by Michael Cole
There was no answer. Riggs was starting to sweat. They increased speed to keep pace with the creature, but it was nearing the unsuspecting yacht too quickly.
“It’s getting too close,” Riggs said. “We can’t fire the missiles without endangering the civilians.”
Salkil slammed his fist against the wall with frustration and anger.
********
Dressed in an Hawaiian shirt and blue shorts, thirty-two year old Gene Aeilts was stepping down in the companionway when he heard what sounded like a distant droning sound. It steadily grew louder over the next few seconds. His attention was drawn to it further when his younger brother, Frank, yelled from the bow hatch.
“Gene! Come out and look at this!”
Gene dropped what he was doing and hurried on deck. He could see Frank poking out past the mainsail. A skinny man, Frank pointed off the starboard bow. At first, the helicopters appeared like little black dots in the grey sky. However, with speed and a few moments time, they took definite shape and a greater magnitude in their perception.
Standing near the tiller, Gene held his hand over his brow as he watched the three military choppers approach. Grabbing the guardrail, he made his way around the cabin to get a better view. Frank looked over at him, displaying confusion and amazement, then returned his gaze toward the sky.
“What the hell’s going on?” he said.
“I have no idea,” Gene said. Over the wind and the sound of the helicopter blades, he could barely hear the crackling of the radio unit, back by the outside helm. He moved along the guardrail to get to it. As he arrived, he managed to hear the audible words, “Dangerous area. Alter course at once.” He grabbed the speaker to reply. Before muttering any response, he shuttered at Frank’s vociferous voice.
“Oh Christ! Gene! Look!” his voice sounded as alarmed as it was astonished. It was enough to have Gene more concerned than to reply to the radio. He dropped the speaker and hurried back. His eyes instinctively went to the choppers, but there was nothing different, save for the shortage in distance. He then realized his brother was looking below them, pointing with a trembling hand.
Gene sucked in air as he saw the red fin coming straight at them, preceded by rapid swells generated by the creature’s mass. He did not find it strange that it was dark red and had jagged spines protruding from it. He didn’t have time for such thoughts. His brain could only process the size of the beast, and how it was moving fast; faster than even the choppers.
Straight towards them.
For the second time in under a minute, Gene hurried back to the stern. He reached for the helm with the intent of redirecting course. His hand barely touched the maple wood when the boat shifted backwards in a violent shaking motion. Water sprayed and metal groaned as the creature collided headfirst into the starboard bow, like Moby Dick against the ill-fated Pequod.
The hybrid did not stop its forward motion after the collision. For what seemed like endless moments for the Aeilts brothers, the creature pushed the boat back, digging its head into the hull like a screw. Frank fell forward over the frame, his upper body laid over the forward hatch. Gene hugged the helm, barely keeping himself from hitting his head on the deck. The flat transom pushed back large surges of water as the boat was thrust backwards.
Finally, the shark eased up. Its tail cracked the surface as it angled down for a dive, leaving the yacht bobbing with the waves. The starboard hull was crumpled inward like tinfoil, with a large jagged crack that ran vertical like that on an egg shell.
Gene leaned off the helm and found his footing. He looked for Frank and saw him crawling from the hatch. Frank made eye contact with him, and without speaking, understood what Gene wanted him to do. Frank went to the bow rail and looked down. He suddenly felt a wave of nausea and adrenaline, not at the sight of the crushed hull or the water gushing in, but at the sudden sight of the shark as it sped upward toward their boat.
After making a brief dive, the creature had readjusted its position, and angled for an attack from beneath. Its eyes rolled back as its solid head smashed into the underbelly of its target. A thunderous echo reverberated through the surrounding sea, followed by an outward shockwave.
For an instance, the yacht was not touching the ocean, as it had been lifted several feet out of the water from the intense impact. Gravity pulled it back down, resulting in another great splash. The boat rocked hard and bobbed up and down. Frank was lifted clear off of his feet, hitting his head on the guardrail on his way down. As the boat settled, he laid on the deck as blood gushed from a gash near his right temple. Gene had fallen backwards, directly down the opening of the companionway. By luck, it was a perfect backwards summersault that didn’t result in any severe injury.
