“Hey, Ho, why don’t you catch up with my nuts?” the sonar tech shot back.
“Big girl,” Garm corrected. “And can the banter.”
“Sorry, sir. Do you think it’s the same one that sank the trawler?” Ho asked.
“SOS said it was bigger than their sixty-foot boat. That’s got to be it.”
The dark-hued Kronosaurus imperator cow was enormous. Her rowboat-sized pectoral fins moved fluidly up and down, the upstroke working against her buoyancy and maintaining her position as she straddled her kill. Her monstrous jaws, big enough to engulf a rhino, and lined with interlocking teeth sixteen inches in length, gaped wide before crunching down on her prey. Particles of flesh clouded the screen as she bit and the resultant sound was so loud that, even with their acoustic cladding, everyone swore they could hear it.
“Jesus, is that one of them?”
Garm turned in his chair and nodded as Doctor Kimberly Bane entered the bridge. The five-foot-nine, middle-aged brunette-just-starting-to-gray was their temporary Independent Duty Corpsman. She’d been flown in by chopper the day before, after their medical officer had been medi-evacced for acute appendicitis. If she hadn’t been en route to base anyway, Garm would have declined. Like many doctors, Bane was overqualified for her position and felt her status as a physician added to her rank. On top of that, she was hardly a seaman. Being onboard a submarine was tough on newcomers initially, but she’d been seasick ever since she got there.
“Impeccable timing, Lieutenant,” Garm said. “I understand you’ve never seen a pliosaur before.”
“I prefer doctor, if you don’t mind,” Bane replied, her face pale as she wiped the sheen off her brow. “I’m only on loan until we get to Rock Key. And to answer your question, not alive,” She took a hesitant step toward the screen. “My God, it is terrifying.” She blanched as she took in the carnage. “How big?”
On the screen, their target began to shake its prey, wrenching loose a four thousand pound slab of frilly red meat. Garm appeared unimpressed. “Sonar . . .”
Ramirez studied his screens. “Over eighty feet. Most likely a Gen-1, sir.”
Bane shook her head. “What’s it eating?”
Garm signaled to Rush, who adjusted the viewer, zooming in on the pliosaur’s victim. “Prey item appears to be a very large whale shark, ma’am,” she said.
“What’s all that red stuff?”
Ensign Ho cleared her throat. “Captain, distance to target nine hundred yards and closing.”
“Maintain course and reduce speed to five,” Garm replied. He stood up, towering over Dr. Bane, and indicated the screen. “Pliosaurs love shark gills, doc. To them, it’s a delicacy. If it was a whale, it would have most likely started with the tongue or the heart. Notice the shark’s tail is intact.”
“Yes?”
“Whale sharks are filter feeders – defenseless against predators that size. Pliosaurs are smarter than people think. With this shark, it went straight for the kill. But when they go after a potentially dangerous meal, they incapacitate it first. Before great whites were wiped out, I watched a sub-adult attack one. They were about the same size – maybe eighteen feet or so – so I expected a prolonged battle. Instead of going right at it, however, the pliosaur just swam beside the shark, eyeing it up and down. Then it dropped back and, a second later, BAM! It came out of nowhere and amputated its tail. End of story.”
“I don’t see any blood in the water,” Bane observed. “Shouldn’t there be blood?”
Rush twisted in her seat. “Captain, I’m picking up a transponder reading, two hundred yards off our starboard bow, bearing two-two-zero. Signal is stationary. I think it’s another submarine.”
Garm shot Ramirez a look.
The sonar tech swallowed. “Nothing on the scope, sir. She must be rigged for silent running. And with our search and destroy systems down . . .”
“Communications, give me a visual.”
Rush’s brow furrowed up as she checked her screens. “Nothing. Whoever it is, she’s cloaked.”
“Do you want me to go active?” Ramirez asked.
Garm’s eyebrows slammed down like a portcullis dropping over the gates of his eyes. “Rush, get me that transponder code. I want to know who’s knocking on our back door. Cunningham, lock LADON onto--”
“Already got it, sir,” Rush interjected. “Code belongs to the Antrodemus.”
Garm stood up straight. Antrodemus was their sister ship and as notorious a pliosaur killer as the Gryphon was. She was a few years younger and had gone through similar upgrades. The two subs normally covered different territories, but when they overlapped competition got fierce.
