by JE Gurley
“If,” Asa snapped, clearly agitated. He had grown more belligerent as the journey had progressed. At first, Will had attributed the mechanic’s hostility to lack of sleep and exhaustion, like almost all his crew, but Asa’s ire seemed directed at him personally. “If we had remained where we were, we could have fixed this pile of scrap. Hell, we could have held up a fucking cardboard sign asking a helicopter pilot to drop us a few spare parts. Now, we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere on a sinking boat, and no one else has a goddamned clue where we are.”
“She’ll stay afloat. Insult me, but don’t insult my boat.”
Asa slid down from the minigun and stood in front of Will. “For how long? One of the bilge pumps is out of commission, and we’re out of fuel for the portable pump. It won’t run on diesel, you know. Even I can’t change that. In a few hours, we’ll be getting our feet wet and for what? So you can play war games?”
“This is no game, Mr. Iverson, and yes, I’m well aware of the situation. I have five dead friends to attest to that. Now, why don’t you make yourself useful and see if you can perform some mechanical miracle with what we do have and save our asses?” He allowed his voice to rise at the end of his tirade to the mechanic, hoping Asa would accept the challenge.
Asa spread his hands. “Well, as long as you’ve asked so nicely.”
He swung and stalked away, quickly disappearing below deck.
“He’s scared,” Simon said. “He’s been here before, you know.” He sniffed the air. “I wonder if it smelled this bad when the Global Kulik sank.”
Will stared at the bubbles rising around them, dark brown and unpalatable, like bubbles blown through a straw into a glass of chocolate milk. It surprised him that gas still leaked from the subsea cavern after almost a year. That meant some pockets of primeval atmosphere remained in the cavern. Instead of a single vast cavern that had lost its roof, the subsea opening could lead to a series of vast chambers filled with who knew what horrors. He shook his head to quell that line of thinking.
“I realize that. He just rubs me the wrong way,” Will admitted.
Simon laughed. “I’ve been told I rub people the wrong way, but I’m a darling when you get to know me.” His expression grew more serious. “Maybe he objects to being shanghaied.”
Will winced. He had no defense against the charge Simon levied against him. That was exactly what he had done, shanghaied them. It might wind up ending his career, if he lived long enough to face court martial. “You were castaways, and I took you aboard. When the Utah set off in pursuit of the monster megalodon, I had no time to transfer you to another ship.”
“You mean you wouldn’t take the time. The Kirby was only a few hours away, but you chose to follow the Utah. Oh, I don’t blame you. It’s what I would have done, but Asa thinks differently.” He paused. “Maybe your superiors will, too.”
“Damn you!” Will growled. “I don’t need civilians trying to run my boat or question my decision. If you’ve nothing better to do, go below and make some sandwiches, cook.”
Simon narrowed his eyes. “That’s chef to you, and you’d better watch it, Admiral. I’m as close to a friend as you have on this boat. I don’t think you’d win any popularity contests with your crew.”
“This is a Navy vessel. My crew will follow orders.”
“Your crew is mostly dead, remember.”
Will turned on Simon, his fists clenched, angry that the chef had reminded him of his failures. He fought the urge to lash out, to strike something in lieu of the megalodon they were after.
“You have a disgruntled Navy diver, a civilian mechanic, and a civilian cook aboard,” Simon continued, ignoring Will’s threatening posture. “In case of a mutiny, you might find yourself swimming home.”
He left, leaving Will alone on deck. He glanced inside the cabin at Apone, who looked away. Had he overheard the conversation? Was Simon right? Was his crew near mutiny? Had he led them on a six-hundred-mile goose chase? So far, he had lost his First Officer Rich Hall, Chief Gunner’s Mate John Mason, Chief Engineer Chico Rodriguez, Bosun’s Mate Second-Class Brad Pierce, and electronics technician Zeke McGee—over half his crew. Add to that tally Anderson, the downed Viper pilot. Would he kill the rest?
Grayson cleared his throat. “Uh, Skipper, I might have a plan on establishing communications with someone.”
