Harold’s men tried to fall back, but the squids swept over them a like tidal wave of death. A few squids stopped to feed on the bodies of the team, but the bulk of them continued forward.
Commander Les Johnson led two more of the Arrington’s Security Alert teams head on towards the things. Johnson lobbed a grenade into the moving mass of limbs in front of him and ducked as it detonated. The explosion filled the air with sticky, black pulp, blowing apart nearly a dozen of the squids. The blast and the death of their brethren didn’t even slow the other squids down. They came on like a giant, red juggernaut.
Johnson and his team opened up at them. M-16s chattered. MP9’s cracked. Even the occasional thunder of a twelve gauge joined in the cacophony of battle. Squid after squid gave a strange cry of pain that was an inhuman cross between a hiss and shriek as they died, but there was just too many of the things. Johnson watched his men begin to die one by one as the squids reached them. The things didn’t just move along the deck, they raced along the walls of the ship as well, their main bodies sticking out sideways with the points of their heads, for lack of a better word, pointed out towards the water.
A squid took a burst of fire as it leapt at him. The burst caught it so close to Johnson that the thing’s black blood splattered over him like a putrid rain. He wiped the sticky, slime-like crud from his eyes and face with the backside of his hand, barely bringing his shotgun back up in time to get off a shot at the squid behind it. His shotgun boomed. Its heavy round reduced the squid’s main body to a mess of pulp that stained the deck of the ship. Pumping a fresh round into his shotgun’s chamber, he heard a man screaming behind him. Johnson cocked his head around to see Ben, one of the NCOs of his squad, being lifted from the deck by the tentacles of two squids. The creatures were having a tug of war with him, or at least they were until Ben’s body gave out and ripped in half across his abdomen. One creature got his legs and lower torso while the other got his still-screaming head and the half that went with it.
Johnson spat a litany of curses as he continued to retreat and blew another squid apart. He had only had two rounds left now and there was no time to reload. If he paused to do so, he was dead and he knew it.
Another of his men died as one of the squids flung itself from the wall of the ship onto him and the two of them went toppling over the side railing into the waves below.
“Fall back!” Johnson yelled to the men who were still alive and retreating in the same direction he was. There was nowhere to fallback to though. The direction they were headed only led to more of the squids who had scampered onto the ship’s deck between them and the entrance to its interior.
Johnson spent his last round saving one of his men who was pinned to the deck with one of the squids on top of him. He rolled away from the splattered remains of the squid that Johnson’s shot had took out only to have the tentacle of another squid close around his neck. Johnson watched as it constricted and popped the man’s head from his shoulders. The man’s head rolled along the deck to disappear beneath the tentacles of a fresh mass of squids that was closing in fast.
Fishing a handful of rounds from his pocket, Johnson tried to shove one into his shotgun’s chamber. It went flying from his hand as tentacle slammed into his back and knocked him from his feet. His shotgun went bouncing from his hands as he hit the deck so hard he felt the air leave his lungs. Struggling to breathe, Johnson ripped his MP9 from the holster on his hip and brought it up at the squid that stood over him. The thing’s stance reminded him for a picture he had seen in an old paperback of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds. Its two main tentacles or arms slashed madly over him as it stood on the others.
The MP9 barked over and over again as Johnson emptied half its magazine, point blank, into the creature. The squid gave a squeal that sounded like air streaming out of a leaking tire and jumped out of his line of fire. Its powerful limbs sent it soaring to land several yards from where it had been.
Johnson hurled himself to his feet, popping off two rounds at another squid that dove at him from his right. The rounds met the squid head-on and explosions of black blood erupted into the air from where they dug into its body. They weren’t enough to stop the creature’s momentum though, and only seemed to tick it off more before it collided with him.
The squid’s weight wasn’t enough to take Johnson down again, though. Instead, he found himself with the creature wrapped about his body as its many arms slithered and slashed over him. Each arm left bright trails of red and torn flesh in its wake as it tightened around him, but that pain was nothing compared to the thing’s beak. It was pressed against his stomach where he could feel it ripping away chunks of him. Purple, red-soaked strands of intestines bulged from the wounds the beak tore in him. Johnson gave one last cry of pain before his world went dark and his life was over.
