by JE Gurley
The thunderous roar reached them moments later, the sound of a thousand artillery pieces firing simultaneously in an underground tunnel. A mile closer and the noise would have struck them deaf. He waited for the wave he knew would follow. Because of the darkness, the tsunami was almost invisible. At first, it appeared as a barely discernible ripple with the lava-lamp glow of the blast behind it. As it rushed at them at nearly two-hundred mph, it climbed slowly from the depths of the ocean until it reached a crest height of thirty feet. The sloping wall of the wave on the open ocean allowed them to ride up its face like a surfer catching a big curl, but as it passed through the lip at the wave’s peak, the boat dropped like a rock down its steep backside. They hit the water stern first and went under. Water poured in through the shattered windows. Just when he thought they were going to the bottom, the Sunfish popped to the surface.
The engines had died. They were dead in the water, but they were still afloat. Not for long, he thought, as water sloshed around his feet. “Everybody grab something and form a bailing line before we sink.”
Men fought to throw off their shock and scrambled to keep the Sunfish afloat.
That’s not something I would want to do every day.
He didn’t worry about radiation. Most of the deadly cloud would pass south of them, dropping radioactive dust on Inuit towns, oil fields, caribou herds, and northern Canada. The U.S.’s northern neighbor would not be happy about that. The radioactive water that drenched the Sunfish might make them glow at night, but wouldn’t kill them, or at least he hoped not. That was one more thing beyond his control. He reached out and patted the console in front of him.
“Good boat,” he said and meant it.
* * * *
December 29, 2018, 4:30 a.m. USS Sunfish, Chukchi Sea–
Asa was shaking as he sat in the drenched main cabin of the Sunfish with its pitiful crew and the double handful of hapless survivors of the Utah, and not all of it was from the wet clothes he wore. A battle with giant megalodon sharks, sinking boats, shanghaiing him and Simon, a battle with giant crabs who wanted them for lunch, sunken submarines, baby megalodon, underwater nuclear explosions, a tsunami—–what was Captain Cobb going to offer next on the entertainment menu?
When he had survived the sinking of the Global Kulik, the event that had set in motion the slow tidal wave of events (He laughed at his unintentional metaphor), his life had gone into a downward spiral that might have driven others to suicide. Perhaps he was too stupid to take what the uninformed or the heartless call the easy way out. Maybe he was just too stubborn. Events beyond his control had rolled him up and smoked him like a bad doobie. The fine line between reality and fantasy blurred so often, he sometimes wasn’t sure what day it was, or even what month.
Lack of sleep and the accumulative effects of life shoving him along like a cop rousting a protestor had made him irritable and short-tempered. Add to the mix that he was now more frightened than he had ever been, up to and including the last half hour. Every muscle ached and he had so many bruises from the tsunami’s passing, he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. He was in no mood to listen to another of Will’s lectures on duty. He was a civilian, and a pissed off civilian to boot. Nevertheless, he listened as Will’s speech as intently as the others. He wanted to know what the captain of the Sunfish intended to subject him to next, not that he could do anything about it. He was trapped like the others on a sinking boat in the middle of the Arctic Ocean surrounded by 34-degree water that would kill him in ten minutes. He paused in his mental tirade a moment to take stock of his morbid thoughts. Yeah, that about sums it up.
Simon leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, but Asa knew he was not sleeping. Finally, Simon had realized his main goal—the last of the megalodon were dead. He finally had his revenge. It might not have been as hands on as he wanted, but the deed was done. His sister’s shade could now rest in peace.
Asa turned his attention back to Will, who paced the cabin like a brush arbor preacher working up to a hell and damnation sermon. Soaked like everyone else, Will wore a damp blanket thrown around his shoulders. His cap was missing, and light brown fuzz covered his normally shaven scalp. It matched the three-day stubble of beard on his cheeks. His green eyes looked sunken into his pallid face, but they flashed with an animated brightness that spoke of an inner strength Asa wished he could match. Looking at Will’s disheveled appearance, Asa wondered if they all looked like scarecrows.
“We’re alive,” Will said as preface.
