Gargantuan: A Deep Sea Thriller

by Alan Spencer

  State of Emergency Presidential Address

  "Yesterday was a somber day, my fellow Americans. Our nation has lost millions of brave Americans in a vicious attack along the California Coast. This violence came swiftly and without warning. This unbelievable enemy owns no moral compass. Know this; our Navy is ready to squash this threat on all levels. Our Air Force has forced the enemy back into the water, and we're taking the battle to the Pacific Ocean. We will not relent. We must prevail. This aquatic menace must, and shall be, destroyed. Mark my words, Gargantuan doesn't stand a chance against our subs. Come hell or high water, our shores will be safe again. Nobody, and I mean nobody, dares to steal America's freedom. Human or monster be damned!"

  PART TWO: PREPARE FOR BATTLE

  Anchor Stevens

  Anchor Stevens was lying prone on a cot. His head was as heavy as an anvil from a pounding migraine. This was a drug-induced pain. Anchor knew it, because this wasn't the first time this ex-naval officer had been drugged and taken somewhere against his will. This was an officer's quarters in a submarine. Steel walls painted dark blue surrounded him. He was used to the claustrophobic walls. Anchor had spent the last year in a private government prison compound. However, this wasn't his prison cell. Anchor's cell had a window with a view of the ocean and the sun. His freedom lay far beyond those waters, long forgotten. America had taken his freedom away from him and wouldn't give it back. He was another victim of Naval Defense Coordinator, Captain Guy Mendel's, bullshit bureaucracy.

  So, what was he doing on a submarine instead of rotting in a secret prison?

  This was about to get very interesting.

  "Get up, Anchor. We have little time to work with. We're already on our way to the battle zone. There's much to cover if you're going to pilot The Annihilator."

  Anchor recognized that voice. The sound of it made his guts tighten and his fists clench. He ignored the wave of migraine pain in his skull and sat on the edge of the cot. Against the wall was a TV monitor showing that ugly face.

  Captain Mendel.

  The conniving bastard.

  Mendel was the embodiment of smug. The Naval Defense Coordinator, and special advisor to the President of the United States, was in his late sixties. He had a shaved head and was always sucking on the nub of an unlit cigar. Just light the Goddamn thing, Anchor thought, or shove it up your tight ass.

  Mendel worked among the government's elite. Secret Service, CIA, FBI, any branch of National Security, Mendel has his hand in the action. He had enough power to bury people under the system, including Anchor. Anchor thought being framed for mass murder and having your life taken away from you was something out of fiction. To have it happen to him, it was to steal a man's soul, and Mendel was the type never to give a man's soul back, unless...

  "What do you want from me, Mendel? You've already taken everything away from me that's worth taking. What else is there to squeeze from me?"

  "There's no time for petty bickering, Anchor. Considering the circumstances, you could've been tried for treason and executed, and I'm not talking about a hood over the head and a bullet scenario. I'm talking about the private executions. The type where they shove sawdust into your eyes until you die of shock. Yeah, our country still does that in case you dare question me. I've sat ringside to many foreign terrorists executions with a bag of popcorn in my hands and a big ol' smile on my face."

  "Cut the hot shot talk, Mendel." Every word out of Mendel's mouth was another reminder of what he'd lost and how powerless Anchor was to get it back. "I had nothing to do with what happened on the Atlantic Ocean. Pretty boy, Peter Olsen was drunk on that submarine I was piloting. He was the one who fired that missile at that cruise ship and killed almost five hundred innocent people. If Olsen wasn't the president's son at the time, I wouldn't be the one charged with the crime. I know the truth, and so do you, Captain. You haven't done me any favors."

  Mendel made a disgusted face.

  The captain didn't want to say what he was about to disclose.

  "Unfortunately, our country has to make decisions that benefit the majority and harm the minority. It's how the world works. Right and wrong have no place in politics and national security. That said, you have a chance to clear your name. My hands are tied big time. Circumstances, for once, are working in your favor, Anchor. If you survive this assignment, you'll have a mountain of paperwork to sign and disclosure forms to honor. Yes, you complete the mission, your name will be cleared, and you'll have your freedom back. Imagine being with your wife again."