“Speak up, Grayson.”
“Well, Asa and I were talking. It would mean stripping away most of our power, but it could work.” He paused, and then said, as if convincing himself, “Yeah, it could work.”
“Spit it out, Grayson.”
“If we replace the solar cells we stripped from the drones, adjust their telemetry, and stagger them just within range of each other and the Sunfish, it might be possible to piggyback a radio signal from drone to drone. We could extend our radio range out to a couple of hundred miles.”
“It’ll work?” he asked. It was almost too much to hope for.
“Maybe. Problem is; it’ll leave us only with the emergency solar cell and what juice remains in the batteries. We'll need it all for the radio. That means no pumps.”
Will rubbed the top of his head, noting the stubble of hair growing back. When was the last time he had shaved his head? When was the last time he had showered? Three days since Rich died. Two days since reaching the Vanguard. Only one day since the battle? It didn’t seem right. The days jumbled together into one another with some events seeming out of place in his mind.
With no pumps, they would sink within half a day, but with no communication, they would eventually sink anyway. Not only their lives, but also the lives of the crew of the Utah depended on his decision, and so far, his record was less than perfect. He tossed a mental coin.
“Do it,” he said.
He hoped he had made the right choice.
* * * *
It took Asa, Grayson, and Levitt two hours to replace the solar cells on the drones’ wings and install the necessary electronics to piggyback their broadcast signal. During that time, another two inches of water flowed into the bilge. At that pace, they would soon be bailing with buckets.
“Ready,” Grayson announced. In spite of the chill in the air, perspiration covered his forehead.
“Release the drones,” Will said, hating his choice of words. It sounded too much like ‘Release the Kraken’ or some other movie lingo.
“I’ll guide each one out as far as I can until the signal weakens; then, bring it back in a little and place it in a circular path around the boat. I’ll piggyback subsequent drones to the first, ranging father out with each one. The farthest drone will make a long sweep, so it may take a while to pick up any signal.”
Will nodded. “Do the best you can.”
He watched the drones soar away one at a time and felt a moment of hope. If not a ship of the fleet, they might pick up a signal from a commercial fishing boat or aircraft, anyone with a radio. The megalodon had returned to its home, and he felt helpless sitting around doing nothing. If the creature decided to leave, they would lose it, perhaps for good.
He glanced at Asa watching the drones wing away. In spite of Asa’s hard feelings toward him, the mechanic had performed well. If swallowing his pride would heal the rift between them, he would try. He didn’t have the time or energy for a war on two fronts.
“Thanks for helping,” he said.
Asa shrugged. “It’s my ass in the sling, too.”
“Look, I regret hijacking you and Simon. I condoned my actions at the time based on expediency. I should have waited and allowed you both, as well as Haig and Johnson, to leave. In my haste to do my duty, I placed your lives in danger. I was wrong.”
Asa shuffled his feet. “It’s a little late for apologies. I’m stuck out here.” He waved his hand out toward the emptiness around them. A grimace rode the lines of his face, as he said, “This where my world fell apart, you know.” He stared down into the depths as if trying to see the bones of the Global Kulik lying on the bottom.
Asa’s obvious distress moved Will. He tried to understand how the mechanic felt. There had never been a time in his life that he had not wanted to be or had worked to become a sailor. That other people lived their lives with a sense of honor or duty different from his was a difficult concept to absorb. “I know. I’m sorry. It may be too late, but I offer my apology nevertheless.” He offered his hand to Asa.
Asa hesitated. Will wasn’t sure if he would accept the peace gesture.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Asa, shake his hand,” Simon barked out. “It’s too late to hold a grudge.” He had watched the entire conversation from the cabin door. He smiled at Asa and hugged his chest. “It’s too damn cold to fight.”
Asa shook Will’s hand. “Truce.”
“That’s better,” Simon said. He walked over and slapped both men on the back. “I have a few sips of Scotch left, it you care for some?”
Will shook his head. “Too much to do.” He looked at Asa. “We’re sinking, you know.”