There was no time for recovery. The shark hit again, again along the starboard side. The boat, which was already tilting heavily to port, gave way to the pressure. The yacht rolled like a spit over a fire. The mast struck the water and snapped, and the ocean quickly consumed the deck. Frank’s senses were barely coming back to him as gravity pulled him off the deck and into the water. His natural instinct of breathing had come to a stop when water gushed into his nostrils. Though weak and disoriented, he started paddling until he broke the surface.
Gene threw his hands over his face as water raced into the cabin. The overwhelming force threw him backward once again. He quickly got on his feet, bringing his head above the water level before it completely flooded. He sucked in a deep breath, and the water completely flooded the interior. With arms reached out, he found the entrance and started working his way back out.
Though flooding, the boat maintained a level of buoyancy. Bits of hull, decking, and various belongings bounced in the water around it. Frank, still disoriented from his head injury, clawed along the deck in an attempt to find the surface. Pain throbbed in his head, and was only worsened by the adrenaline rush. His brain couldn’t figure whether he was upside down or swimming parallel to the deck.
Finally, he opened his eyes. Fighting through the sting of the salt water, he could see his own air bubbles race toward the surface. He realized that as he blindly “climbed” along the deck, he was actually driving himself deeper. He corrected his position and kicked his way to the surface, trailing a small stream of blood.
After tearing away chunks of the vessel, Isurus Palinuridae had determined that its inorganic enemy had been neutralized. It started swimming off, in search of another enemy to destroy. Before it could make much distance, its nostrils picked up the most desired scent: the trace of blood. The creature curved its body and turned. It felt the electrical impulses of the injured target struggling near the yacht.
Gene emerged from the cabin entry and shouted for his brother. He lifted his hand for the guardrail, now a foot above his head, and lifted himself up. Balancing on the gunwale, he scanned the water for Frank. It didn’t take long to spot him. Frank was down a ways, trying to grab onto anything to stay afloat. On his hands and knees, Gene worked his way over to his brother.
A sharp gust of wind swept downward and a massive shadow blanketed the wreck. Gene looked up. Directly above him was one of the helicopters. Out from the side door descended a rappel line, and a pararescue quickly began working his way down. Through all the chaos that had unfolded in the past few minutes, finally there appeared to be a way out. He turned and reached his arm out for Frank, floating horizontally as he clung to the boat.
His hand had barely extended out when the large red shape emerged. Jaws hyperextended, engulfing Frank up to his upper torso. Teeth punctured through the breastplate and trapezius muscle as the jaws came down on him. There was no time for Gene to react, or for Frank to endure the pain. As the shark snatched its prey, it did not slow its course.
It immediately collided once again with the yacht. Frank’s head, still exposed from the creature’s mouth, was smashed into the deck, instantly caving in his skull. Bits of debris sprang from the point of impact like shrapnel. The yacht spun in the water like a fan. Ge
ne fell headfirst into the water. After twisting and turning, he emerged at the surface, just as the bow swung in his direction. Caught up in the swell, he struggled to keep his head above the water. Finally, the boat settled. Only a few yards from it, he quickly made his way back.
He bent his fingers around the edges of broken deck and slowly climbed upward. Behind him was the sound of swishing water. He dared to look back. The terrible red fin had surfaced again, and just a few feet ahead of it, he could see the pointed head of the shark coming toward him.
Just a few feet to the right was the forward hatch. He reached and grabbed the frame. He drew a breath and pulled himself through the three-foot opening into the cabin unit. Gene had barely cleared the frame as the beast smashed through. Wood and fiberglass exploded inward, making way for the shark’s six-foot girth. Its jaws snapped, desperate to get to Gene, who backstroked to the back of the cabin. He found the door, which led to the interior hallway. He opened it, only to make the horrible discovery that the walls had caved the hallway in. There was no way out, and the only oxygen he had remaining was in his lungs.