Asa bit his tongue to curb the acerbic rejoinder on his lips. I’ll let him have his General George S. Patton moment.
“To the crew of the Utah, I say, ‘Welcome aboard, and I offer my condolences for the loss of your captain, your crewmates, and your ship.’ Unfortunately, you might have jumped from the fire into the frying pan. The engines are flooded,” He nodded to Asa, who glanced away, “and we’re sinking. We can’t contact anyone, and no one knows where we are. It’s been a harrowing two days, but we can’t quit. I, for one, am not ready to give up.”
Everyone’s gaze followed him around the room in his pacing circuit, even Asa’s, who had unwittingly let Will’s words and sincerity draw him in.
“We will: 1. Get the engines running; 2. Bail by hand if necessary to remain afloat; and 3. Make contact with someone and await rescue. We will not despair. We will not sit on our asses and wait on death. We will get out of this.”
Asa was almost ready to believe him, but he could see the water lapping at the edge of the step-down cut out, and the reality of the sea trumped his faith in the captain’s bold boasts.
“Ideas, anyone?”
Grayson spoke up. “If you let me use a little juice, I can check if any drones are still flying. It’s unlikely, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Okay, but don’t take too long. Send a signal if you can.”
“I’ll start a conga line,” Apone said, meaning a line of men passing water buckets. “We’ll bail with the fire buckets and pots and pans.”
An idea had been rattling around in Asa’s mind about the inoperative bilge pumps. He raised his hand; then, felt foolish for acting like a schoolboy in class.
“Yes, Asa.”
“I noticed several compressed air tanks in the hold. If I can find the material, I might be able to build a single-stage pneumatic vacuum pump.”
Will nodded. “Will that work?”
Asa shrugged. “If I can make a drop-pressure valve or two, we can use the compressed air in the tanks to create a vacuum and use the Venturi effect to exhaust the bilge water off the boat. Since I’ll have to work with small tubing, it won’t be fast, but it will be faster than bailing by hand and certainly not as tiring.”
“Good. Show Apone what you need. Once the pumps are ready, see what you can do about the engines.” He looked at the Utah survivors. “Any engineers or mechanics here?”
Two men raised hands. One, a boy who looked barely out of his teens said, “I’m a mechanic. I can help.” An older man said, “Yo, I can use tools and a torch.”
“Good, you two go with Asa and Mr. Apone. Simon, I know it’s asking a lot, but do you think you could whip up something warm to eat and more coffee? We need something to combat the cold.”
Simon roused from his stupor. “Can do, coach. How are you fixed for propane?”
Will scratched his head. “We filled them in Barrow, uh, four days ago. We should have plenty. Why?”
“If we cover the windows and doors with tarps, we can use the stove’s burners to heat this cabin and dry out our clothes. It will keep us from freezing.” His gaze scanned the wet crew of the Utah. “These boys need to dry out.”
“Good thinking. I should have thought of that.” Will tossed his blanket on the table. “Here, start with this one.”
Asa glanced at Simon, who grinned at him. For the first time since he had met him, the chef looked at peace with himself. Asa envied him.
Using odds and end from the spare
parts bins, Asa cobbled together a pair of crude valves. One of the men from the Utah, Chief Petty Officer Pulaski, welded the pieces together, while he showed the young mechanic how to rig the tubing. As Asa watched him work, he wondered how Settlemires, his apprentice, was faring. Was he back on the mainland? Did he know the fate of the Vanguard? Did he wonder if Asa was alive or dead? Probably not. Young men quickly moved on with their lives. The past became yesterday’s news. Asa wished he could move on. In spite of the end of the megalodon threat, a sense of gloom crowded into his thoughts, a dread beyond the fear of drowning that pushed him to work quickly. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t over. Mother Nature still waited around, lurking somewhere in the background with a rod to shove up his ass. The bitch liked that. It kept men standing on their toes, like a worn-out ballet dancer.