He ground his molars. Boy, she has got some balls if she thinks--
“Encrypted message coming in on the digital acoustic link, sir,” Rush said. “Shall I read it?”
Garm cleared his throat. “Proceed.”
Modern subs like the ORION class used secure links consisting of high speed digital pulses to send either verbal or text messages. The pulses were focused directly on the target, in frequencies that jumped up and down thousands of times per second. No sonar could detect or decipher them, even at point blank range.
“It says, ‘Ahoy, Captain Braddock. No interest in stealing your kill. Our munitions are low. Request permission to accompany Gryphon back to base after bag completed. Captain Dragunova, USS Antrodemus.’”
Garm nodded. “Tell Captain--”
“Sorry, sir. There’s a PS.”
“Go on . . .”
“It says, ‘Tell Ramirez he’s getting sloppy for not noticing the big school of sardines shadowing Gryphon for last ten minutes.’”
Ramirez flushed under his captain’s withering stare.
Garm exhaled. “Rush, please tell Captain Dragunova we’re thrilled to have her run backup. And I will take her last suggestion under advisement.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Ramirez, time to redeem yourself,” Garm said, suddenly animated. “Let’s show the Antrodemus how we do things. Helm--”
Rush turned in her chair. “Captain, we’ve got an overflight, altitude 3,000 feet. He’s circling . . .”
Garm squeezed his eyes shut. What else can go wrong? An overflight meant a search plane. And he was pretty sure he knew what kind. “On internal speakers.”
The rumble of noisy turbines immediately filled the room. Rush touched her screen, lowering the volume, then glanced at Ramirez.
“Engine noise and intermittent transients confirm a military craft,” he said. His index finger ran down one of his screens. “Designate C-88.” His eyes met Garm’s. “It’s a Hedgehog, sir.”
“Son of a bitch is trying to steal our kill,” Cunningham muttered.
Ramirez shook his head. “Someone must have called it in,” he said. “I know a Hog’s capabilities. The pilot can’t confirm a target at that depth, even with satellites. He’s probably hoping she’ll spout so he can get a quick lock.”
Garm’s lips tightened. The C-88 Hedgehog was the Air Force’s replacement for the venerable A-10 Thunderbolt, AKA the “Warthog.” With its reputation as a lethal flying gun platform, the Thunderbolt had been converted into an airborne pliosaur hunter shortly after the military’s campaign against the huge reptiles started.
Of course, as evolution decreed, the C-88 was far more lethal than its predecessor. Bristling with weapons, including an arsenal of acoustic tracking missiles and the same LADON gun system Gryphon used, the Hedgehog was also capable of vertical takeoff and landing and could hover while unleashing its full payload. The more immediate problem, however, was that, even when they weren’t firing a shot, they were noisy as hell.
“Captain, she’s getting twitchy,” Rush advised.
On the screen, the giant pliosaur stopped feeding and its head angled up. The water’s surface directly above it began to froth as the C-88 passed overhead.
“Rush, shoot a message to that flyboy,” Garm snapped. “Tell him we are locked on t
arget and he’s about to spook her.”
“Aye, sir,” Rush said.
“Captain, do you want me to take a shot from here?” Cunningham asked.
“Negative,” Garm replied. “An animal that size that’s not afraid to approach the coastline is too big a threat to take chances on. I want a sure thing.”
Rush touched her earpiece. “Captain, the pilot refuses to relinquish the target. He said, once it surfaces it’s his.”
“Oh, really?” Garm smiled humorlessly. “I’d like to speak with him directly. On speaker, please.”
Rush hesitated. “Uh, yes sir.” She hit a few keys. A moment later, the plane’s static-laden radio transmissions emanated from their internal speakers.
Garm grabbed a mike from Rush’s station. “Attention C-88, this is ORION-Class AB-Submarine Gryphon, please identify.”
The pilot’s gruff voice came right back.
“Yeah, this is Lieutenant Borkowski, call sign Big Daddy. I already told your girl, I’m not relinquishing the target. It’s first come first serve, pal. Sorry.”