After its failed attempt to devour Gene, the creature’s brain alerted to the imperative need to oxygenate its blood. With its head caught in the yacht, it could not swim forward to fulfill this need. And it could not swim backward, due to its imperfect physical design, not only by its creator, but nature itself. It attempted to twist itself and wiggle free, but it was pressed tightly within the ravaged enclosure. It was stuck. The beast lashed its tail from side to side, trying to wiggle free of its entrapment. The entire vessel shook from the creature’s force, which continued to break it apart.
********
From up above, it looked as if the ocean was quaking from an underwater earthquake. Salkil solemnly watched the shark’s tail flap in the air. They could hear the loud creaks as the boat steadily broke apart. Ripples expanded around the carnage in near perfect rings. Above, the pararescue was hoisted back into the chopper, which then swerved around to join the other two in formation. Exhaling sharply, Salkil leaned in toward the pilots.
“Do it now,” he said. Both Riggs and Sherman looked up at him. To Riggs, the expression on the Colonel’s face was almost as bloodcurdling as the slaughter taking place below.
“Sir?” Riggs said. Salkil turned his gaze toward him.
“You heard me, Ensign! Fire the missiles,” Salkil said. He looked at Sherman. “Lieutenant, don’t waste any time! Destroy it!” Sherman didn’t say anything, as if battling the mental dilemma in his mind. Never before had he had to fire on a civilian vessel.
“Sir!” Riggs said. “We cannot fire! We still have at least one civilian in the kill zone!” Salkil grabbed his head by the helmet. Riggs felt a crack in his neck as the Colonel forcefully turned his head to look at the shark.
“Look down there, pilot!” Salkil snarled. “Those people, as far as we know are DEAD! If not, there’s no saving them! We already tried! But that fucking shark…if we don’t kill it here and now then it will kill more! You want more days like today? There’s no stopping it…except here!” He let go of Riggs’ helmet. There was a brief, uneasy pause between the pilots. Lt. Sherman pressed the transmitter to speak to the other pilots.
“Viper Three to Four and Five…” he said. He took a breath, “Civilians are dead. Colonel Salkil’s orders are to fire all hellfire missiles at target. On my mark, all units fire.” He released the transmitter and hoped his lie would bring ease to the other pilots. Riggs clicked a few switches, equivalent to switching off the safety feature on a firearm. They gazed down at the fish to set their aim. Its rapid motion caused the boat to rotate again, facing the hull toward them. They could not see the shark directly, but the constant shaking of the boat confirmed its presence.
The shark twisted with all its might, further ravaging the hatch frame that it enlarged after penetrating the cabin. Its jaws snapped viciously, not out of hunger, but as a result of the shark flexing every available muscle to free itself. It tilted its head up and down and side to side, while flapping its tail.
In a twisting, corkscrew motion, the shark caused further splintering of the sides. Bits of the entrapment broke away, and the shark managed to simply drift from the hole due to the backpressure in the boat. It tilted down to dive.
“Open fire!” Sherman said. Boosting flares ignited at the rear of several rockets, launching them at the yacht. In less than a moment, the yacht was transformed into one enormous fireball. A mountain of fire rose above the water like a big orange cloud, as if a volcano was letting loose its fury. Unrecognizable bits of burning debris arched thousands of feet in the air before crashing back down. Smoke billowed and twisted into various shapes as it climbed into the grey sky.
Salkil looked down at both the pilots’ monitor and tracking screen. There was no reading of the creature, nor the boat itself. He stood straight, maintaining the posture of an officer, and placed his hand gently on Riggs’ shoulder.
“Good job gentlemen,” he said in a soft tone. He didn’t wait for a response. He knew the feeling of rout within them. He stepped back into the cabin and took a seat. He stared past Logan, out the open window, where he could still see the smoke filling the sky. Logan watched the Colonel, noticing how his demeanor returned to being normal and collected.
