a time, she thought to herself. Maybe with a bit of luck, the engine rooms would be empty. Or she could empty them, guns blazing with rockets spilling from her uniform. The visual amused her.

  The tiny Pop attack subs were too fast for the Reap to hit—the large cannons too slow to track, the torpedoes too easy to dodge. The close-in rockets were having some success, but the crew was having difficulty aiming with the ship heaving around so much. The dorsal cannons continued to bombard the stern of Pop, each salvo rocking the smaller sub to port. The enemy attack subs battered the Reap with their rockets, each pass ripping away more and more armor.

  Above them, the Pop had opened side hatches, revealing cannons and torpedo tubes of its own. The drag slowed them considerably, and the Reap got noticeably closer to the open shipyard. Almost there, Thom thought.

  The Pop was still closing the distance on the Uni quickly. It would be a few minutes before the stern of the Uni was alongside the bow of the Pop. That didn’t stop the former from launching torpedoes. Thom watched as the tiny dots left the starboard side of the home ship and track slowly across the divide. While still in the no-man’s-land between the ships, they winked out of existence as the Pop launched a screen of defensive rockets. The concussions reverberated through the Reap’s hull.

  Thom’s sub had reached the midpoint of the Pop, and continued attacks on the stern were becoming futile.

  “Cannons, target Population defenses. Continue firing,” he ordered. There was a slight pause as the cannons turned, and then the now-familiar boom and rattle of the cannons resumed. The shipyard was close enough that he could clearly see the glow off to the right out the viewscreen. Time to go. He opened his mouth to order Soli to the bridge, when the comm officer anxiously interrupted him.

  “Sir, urgent message from the Universalis. We’re to accelerate ahead and engage the break-off Pop fleet. Target is likely the Fountain. They must be stopped at all costs.”

  Dammit, Thom thought. So close. He had stupidly thought the other subs were going to try to flank the Uni. Clearly not. This was the closest he was going to get to the Pop. At the rate they were closing, it was likely the two citysubs would destroy each other long before he’d be able to get back. Now had to be the time.

  “Ensign, get me...” the young comm officer turned in his seat, eyes full of fear. He could tell, they all could tell, that there weren’t many ways for this battle to turn out well. Even if they saved the Fountain, the likelihood of the Universalis surviving the encounter was fairly low.

  And then it occurred to him: if the two citysub
s were destroyed, whoever was left would have to piece civilization back together. That person should be Ralla, but it was going to be him. It would have to be. He was the highest-ranking person not on the Uni. He had the respect and command of the fleet, at least whatever would be left of it. Him. It filled him with cold fear, but it was too obvious not to be true. This is what Jills was talking about. He must have seen this possibility. This near inevitability. No more fantasies.

  Thom looked out of the viewscreen at the lit rectangle in the bottom of the hull of the Population, and said goodbye to Ralla for the last time.

  The ensign was waiting as patiently as possible, squirming only slightly in his seat. The shipyard presented an easy final target. Thom made a quick mental calculation of time, power, and possible damage to the Pop. It would feel cathartic, he thought, to leave some final bit of destruction.

  “Cannons,” Thom began, envisioning the swath of destruction the cannon fire would do on the unprotected innards of the ship. But it would be a symbolic tantrum at best. All their ships were gone, no critical systems were nearby, and any fires or damage would be inconsequential to the greater goal.

  The greater goal.

  “Cease fire, divert all power to engines. Everything but sensors. We’ll drive in the dark,” he ordered. The ops officer paused to make sure Thom was serious, then did as commanded. The lights dimmed, then went out. The subtle breeze of recirculated air diminished to stagnation. The sensor screen cast a dull glow over the darkened bridge. There was a noticeable jump in the Reap’s speed. After a few moments, the shipyard slid out of view. A few moments after that, the bow of the Pop. Then the Uni, and soon they were in the open sea. Behind them, the small attack subs struggled to keep up, but soon broke off in search of easier targets.

  Ahead, a small fleet of ships bore down on the Fountain at a rate just slightly slower than the Reap. The fight raged on behind, battle fleets slugging it out, everyone onboard surely counting down the minutes before the tremendous cannons along each craft’s sides got in range and the real deathblows began.

  No sooner had the Uni faded from the sensor screens than the trailing craft of the Fountain attack fleet came up on the sensors. Out of range of the rockets, lacking the power for the cannons, and moving too quickly for the torpedoes, they were helpless to do anything. However, they were gaining. Soon the rest of the fleet was within sensor range.

  “Weapons, are we going to be able to power up the cannons in time before they get in range of the Fountain?” he asked. The weapons officer used a pencil on the metal of his console to make some calculations. He turned and shook his head.

  “If we power up the cannons now, they’ll pull out of range. If we wait till we’re right on them, it’s looking like they’ll be at the outer edge of their own torpedo range.”

  “If we get close enough for rockets?”

  “We risk damage to ourselves at that range and these speeds.”

  “So be it. Get us in range, ensign,” he said to the pilot. The rockets didn’t require power to launch, and were manually loaded.

  They were on the trailing sub in moments, the barrage of rockets lanced forth from the bow of the Reap in an angry swarm. The rear of the enemy sub imploded, a fiery bubble of air escaping towards the surface as the sub started to sink and slow. Two more subs were quickly dispatched in the same way. That left four. These seemed to have noticed the advancing Reap from their stern, and spread out.

  “How long before the lead ship is in range of the Fountain?” Thom asked.

  “Ninety seconds,” came the reply from the sensor officer.