“This is Captain Braddock of the Gryphon. We’ve been stalking the ‘target’ for the last twenty-four hours and are on attack approach.” Any hint of amiability left Garm’s voice and his pale eyes became as hard as agates. “That animal has already killed ten people we know of. And if it escapes because of you and all the noise you’re making, I am going to hold you personally responsible. Do I make myself clear?”
Other than the faint rumble of the Hedgehog’s powerful turbines, the Gryphon’s bridge was momentarily silent.
“Did you say ‘Braddock’ as in Garm ‘The Gate’ Braddock?”
“Affirmative.”
“Uh, well . . . why didn’t you say so? In, um . . . consideration of the civilian lives lost and since you guys were already on approach . . . I’ll give you the field.”
“Thank you.”
“Big Daddy out.”
Garm handed the mike back to Rush, then turned and smiled disarmingly at an obviously tense Dr. Bane. “See, doc? Civility wins every time.”
Rush removed one of her headphones. “The Hedgehog has veered off. Target has resumed feeding.”
Garm plopped back into his chair. “Excellent. Helm, what’s our status?”
“Distance to target 400 yards, sir,” Ho replied. Shall I activate the shield?”
“Not yet. Sonar?”
“Target is periodically emitting active sonar scans. I’m able to suppress, but if we alter direction or speed she’ll know we’re here.”
“How long before she spots us, based on water clarity?”
Ramirez wiped his brow with the back of one hand. “Any minute now, sir.”
Garm sat up straight. “Helm, lower shield. Sonar, compensate for shield implementation resonance. Once shield is in place, prepare to initiate iridophores.”
Bane asked, “What’s ‘active suppression’?”
Garm studied her. Despite putting on a tough exterior, he could see she was still green around the gills. Being seasick on a submarine sucked. “What kind of doctor are you?”
“My PhD is in epidemiology. Why?”
“Interesting.”
A faint vibration ran through Gryphon’s heavy hull as the foot-thick ceramic composite barrier that was part of her outer casing slid down, reinforcing the ultra-clear portal that formed the front of the bridge. Garm detested the shield. He preferred looking his opponents in the eye, but it was a necessary precaution. Pound for pound, the modified titanium was stronger than steel and would flex inward, rather than crack, but it wasn’t indestructible. The Gryphon may have outweighed its quarry by a wide margin, but if 100+ tons of enraged marine reptile impacted on them at fifty miles an hour, it could stave in their hull, crippling or sinking them. As one of Garm’s predecessors had discovered.
“Shield in place, sir,” Ho announced.
“No reaction from target,” Ramirez added.
Garm nodded. He noticed Dr. Bane holding onto the back of Ramirez’s chair and got up. “Take my seat, doc. Please.”
Bane frowned. “Thank you, captain. But I’m fine.”
Garm pointed at the behemoth on their viewer. “I appreciate your notion of independence. But if we miss our first strike and that thing gets past our guard, we may take one hell of a hit. Believe me, you’d much rather be sitting than standing when that happens.”
Bane hesitated, then glanced up, just in time to watch the gorging pliosaur bite what was left of the whale shark in half. She swallowed nervously. “Point taken, captain. And . . . thank you.”
“I’d click on that restraining harness, too,” Garm said as she situated herself. He turned to his crew. “Okay, people. Let’s show those mama’s boys onboard the Antrodemus how it’s done. Ramirez: initiate iridophores.”
“Aye, sir. Cloaking system powering up.”
Bane reached out and touched Garm on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, captain, but what is the ‘cloaking system’ he mentioned?”
Garm’s eyes were like searchlights, fixed on the screen. “Besides their sonar, pliosaurs have keen senses: hearing, smell, and eyesight. We can approach as quiet as a mouse from downstream so she doesn’t hear or smell us, and if we’re careful, we can hide from her sonar – to a point. But once we’re in visual range, the game is up. She’ll focus her sonar on us at the highest frequency. Our SVALINN active sonar suppression won’t hold up under that intensity. At that point, she’ll either make a run for it or attack. I’m betting on the latter.”
“Does the cloaking help?”
“All ORION-Class AB-subs have electronic iridophores embedded in their outer hull. Even our sonar arrays are coated with them. They’re like millions of mirrored projectors that can reflect the surrounding environment. We can also program imagery into the iridophores to camouflage us.”
Dr. Bane blinked. “So, we can turn invisible, like in ‘Predator’?”