On the Arrington’s bridge, Captain Holland and his XO stared at the ship’s forward window. One minute there had been the view of the blue sky and the water ahead of the ship, the next there was nothing but red. A mass of moving, writhing bodies covered it. Tentacles whipped up against the thickened glass trying to break through it.
The squids were already onboard the Arrington so her weapons were useless against them.
Communications Officer Delores Fagan was doing her best to let the other ships of DESRON 22 know what was happening aboard the Arrington when suddenly she looked up from her console and screamed, “The comm. is down, sir! Those things must have taken out the transmitters!”
The forward window of the Arrington’s bridge was beginning to fracture. Tiny spiderweb-like cracks ran up and down its surface.
“Everyone off the bridge!” Weston shouted, heading for the door himself.
Captain Holland stood, paralyzed, partly from fear and partly from the awe he felt of the sight in front of him as he watched the mass of squids pressed up against the window.
“Sir!” Weston called but Holland didn’t hear him. He was entirely focused on the squids.
Then the window caved inward…
The squids managed to get into the Arrington’s interior by any way they could: broken windows, left open bulkheads, it didn’t matter so long as they were able to continue pursuing their prey. And despite the hastily handed out weapons from the ship’s stores, her sailors were just that — prey.
****
Captain Marcus was in shock as his XO told him again, “Sir, we’ve lost all contact with the Arrington.”
Marcus shook his head, clearing it. “I heard you the first time,” he growled.
“The squids appear to have come out of the water, sir, scaling the sides of her hull, and engaging the Arrington’s Security Alert Teams.”
“The squids are closing on us too, sir!” Venkman informed Marcus. “ETA less than two minutes!”
“Evasive maneuvers!” Marcus snapped. “Full military power!”
Marcus knew it was too little, too late. A ship the size of the Whiteside would never be able to turn about and gain enough speed before creatures as fast and agile in the water as the squids could move.
“Battle stations! Bring the ship’s CIWS online!” Marcus’s XO added.
The CIWS came instantly to life as soon as the parameters of its target were uploaded. One gun fired then another. Each pumped five thousand rounds a minute into the waves around the Arrington as she veered about in the water. The water grew black and thick around her hull.
“Sir!” his XO shouted. “I have reports of the squids boarding us on the portside!”
“Scramble all the Security Alert teams!” Marcus ordered. “We can’t allow them to gain a foothold or we’re as dead as the Arrington!”
“Yes, sir!” his XO barked before moving to carry out the order.
****
Captain Wirtz had already ordered the Peterson’s helmsman to bring her about and bring her to full speed as the carnage aboard the Arrington was taking place. He knew he should have waited for Captain Marcus’s order to do so, but he’d be damn
ed if he was going to sit back and watch his men die. Wirtz was glad he had made that call. Those on the Peterson’s bridge had heard the howls and desperate cries for help over the open comm. channel to the Arrington until those cries had suddenly been replaced by silence and the crackle of dead air.
Every officer Wirtz could spare was busy raiding the ship’s stores and passing out weapons to anyone who would take one. Wirtz’s Security Alert Teams were already on the Peterson’s primary decks too, armed to the teeth, and well aware of what might be coming at them if Wirtz’s actions weren’t enough to get the large ship clear in time.
Sargent Wike, the CO of the ship’s topside defenders, gritted his teeth as he looked over the railing at the mass of swarming red in the water to the Peterson’s portside. So far, that mass was remained a good distance away, but he knew that could change in a heartbeat. He pumped his twelve gauge, chambering a round. At this point, all he could do was wait and a mumble a prayer.
Wirtz had also stationed detachments of the ship’s marines at other key points inside her. Engineering and the entrances to the bridge were guarded by veteran killers like Wike, equally ready to face whatever came at them.
“Any word from the Whiteside?” Wirtz asked his comm. officer.
“None, sir,” came the quick response.
Sonar Tech Lee motioned for Wirtz and Charles’ attention. “Sir! The Emerson! She’s gone, sir!”