Asa smiled. “I’ll take a drop to fight the cold.”
“Don’t overdo it. This is still a Navy vessel.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” both Asa and Simon said in unison.
This time, Will smiled.
* * * *
Asa’s dread settled over him like a dark storm cloud. The nearer they had gotten to their destination, the more difficult it had become to breathe. The foul air brought back bitter memories but did not shorten his breath. That came from the weight of his guilt sitting heavy on his chest. His logical mind fought to remind him that he had not caused Ilsa’s death or anyone else’s death, but the vision of the megalodon circling his makeshift raft swept aside such thoughts. The intense fear he experienced extended as far back in his memory as his mind could reach, as if it had always been a part of him. Did his fear prevent him from saving her, or did the fear come later, after the event? He no longer knew. Which begat the other, the fear or her death?
He had no target upon which to vent his fear and his frustrations with the Sunfish’s engine except her captain. He knew it was a useless gesture aimed at the wrong target, but it didn’t matter. He had to strike out at something or explode. First, he had let Simon enlist him in his hopeless one-man crusade; then, the captain of the Sunfish had recruited him in his. He had no say so in the matter; therefore, he felt like flotsam swept inland before a tidal surge, or an engine running wide open with no shutoff switch. Neither event could end other than badly.
He had accepted Will’s apology begrudgingly to placate Simon. He was sure the captain meant it, but an apology solved nothing as far as Asa was concerned. He was still in the middle of the Chukchi Sea on a sinking boat.
He threw back the shot of Scotch offered by Simon, letting the burn race down his throat. Months earlier, he could not have stopped with only one shot. Now, he must.
“Good stuff,” he said.
Simon downed his shot, looked at the bottle with its single shot left inside, and frowned.
“Don’t look at me, Simon. It’s your Scotch.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He poured the dregs into his glass and downed it in one gulp. “I’m going to miss that,” he said of the empty bottle of Bunnahabhain.
“Save the bottle,” Asa told him. “We might need to put a note with an S.O.S. inside and send it riding the waves.”
Simon cocked his head slightly to one side and stared at Asa. “You’re getting cynical.”
Asa chuckled. “Getting? Man, my cynicism is world renown.”
“Help will come,” Simon pronounced, slapping the tabletop, and then glanced around to see if he had woken Haig and Levitt, who were trying to catch some shuteye. Neither man stirred.
“Yeah?” Asa asked, speaking more softly. “Which will come first, the Navy or that big bruiser of a megalodon?”
“Get a grip,” Simon growled. “You sound like an old man waiting for the Grim Reaper.”
Asa shook his head. “I would like to become an old man, but the future looks damn bleak right now.”
“When I’m baking a cake, I always look at the batter and think, ‘This isn’t going to come out right. It’s too thin or too thick.’ It’s always something, but the cake comes out perfect—light and moist.”
Asa cocked his head to one side and stared at Simon. “Are you trying to teach me how to bake, or is there a point to your anecdote?”
“I’m trying to say you can’t let first appearances fool you. Don’t let the ghosts of the past drag you down with them.”
“You’re one to talk.”
Simon nodded. “You’re right. I let my vendetta rule my life for a long time. I still want to kill the megalodon, but it’s not so burning anymore.” He looked at Asa. “Maybe you put Ilsa’s ghost to rest for me.”
“It’s …” Asa hesitated, unsure how to explain. “I’ve come full circle. I’m in the very spot I almost died, where everyone but me died. I didn’t choose to come back here; yet, here I am. That … this can’t be a coincidence.”
“You think fate brought you back here?”
Asa shrugged. He wasn’t sure what forces were in play. “I can’t discount it.”
Simon shook his head. “No, that’s too philosophical for me. We’re here because that great beast of a megalodon is here. Our lives and it entwine somehow. I don’t believe in fate, but I think we’re being offered a chance at redemption.”
“Redemption? Now who’s waxing philosophical? We’re here, all right, but we may just be here to drown. It may be as simple as that.”
Simon sat back, rolling the empty Scotch bottle in his hands. “Maybe so.”