21
December 29, 2018, 6:20 a.m. USS Sunfish, Chukchi Sea–
They were still afloat thanks to Asa’s ingenuity. Will was not above giving credit where credit was due. However, Asa shrugged off his attempted compliment with a snide remark and went to work on the engines. Maybe it was his heightened sense of self-preservation, but the mechanic had worked miracles twice for the Sunfish, if not for her captain, and he owed him a debt of gratitude. More, considering he had conscripted him into service. Asa’s jury-rigged vacuum pumps worked. The process was slow, but with six SCUBA air tanks, and the oxygen tank and two acetylene tanks for the gas welder, they could keep the water level manageable.
The luck on the communication front was not as rosy. Grayson had made no contact with anyone and battery power was almost gone. It was unlikely the solar-powered drones had remained aloft throughout the night. They could expect no help from that quarter.
As if they did not face enough problems, packs of sea ice driven south by the wind began to converge on the boat. East of the underwater cavern system with its magma-warmed water, the water temperature dropped drastically, nearer to normal winter temperatures. Once the engines were operational, he would turn the boat southward and hope for the best, although the fleet’s last known position was northeast of the cavern. If they encountered no more problems, they could reach Barrow in thirty hours. After that, it didn’t matter. He did not think the Navy would wish to continue its professional relationship with a boat captain that lost half his crew and participated in the first non-test nuclear weapon explosion since WWII. He was so exhausted that the threat of court martial did not alarm him. Time in the brig with some peace and quiet might be worth it.
At dawn, they had moored the Sunfish to the edge of a small ice floe to keep her from drifting with the current, but he did not like the rapidity with which the ice was building up around the boat. If it accumulated too quickly, they might not break free. He scanned the area with his binoculars, but the glare from the rising sun made seeing the full floe too difficult. He decided to risk what power remained in the batteries to run quick sonar and radar scans to discover the extent of the ice pack.
“Apone, crank up the radar. Levitt, get a depth reading on the ice. We need to find out which way to go.”
Both men, eager to do anything to take their minds off their problems, quickly complied. Will felt sorrier for the men of the Utah. Except for the mechanic helping Asa, they had nothing to do but sit and dwell on their close escape and on dead friends.
“Ice is building to the north and to the west,” Apone reported. “Scattered fields to the east.” He sighed. “No ship contact.”
Neither was good news. West or southwest would put them beneath the radioactive fallout. No ships meant they were on their own.
“Grayson?”
Grayson yawned, covering his mouth with his bandaged hand. Will had almost forgotten his own cuts and abrasions. They didn’t bother him enough to treat them. “The ice within visual range is between eight-inches and sixteen-inches thick. To the west and the north, it builds to eight feet as far as I can range out.”
Eight feet could easily crush his boat. They had to get out of the area soon. He heard one engine crank, run for a moment, and then cut out. He swore, but at least Asa was getting close. Removing the plugs and drying them, as well as draining the condensate from the fuel lines and blowing out the lines, took time. Working while lying in a foot of water did not help. He considered going below to check on Asa’s progress, but feared antagonizing him further would not be a wise idea. Best to let him have time to vent his frustration on the engines.
“Picking up something on sonar, Skipper,” Grayson announced.
“A sub?” he asked. Two more U.S. subs were patrolling the Arctic Ocean. He was certain of at least one Russian sub as well. He would welcome anyone’s help.
Grayson paused; then, his face paled. “It’s big, but it’s definitely not metallic.”
As if Grayson’s words were an arrow made of ice, a sharp pain struck Will’s heart, impaling him to the moment, an interminable, agonizing few seconds that sucked away his breath and with it, all hope. Only one thing would leave a sonar signature that large—big mama megalodon. She had escaped the cavern, escaped the nuclear blast, and was following them. If the megalodon possessed even the limited intelligence their behavior suggested, she would connect the fleeing Sunfish with the blast that had killed her brood. Now, she was the one bent on revenge. Even likely dying from radiation exposure, she would be capable of sinking them with little effort.
“Skipper?” Grayson stared at him with the headphones half off his head, concern marring his face.