Wirtz and Charles rushed towards the sonar station to join Lee at his post.
“Those squids overrun her too?” Charles asked.
“I wouldn’t bet on that, Charles. Davis is one sharp cookie. If they got her, they didn’t do it without a fight,” Wirtz said.
Lee was frantically shaking his head. “No, sir, you don’t understand. The Emerson is gone. She’s not on my screen anymore.”
Wirtz’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “What do you mean she’s not there?”
“Something the size of a naval frigate doesn’t just disappear, son,” Charles said so angrily that spittle flew from his lips as he spoke.
“One second, she was there in formation and the next she was just gone. Check for yourself, sir. There’s no sign of her,” Lee protested.
“What in the devil is that?” Charles asked, his finger stabbing a large dot on the screen that was close to the position where the Emerson should have been.
“Whatever it is, it isn’t anything good,” Wirtz told Charles. “That thing is almost a time and a half larger than the Whiteside… And it’s moving.”
“You don’t think…” Charles stammered.
“Another shoal even larger than the first one?” Wirtz asked.
“I don’t think so, sir,” Lee told them both. “That thing is solid.”
“All the more reason to get out of here as fast as we can,” Wirtz concluded. “I, for one, don’t want to find out what it is the hard way.”
“Agreed,” Charles nodded.
“What about the Emerson?” Lee asked.
“She’s on her own,” Wirtz said, trying not to sound too cold. He liked Davis, liked her a lot actually, but this war and it was “every man for himself” time if there ever was one. “Is that detachment for the main shoal still closing on us?”
Lee nodded. “We’re up to around twenty-eight knots and pouring on all we can, sir. They’re pulling about twenty nine as of now.”
“We’ve got a head start on those things at least,” Charles commented. “That’s more than the others had.”
“How long until they overtake us?” Wirtz squeezed Lee’s shoulder.
“At present speeds, we’ve stretched the original four minutes we had to over ten, sir. More if we continue to gain speed as quickly as we have been,” Lee answered.
Wirtz whirled about on his weapons officer. “Can we get a firing solution on them without endangering the other ships of the DESRON?”
The Peterson’s weapons officer was a middle-aged, snaggle-toothed fellow named Melton. He cocked his head as he appeared to mull over Wirtz’s question. “Does that include the Arrington, sir?”
“Yes. It does.” Wirtz wished it didn’t. “She may be lost but there might still be sailors alive on her in her lower decks.”
“It’d be difficult but I think I can manage it,” Melton shrugged.
“Do it,” Wirtz ordered. “Take the detachment of squids pursuing us under guns and get a lock on them. Fire at will.”
The Peterson wasn’t truly equipped for sub-warfare. Most of her weapons were geared towards surface and airborne enemies, but like most of the new ships of the DESRON, she also sported hull-mounted torpedo launchers. She only had four, two aft facing, and two forward.
Wirtz watched nervously as Melton acquired his target and fired. Both of the aft launchers put torpedoes in the water. They streaked under the waves to intercept the mass of squids in pursuit of the Peterson. The water spouted upwards towards the sky in black tinted geysers above the point where they made contact with the mass of squids.
“Torpedoes one and two are both direct hits, sir!” Lee shouted excitedly.
Wirtz didn’t blame the sonar tech for his outburst. It was about time DESRON 22 drew some blood in return for the loss of the Arrington and the Emerson. Each ship had upwards of a hundred members of crew on them and if they weren’t already dead, the odds were they would be before the day was through. Wirtz held out hope that there were crewmen left alive aboard the Arrington and fighting to remain so until help could reach them. Sadly, he had no means of doing so at the present time. The DESRON had no carrier in its ranks. Only the Whiteside was carrying any a bird. A Seawolf rested on her helipad. The Whiteside, though, wasn’t in any position to launch her. Odds are she was as overrun as the Arrington by now. There had been no word from Captain Marcus since the shoal’s original separation and engagement of the DESRON.