Garm allowed himself a chuckle. “Not exactly. We’ve tried a lot of options over the years, from appearing as air bubbles to just plain water. Their sonar still IDs us, just like it would in the dark. Our best bet is to imitate something of similar size that won’t be viewed as either threat or competition.”
Ramirez turned in his chair, “Iridophores active. System recommendations are: floating mass of kelp, mating colony of squid, school of herring--”
Garm smirked. “With the size of the breakfast our CSO had this morning, I’m thinking we’re packing too much mass to pull off kelp.”
“Said Paul Bunyan, after wolfing down a dozen eggs, half a loaf of bread, and enough bacon to feed that thing out there,” Cunningham shot back.
Garm chuckled. “Program us to be a big baitball. Make us . . . anchovies.”
“Anchovies?”
“Absolutely. It’s her last meal. She should have anchovies on it.”
Ramirez grinned. “Aye, sir.”
Bane’s eyes widened as the room resonated with the hum of the sub’s cloak taking effect. She stared at the bulkheads, as if expecting the walls to change shape or disappear. “If we’re a baitball, won’t it try to eat us?” she asked.
Garm shook his head. “With forty tons of fresh shark meat in front of her, I’m pretty sure she’s got enough on her plate.”
“Iridophores successfully engaged, captain,” Ramirez stated.
Outside, Gryphon’s slate-gray hull shimmered then disappeared. In its place, a glittering school of tiny fish slipped forward, moving slowly toward the voracious pliosaur.
“Distance to target, 200 yards,” Ensign Ho announced.
“Fire control, charge REAPER.” Garm said.
“Really?” Cunningham wore a surprised look.
“Yes, really,” Garm replied. “That bitch devoured an entire crew – men with families. I want to be able to tell them we sent her to hell in style. Charge REAPER and prepare to fire. Helm, I want as small a sonar profile as possible. Point us down her throat.”
“Yes, sir!”
As Dr. Bane opened her mouth, Garm interjected, “REAPER stands for Rail Energized Armor Piercing Electromagnetic Repulsion. It’s the submarine version of a rail gun. Ours fires a 2,000 pound tungsten projectile out of a sixty-foot barrel, using an electromagnetic pulse as propellant. The electricity is drawn from our reactor. Once unleashed, the pulse accelerates the projectile out of the barrel at over 5,000 mph. The kinetic energy released is 600 megajoules.” Garm looked her in the eye. “That’s the equivalent of a 100-ton locomotive striking a mountain at over 250 mph.”
“Irresistible force . . .” Bane muttered. “And the target?”
“If all goes well, there’ll be nothing left but flippers.”
Bane scanned the chamber. “Wait, a sixty-foot barrel? I’ve seen pictures of this sub online. I didn’t see any--”
“You’re standing on it,” Garm advised. “The REAPER gun runs through the front half of the sub, starting in front of the reactor. The mouth of the barrel is right under our feet.”
“Is that safe?”
“I don’t know. Cunningham, what do you think?”
“Hasn’t killed us yet,” the CSO snickered. “Although we don’t get to use it as often as I’d like.” A set of glowing crosshairs suddenly appeared on their viewer, and a heavy, rhythmic vibration could be felt building under the bridge’s flooring. The acrid smell of ionized air began to permeate the room, and a metallic taste was in everyone’s mouth.
As Bane involuntarily latched onto her chair’s armrests, Garm hid his smirk. “Helm?”
“Distance, 150 yards,” Ho said. She made a barely perceptible adjustment on her steering yoke, lining the pliosaur up in Cunningham’s sights.
“Target is locked on,” he said, giving her a thumbs-up sign.
“Sonar?”
“Partially suppressing target’s sonar emissions to match our image density,” Ramirez replied. “Cloak is working. She believes we’re a school of baitfish, either huddling scared or waiting to feed on her leftovers.”
Garm’s wolfish eyes studied the monstrous creature he was preparing to kill. His heart rate began to speed up as he felt the power of the REAPER grow. In mere moments, he would give the command to fire and watch as a super-heated blast erupted from their bow, slicing a ten-foot swathe of destruction through the surrounding water, and annihilating the beast that ended so many lives. If there was any justice to be had in this world, it was here and now.
Kronos Rising: Kraken (vol.1): The battle for Earth's oceans has just begun. Page 4