“Kill the sonar. Now!” If the shark was not aware of exactly where they were, he did not want to offer her a signal to home in on. They could not escape her wrath. Even with both engines operating at peak efficiency, they could not outrun her. Less than a thousand rounds remained for the .50 calibers. Those and a few rifles would not be enough to bring her down. She was twice the size of the Sunfish and weighed two-hundred tons to the Sunfish’s seventy-five tons. At eighteen feet high and twenty-two feet wide, her jaws could almost encompass the entire boat in her mouth. He had born witness to her attack on the Amberjack. He did not want his crew to go out in that ignoble and gruesome manner.
They had one chance, albeit a slim one at best. If they abandoned the Sunfish and struck out on foot across the ice, she might satisfy her rage on the boat and ignore the puny humans. On the other hand, she might assume they were walruses and eat them for a snack. It would be a cold run. Only the crew of the Sunfish, Asa, and Simon had cold weather gear of any kind, and that was parkas and hats. That left four extra sets to share among nine men, plus assorted blankets. Their clothing was only half-dry from the propane heat Simon had rigged in the galley. With temperatures barely above freezing midday and dropping well below zero at night, if rescue did not come soon, they would surely die of exposure. The nearest land was Wrangel Island over three-hundred miles to the west-northwest, a long hike under any circumstances. He felt a bit like Ernest Shackelford leaving the Endurance behind.
He did not ask for opinions or discussions. He was the officer in charge. The responsibility for success or failure fell on him. He would have no man share the blame if things went south.
To Grayson, he asked, “How long do we have?”
“At the speed it was making, I’d say half an hour or less.”
“Apone, go get Asa. Tell him to get one engine running. Forget the other one.”
“What’s the plan, Skipper?” he asked.
“We’re taking a hike on the ice. Get everyone prepared. Bring a .50 cal and all the ammo we can round up. Make sure everyone carries a weapon or survival gear.”
“Aye, Skipper.” He paused. “Then why the single engine?”
“To buy us some time. We’ll set the rudder amidships and shove her off. Maybe the shark will follow the Fish.”
Apone nodded. “I hate to see her go that way. She’s a good boat.”
“She’ll be joining some good men.”
A slight spasm rippled Apone’s face. “Aye, there’s that.”
A few minutes later, everyone stood on deck. Apone had spread the word. Mismatched layers of clothing clung like scarecrow rags on the men, anything to stave off the bitter cold. Apone had handed out every pistol, each SCAR 5.56mm and MK58 7.62mm machinegun, and a 12-gauge shotgun Will kept aboard for sharks. Grayson shouldered the .50 caliber, and one of the ensigns from the Utah carried two ammo cans. Those without weapons carried boathooks, battle lanterns, or bags of food and water.
“Where’s Apone?”
“Below deck with the engine,” Asa answered. “The throttle keeps shutting down. He’s wiring it open.” The engine cranked, raced for a moment, and then settled down to a slow idle. Asa smiled. “I think he’s got it.”
“Everyone onto the ice. Keep moving northeast.”
They all scrambled from the Sunfish onto the ice, slipping and sliding as they headed away from the edge. Everyone knew what was coming and wanted to place as much distance between them and the angry big mama megalodon as possible. Will waited for Apone, as Apone jumped down from the boat and grabbed the mooring line.
“I’ll shove her off,” he said.
As Will turned away to join the others, Apone took the mooring line, shoved the boat away from the floe, and leaped aboard as she drifted away.
“What the hell are you doing, Apone?” Will demanded. “Get your ass back here.”
“I can’t get her to idle faster unless I hold in the throttle by hand. At slow rev, she won’t make a mile by the time the shark gets here. You said it yourself. It’s a slim chance. I’ll try to even the odds a bit.”
“How?”
His face turned grim. “I’ll ram the bitch if I get the chance.” He held out a belt with four hand grenades. “When I do, I’ll shove these babies down her fucking throat.” He smiled. “Boom!”
“Don’t do it, Apone,” Will pleaded, but he knew it was useless.
“Sorry, Skipper. It’s my life, my choice.” He nodded to Grayson and Levitt, who both stood staring aghast at him. “Keep them safe.”