He really wanted to blame Captain Marcus for all the souls death had already claimed today, but just couldn’t bring his self to do it. No one, really no one, could have seen something like what the DESRON was facing now coming.
Wirtz knew his best hope of helping the men aboard the Arrington, if indeed there were any left alive, was to get the heck out of here and return when the main shoal of squids had moved on. If the events aboard that cruise liner were an indication, they would move on after they fed.
“We’re pulling ahead of the squids, sir!” Lee added somehow managing to sound even more excited. “The torpedoes must have done a lot of damage to them. If I am reading my screen correctly, the size of the sub-shoal in pursuit of us has been reduced in size by almost forty percent.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Charles pointed reminded him as Wirtz moved to sit in his command chair.
“No, we’re not,” Wirtz agreed. “Have we been able to get a message to command back home and let them know what’s happening out here?”
Charles shook his head. “Something is interfering with the long-range comms.”
“Figures,” Wirtz snorted.
Charles laughed. “Could be worse.”
“Worse than being chased by a pack of men-eating squids which have already taken out two of our destroyers and most likely a third as well?” Wirtz challenged him. “Tell me, how does it get worse than that?”
“Could be a pack of Megalodons,” Charles joked in an attempt to break the tension everyone on the Peterson’s bridge was feeling.
Wirtz couldn’t help it. He laughed at that the joke despite the mess they were in.
“Okay, I’ll give you that one,” he conceded with a wry grin.
“Lee, what’s the status of the unknown contact near the Emerson’s last known position?” Wirtz asked.
“It’s gone, sir,” Lee said, again sounding as if he didn’t believe his own report.
Wirtz let out a frustrated sigh. “Of course it is.”
“Mr. Melton, if you would, please take the approaching detachment of squids under guns again and give them one more reason why they don’t wa
nt to keep following us.”
“Yes, sir!” Melton answered with perhaps a bit too much mad glee in his voice. “Tubes 3 and 4, torpedoes away!”
The second volley almost finished the detachment of squids trailing the Peterson entirely. Lee reported that what remained of them broke up into smaller groups and changed course, giving up their pursuit.
“Looks like that did it,” Charles smiled.
“Maybe,” Wirtz said. “We still need to get clear of whatever is causing the interference with the long-range comms. We have to get a message out and let command know about what’s happening here. There are sailors aboard the Arrington and the Whiteside who are likely in dire need of help that we ourselves are in no position to render.”
“Sir,” Lee called to Wirtz. “I’ve got that large contact back on my screen!”
“Position and heading?” Wirtz asked keeping his tone calm.
“It’s under us, sir,” Lee said.
Wirtz frowned just before the Peterson lurched around him. He could hear the metal of her hull bending inward and straining against some outside pressure that was being applied to it as he was thrown from his seat to topple head first to the deck.
Charles was flung across the bridge. He struck the forward wall with the sickening, snapping sound of breaking bones.
Lee screamed as the sonar station erupted in flames and blew out in front of him. He leaped from his seat, the arms of his uniform ablaze and his features twisted into a grotesque visage of pain.
Part of the bridge ceiling collapsed and tumbled downwards onto the helm. The helmsman threw himself away from his station just in time to avoid being crushed, only to bash his head so hard on the deck that blood leaked from the corners of his mouth where he lay unconscious only a few feet from Wirtz.
The last thing Wirtz saw before he died was the view of a tentacle too large to put into words through the Peterson’s forward bridge window as it came crashing down onto the ship.
****
Commander Spraker’s worry about DESRON 22’s situation turned to panic as he read over the reports Arron had given him. They weren’t as detailed as he was would have liked but that wasn’t Arron’s or anyone else’s fault among his crew. There had been no direct communications between the Peart and the main body of DESRON 22, but his comm. officer, Megan, had managed to get the comm. back online from whatever the sudden, out of nowhere interference that had stuck it to catch bits and pieces of DESRON 22’s final moments. And yes, if what the reports contained were even half true, DESRON 22 was gone, at least its main body of destroyers at any rate. The Peart had managed to make contact with two of the other frigates on patrol, one of which belonged to his friend, Cordova.
Kraken Page 6