Asa rose from his seat. “It’s all moot if we sink. I’m going to see if I can do something about the worst leaks.”
Simon shot Asa a quizzical look. “How can you use the welder with no power?”
“There’s a small handheld torch.” He shrugged. “It’s better than nothing.”
Simon set the empty bottle on the table. “No Scotch left. I guess I’ll come with you. I can’t fit through the bilge hatch, but I can lend moral support.”
Asa smiled. Simon had changed. He liked this Simon better. He seemed more the man he probably had been before the death of his sister. Now, if only I can become more of the man I was.
18
December 28, 2018, 6:00 p.m. Russian Icebreaker Prilagat’ Usiliya, Chukchi Sea–
The Russian nuclear icebreaker Prilagat’ Usiliya was far from her normal waters. The maritime ministry had ordered the ship deep into the Chukchi Sea, ostensibly to observe changes in the sea due to the algae incursion and expansion of primeval sea life. Anastasiy Berezhnoy suspected his mission had more to do with the American Fleet than megalodon sharks. His ship was a target, sent to test the Americans’ will. He did not like his ship or his crew used in such a manner.
Her captain stood at the helm of his ship, wheel gripped firmly in his rough, weathered hands. He and the well-worn mahogany wheel, polished smooth by so many hands at the helm over the decades of her life, felt as one, as if the wood and his flesh were part of the same entity, the Usiliya. He felt the vibrations of the grinding ice crushed by the ship’s prow through the wooden wheel, using it to judge his path through the white expanse. It was possible he was wrong about the ministry. The warmer water flowing from the undersea cavern had reduced the winter sea ice. From the Kara Sea, the Laptev, to the East Siberian Sea, the waterways were free of ice. His icebreaker had no function in an iceless sea. Perhaps his mission was simply good Russian pragmatism at work—utilizing scarce resources. The region north of the Chukchi Sea remained ice covered, pushed southward from the colder north. His vessel was the ideal choice for the task.
He had much rather be at home with his wife for the holidays, the last before his retirement, but here he was a thousand miles from home in unknown waters searching for giant sharks.
Something had occurred in the Beaufort Sea, something the Americans did not wish known. Their U.S. Arctic Fleet was now
steaming in his direction. He did not want to be here when they arrived.
“Evgeni, check with the lookouts. See if they have sighted anything?”
Evgeni Aleyev, his first officer, scratched his head. “What, Anastasiy?”
“I don’t know,” Anastasiy snapped. “Anything.”
Aleyev recoiled from Anastasiy’s harsh tone, and he immediately regretted showing his frustration. More gently, he added, “Ask them if they see any of the gray algae. I wish to avoid it if possible.”
Aleyev nodded and left the bridge. Anastasiy loosened his grip for a moment and worked his hands to reduce the ache in his muscles. He had been at the helm for twelve hours, taking young Dimi’s watch; else, he would be pacing in his cabin worrying about the future. They had seen no megalodon since his encounter months earlier. So far, the coastal waters of Russia had remained free of the creatures. Not so for the Americans. The megalodon seemed to congregate in American waters. Many in the Kremlin saw a sort of justice in that. The recent storm had driven the sharks eastward. Perhaps that was the reason for the presence of the American Fleet, to intercept the creatures’ migration.
He did not understand the Americans’ need for secrecy, but then his own countrymen were very sparse with news of the creatures as well. Very few Russians knew about the strange occurrences in the Arctic Ocean. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.
“Captain,” Leonid Antonov called out through the open door between the radio room and the bridge. “I’m picking up a weak radio signal.”
Were they straying too close to the American Fleet? If so, should he continue on course or defy his orders and return to Russian waters? “What language?”
“English.”
Anastasiy sighed. So near retirement, he did not wish his last voyage to end in disgrace. He had no choice but continue. “Is it a military frequency?”
“Yes, but it is odd. It is a Mayday call. They report they are damaged and are sinking.”
Anastasiy perked up. “A distress call from an American Naval vessel. That is indeed news. Are they being answered?”