  Not enough time. The front gunners took out another sub; its lifeless hulk tumbled into the Reap and scraped deafeningly along the hull.

  Three.

  “Gunners report ammunition running low.”

  “Keep firing.”

  They inched closer to the next target. Thom could see the subs through the inky, greenish water just as they entered the Reap’s weapons range. A suicide mission, he thought. They’re prepared to die for their cause, ignoring the advancing threat behind them. He looked around at his bridge crew. Fine. So are we, he resolved. With a burst of escaped air, the next sub crumpled from the attack and started to fall into the deep. None of the gunners from the starboard side of the ship fired in the last volley. A bad sign.

  Two.

  “Sixty seconds”

  There was no way to know the exact range of the torpedoes. Any estimate could be way off. If they fired now that would be it.

  The second-to-last sub came into range. Dual propellers at its outer corners churned up bubbles, as they pushed their little sub past speeds never intended by its designers. The port gunners opened up, and pinprick explosions hammered the rear of the sub. At least one rocket made it past the outer armor. The propellers stopped, and the sub listed unhealthily to port. It passed so close to the Reap that Thom could see into the cockpit as they raced by, a flooded mix of seawater and blood. At least the violent compression had killed them quickly.

  One.

  “Thirty seconds.”

  The wait was intolerable. They crept toward the last sub at an impossibly slow pace. In the distance, past the silhouette of the enemy sub, the dark, singular pillar of the Fountain emerged. They had run out of time.

  The port gunners opened up, but only a handful of rockets sped towards the target. They splayed across the stern, a pathetic slap on the armored hull. Then, suddenly, the sub started to list to starboard, sliding into the path of the Reap. One propeller damaged, the crew tried to maintain course, while the now-much-faster Reap rapidly closed.

  “Rocket ammo depleted. Orders, sir?” his weapons officer asked. There was no hesitation,

  “Ram it.”

  Thom took his seat and strapped in. It was too late for evasive maneuvers, but the enemy sub tried anyway. The front tip of the Reap connected with the enemy sub at its rear right corner, crushing it like paper. The force spun the front of the enemy sub up and back, slamming the top against the oncoming Reap bow. Still powering at full speed, the Reap violently pushed past the sub, the latter scraping along the bow, across the bridge viewscreen, and up and away into their wake and the sea.

  Done.

  “Pilot, bring us about and get us back to the fight.”

  The pilot complied immediately, swinging the cruiser wide and around, rolling to port as he did so to tighten the turning radius. No one had time to celebrate their victory.

  “Commander, weapons contact. Torpedo in the water,” the sensor officer said, not trying to hide his panic.

  “What? From where?”

  “Not sure, sir. It looks like... it looks like we only disabled that last sub. They got a shot off.”

  “Countermeasures!”

  “Fired... No effect commander. Weapon has no guidance.”

  A dummy. The techs had shown him and the torpedo crews how to replace the extensive guidance package in a normal torpedo with additional explosives. It would only go in a straight line, but it would blow big when it got there.

  “Bearing?” Maybe they’d get lucky and it would miss.

  “Impact with the Fountain in 20 seconds.”

  “Pilot, alter your turn. Get us between the Fountain and that torpedo. Sound collision.”

  “Sir,” he replied. With that one syllable, he acknowledged the command and voiced the fear all were feeling. He pulled the wheel harder, and the metal in the ship groaned under the strain. The collision alarm wail pierced all other noise. Every person on the ship looked at the deck, the bulkheads, the ceiling, waiting. Waiting for death or water or both.

  The torpedo detonated just aft of the main dorsal cannon, instantly killing everyone there and crushing decks and bulkheads. Water forced inwards at speeds impossible to avoid. Emergency hatches slammed shut around the ship, trapping crewmembers but thwarting the water in its ferocious crusade against the air. As far forward as the bridge and as far back as the engine room, the broken spine of the ship c
rushed inward, severing bulkheads, communication and control conduits, pipes, and power lines. Half the ship lost power instantly. The compression blew out most of the crew’s eardrums. Those nearest the impact lucky enough not to drown fell to the floor bleeding as their internal organs liquefied from the blunt force of the air.

  Thom didn’t have to touch his screaming ears to know that both were oozing blood. Orange emergency lights offered the barest of illumination; more came from the green water pressing against the viewscreen. Cracks spidered out from the impact of the last sub. Around him, Thom’s bridge crew were injured, but alive. They had been strapped in. He knew others wouldn’t have been.

  “Damage report!” Thom yelled, the sound of his own voice hollow and distant in his ears. Soli stumbled onto the bridge, covered in blood. A vicious gash crossed his forehead. Thom was out of his seat and to him before Soli could wave him off. Thom checked him over; disturbingly most of the blood didn’t seem to be his.

  “Get down to the medbay,” Thom shouted again. Soli, in a daze, turned and staggered off.

  Thom turned back to see his bridge crew, bloodied but not beaten, trying to make sense of the situation.

  “Sections 8, 9, 12, and 13 on Decks 1, 2, and 3 are flooded. Emergency locks are holding. Reports of extensive damage all along Deck 1. Fire in multiple compartments. Power is out across most of ship. I’m seeing cascading failures across all systems,” In the dim light and the ringing, Thom was having a hard time figuring out who was talking. From his right, someone else spoke.

  “Casualty reports coming in from all along Decks 1 and 2. Injuries reported...” Thom cut the voice off.

  “I don’t care about injuries, I want fire crews to gear up and get those fires out. I don’t care who’s bleeding; if those fires spread…” He didn’t want to contemplate the consequences enough to finish that sentence. “Can you get the engine room?”