  The way Mendel smiled, Anchor knew none of this was true. Even if he could have his wife back, she had sent him divorce papers for him to sign a year ago. She said she didn't want to be married to a killer. Angela had remarried too. Angela had done something else to let Anchor know their marriage was over.

  Anchor held back his tears thinking about what Angela did to hurt him. He struck it from his mind like all the other times the emotions became too much to handle. He would never get his life back the way it had been, no matter what happened. The opportunity was gone forever. Mendel could go fist fuck himself with those kinds of promises.

  "You're a liar," Anchor accused, "I'm being used. Be honest with me. Leave the bullshit where it belongs, back in Washington. I have no use for it. Why am I on this submarine against my will?"

  The monitor's screen changed from Mendel's face to various news reports and footage. The clips showed giant insane monsters ravaging the California Coast. Anchor forgot everything about his own personal hell and couldn't believe what he was viewing.

  "Millions are dead, Anchor. It turns out we've got a big problem, and it's lurking in the ocean. Once we get closer to the source, I want you to pilot The Annihilator. I want you to destroy this threat. You're the best man for the job. The only one, in my opinion."

  "I'm on the Annihilator?" Anchor couldn't handle each new piece of shocking information. He was breathing hard without realizing it. His chest went tight. "I thought the sub was junked after pretty boy Olsen blew that cruise ship to pieces."

  "The project was terminated. Only one sub was completed, and that's the one you're on right now," Mendel explained. "I have a paranormal marine biologist/paleontologist on board to get you up to speed on the nature of the enemy, and how we're going to stop it. I need your full cooperation. You're the best pilot for this mission. You can steer this bad boy to victory."

  "What the hell's a paranormal marine biologist?"

  "You'll be finding out."

  "What if I say no to your mission?"

  "The United States, the entire world, could suffer many more casualties before we see the end of this, if not the complete destruction of every human being on this planet. This is the quickest way to snuff out the problem. May I remind you that your freedom is at stake? Imagine having your name cleared and being returned to your family. The rewards are there. You're a donkey, and I'm waving a carrot in your face. Take the carrot, Anchor."

  "Fuck you. Don't talk about my family. My wife thinks I'm a murderer. She's moved on. I'm dead to everybody who once cared about me."

  "They won't think that anymore," Mendel said, with an evil grin. "You'll be decorated with every award of valor."

  Anchor knew better. Once someone was buried under the system, they would stay that way forever. The government wouldn't own up to their mistakes.

  "I told you to leave the bullshit where it belongs, Captain. I complete your mission, or get wasted trying. That’s the set-up. Then if I do survive, you'll park my ass right back in that private government prison. No one would be the wiser. Fuck off. Put some other asshole in the pilot's seat."

  Captain Mendel sucked on his cigar. Anchor could see it in the man's beady eyes, his anger at being told "no", and his desperation to smooth things over and somehow get what he wanted.

  "I understand you're upset. Let me put it this way. Forget your freedom. Think about your wife. Even if your relationship is over, you still care about her well-being. She re-mar
ried, yes, and she's pregnant with her first child. Angela lives in San Jose. That's not very far at all from the coast. They're in as much danger of being slaughtered by this threat as everybody else. You say no, The Annihilator is a useless attack sub. You say yes, in the very least, you know you saved your wife and family from imminent harm. That's all I can promise you. I say that should be enough."

  "You heartless bastard," Anchor growled. "Quit pretending like you understand human emotions. I'm a pawn in your game, and as always, you control the game. Fine. You make a damn good point, even if everything else you've said has been hot smoke blown up my asshole. Let's get on with this. Tell me what to do and get the hell out of my way, fuck face. I'm tired of looking at your ugly mule butt mug."

  Captain Mendel told him what to do next.