Unknown to Logan, Salkil, though he wouldn’t show it, was weeping inside from the order he had no choice but to give. Thought it was not the first time civilians of any nation had perished under his command, it was he who had directly issued an order resulting in such tragedy.
The radio blared, “This is the USS Freedom approaching. Please relay any updates on the pursuit.”
CHAPTER
3
The black tornado of smoke had thinned to a grey, see-through vortex. Most of the fire had quickly died down, both from sea water extinguishing it, and from the flammable material being burnt out. The floating remains, smoldering from the heat, drifted apart from each other, while the disintegrated bulk of the yacht sank to the ocean bottom, where the current would further ravage it.
Salkil watched salvage crews aboard life rafts inspect the wreckage, while he stood at the edge of the starboard bow on the USS Freedom. Patrol boats roamed the waters around them, to provide protection in the unlikely event that the threat still lurked beneath.
That threat is what bothered Colonel Salkil. In his mind, he knew there was very little chance that the creature survived. Eight missiles had rained down on the yacht, four of which from his chopper, while the others fired two each. That would be enough to turn a freighter into an unrecognizable heap, much less a simple shark of twenty-three feet.
Except it was no simple shark. Even the Colonel was shocked that .50 caliber bullets were incapable of penetrating its shell. How well could it have protected against explosives? Even in this case, it seemed implausible that the creature survived. Yet, Salkil would not be satisfied until presented with physical evidence that it was dead.
Clangs of approaching footsteps drew Salkil’s attention behind him. Marching toward him was Admiral Joel Ford, accompanied by the ship’s Captain, and a few MPs who stood guard, like Secret Service to the President. Dressed in his whites, with his ribbons of decorations pinned to his left jacket breast, the fifty-three-year old Admiral was no man to be trifled with. And Salkil, to his disenchantment, was forced into a position to do such a thing.
“Colonel, you’d better have a damned good explanation for this!” The Admiral barked. The Colonel postured and presented a salute.
“With all due respect, sir,” he said, “none of this would have occurred had you listened to me in the first place.” He kept his tone neutral and non-antagonizing. However, as he always did and always would do, he would speak the cold hard truth. Admiral Ford stopped three feet in front of him. He stared at the Colonel with angry, fiery eyes that would kill if able.
“Colonel, if you had properly informed me of what this creature was, I would have listened. But because of your s
ecrecy, several of my men are dead and injured. You better be damned sure that I’ll be presenting to Washington with this case, and …”
“Again, with respect, Admiral,” Salkil interrupted him, “Washington was who sent me out here, and presented you orders to assist. It is you who ignored my instructions, and thus, soldiers and civilians are dead.”
“Excuse me, Colonel,” the Admiral said. “Are you suggesting this is my fault?”
“If there is fault, I would place it with the individual who created this abomination. I can’t mention his name, but you might be pleased to know he’s no longer around.”
“As in deceased?”
“Aye, sir,” Salkil said. Ford took a step forward.
“I never delight in death,” he said. “Not even for those who deserve it. Now, I deserve an explanation of what happened. You informed me that we were chasing a shark. Needless to say, that was no ordinary shark.”
“No,” Salkil said. “It wasn’t.” A shout from one of the salvage boats drew his attention back to the wreck. The boats had piles of debris loaded up. Bits of metal, wood, fiberglass, and floatable accessories were piled up on the deck of the three boats. Using a net, they hauled a large object up over the side. Salkil lifted his binoculars to see. It was red, over two feet across, with black burn marks, at least three inches thick. He lifted his portable radio. “Bring that over here.”
The boat quickly drew near the Destroyer. Salkil looked down at the sailor who lifted the object up toward him, providing the best view. No doubt, it was a portion of shell.
“Be sure to isolate that from the other wreckage,” Salkil informed him. “That’ll be all.” The boat returned to the salvage operation. Seeing the piece of shell brought mild relief to the Colonel. Yet, it just wasn’t enough. He desired more, something more definitive. “We’re going to need submersibles out here.”