  Fight

  Anchor Stevens was given the simple instructions to exit the private quarters and step into the hallway. Before doing that, he doused his head with water in the sink. Peering into the mirror, Anchor saw the defeat etched into his features. He was twenty-five years old and looked to be in his late thirties. A year living in prison isolation would turn any healthy, sane person, into a haggard mess. The prison was designed so he didn't get to talk to anybody. He read books, lifted weights, ate terrible food, and thought about his wife and how Angela believed him to be a savage murderer.

  The worse thing, when Angela wrote him a letter saying she wanted a divorce, she mentioned one detail that sealed the deal. Their divorce was final forever. Angela said she had been pregnant with Anchor's child in the letter. She aborted it shortly after the trial verdict was rendered. Anchor wasn't going to be a father. She had denied him the ultimate gift of bringing human life into the world.

  So much weighed on his mind while in isolation. Bitterness, helplessness, thoughts of wanting to be dead overwhelmed him, and it would've consumed his ability to focus on the present if it weren't for one idea. He wasn't in his cell anymore. He was off the miserable remote prison island. Even if he was deep down in the ocean depths, this is where he did his best work. This was freedom, in a small way.

  Anchor sucked in a deep breath and steeled himself for what was coming his way next. Outside his door stood two naval officers. The man and woman were dressed in traditional Navy attire. The man was a burly guy named Topper. The woman, who had the aura of intensity and intelligence, and the biggest tits he'd ever seen in the Navy, was named Bright. Anchor remembered Topper and Bright from the special naval training classes. They were the best cadets, just as Anchor had been, about two years ago, when they had trained to operate the mega submarine called The Annihilator.

  Before they could talk beyond introductions, another officer made his way down the narrow hallway.

  No.

  Not him.

  That fucker.

  Anchor went from one mode of hatred for Mendel and accelerated into an all-new height of rage.

  "You son-of-a-bitch, how dare you show your face to me, I'll kill you with my bare hands!"

  Anchor tightened his fist, cocked back his arm, and released the blow that would drop pretty boy Peter Olsen to the floor. Blood oozed from both of Olsen's nostrils. Anchor could see the stars twinkle in Olsen's eyes. Topper and Bright held Anchor back, because he was about to stomp Olsen's chest cavity in. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to smash his heart. Anchor could always hope.

  Topper was a large man, being a muscle bound two-hundred and forty pounds. He was a sensible, no messing around kind of guy. "You got him good, Anchor. Olsen deserved it. I would've knocked his damn block off. Now leave the cockroach to be a cockroach. We don't like him either. We know the truth about all those people who were killed on that cruise liner."

  Anchor almost lost himself to tears. He wouldn't admit it to anybody how good it felt for someone to validate his innocence.

  Olsen was helped up to his feet by two other officers. One was Wolfe, an officer good with fixing problems with gadgets and electronics on a submarine, and Kipper, a man who could sink anything in the ocean, including any bottle of booze or woman of his choice.

  Olsen was using an oily rag to stop his nose. He waved the officers to back away. "Everything's fine now, right, Anchor? You've got it out of your system. If we're going to work together, this had to happen."

  "You deserve so much more, you puny grub worm."

  Anchor expected Olsen to deny every accusation. Instead, Olsen asked Anchor to follow him down the hallway. "I want a word with Anchor for a moment, in private. Please."

  The officers stared at Olsen as if he was crazy.

  "It's fine. Anchor won't do anything else to me. He'll hear me out, won't you?"

  Anchor could've told him the truth and said he couldn't control himself when it came to matters of kicking the pretty boy's ass, but he didn't say anything. Anchor's life was on the line, and so were these other officers who were good, honorable, worthy people. The faster they understood the mission, the better. Anchor's personal problems meant little in the face of world domination.

  Olsen showed him to a private room up ahead. When the door closed, Olsen had a mix of fear and shame on his face. The room was a janitor's closet full of mops, buckets, and various cleaning agents. On one wall was a poster of a scantily clad woman with DD tits with the American flag wrapped around her voluptuous body.

  "Before you say anything," Olsen said, "you need to hear this. It was my fault I unleashed a missile on that cruise ship. I wanted to confess and accept the blame for what I did right when it happened. I was drunk, cocky, and plain stupid. My father, against my wishes, pulled strings in Washington, and arranged for you to go down for my crime. I had nothing to do with that decision.

  "Now that my dad's not the president anymore, I was told I had to be on board The Annihilator, or be executed in private. Captain Mendel said I would die a horrible death. I don't care about any of that. I volunteered to be on this vessel. I owe my country that much. I never wanted you to go down for my crime. I'm so sorry, Anchor. It wasn't me who arranged for that to happen. My father abused his position as Executive-in-Chief. There was nothing I could do. I was both happy and upset to see you down here in the sub, Anchor. Happy, because I know you're one of the best people to pilot this sub. Sad, because—"

  "You were afraid I would knock your head off."

  Olsen shook his head.

  "No. Sad, because you deserve to live a happy and full life. It's going to be difficult to do that, considering this is basically a suicide mission."

  The Mission

  Olsen was just like his politician father. The man knew how to craft words to make a point. The mention of this being a suicide mission downgraded Anchor from fighting mode to listening mode. Olsen showed him back into the main hallway where the rest of the officers were waiting. Olsen ushered them down the steel corridor among other lower ranking officers who were working in engineering, weapons, and general operations. The Annihilator was a different kind of attack submarine. Super submarine was an understatement. Anchor knew he'd be the one to oversee the piloting crew. Why else would the government work so hard to bring him here against his will?

  First, Olsen explained, they were to have a short meeting with the paranormal marine biologist/paleontologist named Dr. Singer. This is where they were going now. Everybody filed into a larger conference room, be it narrow and cramped. There was a long table where everybody took a seat. The table had cookies, chips, and sodas. Dr. Singer, a tall and skinny man in his fifties, had a nervous excitement about him. The glasses he wore magnified his eyes to twice their size. It gave him a geeky, disturbing expression. He could've been a Nazi officer for The Third Reich, or a poorly adjusted computer programmer.

  "Welcome everybody," Dr. Singer said, invitingly, "we have much to cover. Enjoy some snacks. It's not much, but I hope it helps you pay attention. Studies show it does. I'd put chips and soda in every classroom if it were up to me."

  Topper was the first to sit down, pop open a soda, and eat from a bowl of chips. B
right poured others some coffee, and when it came Anchor's turn for a cup, she seemed nervous at his approach. Anchor picked up on that from people. They thought he was a killer, even when information contradicted the fact. A piece of information that had been in their heads for so long, Anchor understood, people had a hard time letting go of it. The cruise liner deaths were a huge media story. The story was plastered on every news forum for weeks.

  Anchor skipped any polite pretense. "You think I killed those people on that cruise ship, don't you? I didn't. Talk to Olsen. He'll give you the details. Thanks for the coffee. I always take mine with way too much sugar."

  Anchor sat down at the head of the table closest to Dr. Singer. Bright sat behind Anchor. He sensed her eyes on him. An apology was in her eyes, but she was too afraid to speak to him. Anchor knew he looked like shit. His ragged beard and desperate eyes made him look like a hobo with a heroin habit.

  "Okay, everybody comfortable?" Dr. Singer asked everybody. "I'll make this quick. We have a lot to cover. Thank you for your bravery, and for volunteering for this highly dangerous mission. I know some of you weren't exactly volunteers."

  Anchor wondered who else was forced onto this submarine against their will.

  "The picking pool was small in selecting the pilots to helm The Annihilator. As you know, you, the select few, were specially trained to pilot this sub on attack mode. The Annihilator has many unique killing abilities. You were trained how to operate this machine, but you weren't informed on what kind of enemy you'd be going up against. There was good reason not to reveal sensitive classified information until the time was right. Olsen, could you dim the lights?"