Only the Dead Live Forever

by W. J. Lundy

  Brad cycled through the filters while following the notes Brooks had scribbled on a sheet of paper. He could barely make out the coast as a jagged blurred line nearly sixty miles to their north. The radar was set to max scan and he occasionally saw static or surface noise on the screen, but nothing that would obviously identify itself as a ship. Brad cycled from surface to air to weather, noting nothing of interest or anything worth logging.

  He picked up the log book. They had opened it back up and had begun using it again. He scanned the entries of the earlier watches: ‘Nothing to report’ and ‘all conditions normal’. Just as he was beginning to think they were alone, the radio scanner locked on a station. It was garbled and broken, but appeared to be in English. Brad turned up the volume and manually tweaked the tuning knob. He listened intently and struggled to transcribe the broken, static-filled message.

  “Ma…ay, …ayday, …ay. This is the …rench vessel …dupar calling all …ons.

  May… …ay, …day, … Captain … of ves… dupar… ead… water… …irty males …board.

  Locat… is North …45 …st 67… …12.”

  “Last calling station, say again,” Brad yelled into the microphone.

  Silence.

  “Last calling station, say again,” he tried once more.

  The radio had again gone silent. Brad logged the communication and looked at the notes. It was impossible to determine anything from the broken call for help, but he would hand the notes to Sean when he left his shift. Brad checked the radar scope again for any vessel and finally gave up in frustration.

  Private Craig came to relieve him just after midnight. Brad quickly refreshed the private on the use of the console. He told him about the broken radio contact and left word for him to send a runner if he heard anything else from the ship. Then Brad waited for the rest of his patrol to pass by the building so he could join them on his way back to the living quarters. They had set up a strict policy of ‘no one goes outside alone after dark’.

  As they walked the grates, Brad could hear the primals following below; the sounds of footsteps and the labored panting were like being pursued by a pack of wolves. Brad stopped, asking the two Marines to hold up. He pulled a flashlight from his belt and shined it between the gaps in the grating. What he saw spooked him and he quickly turned out the light. He looked to the left and could tell that the Marines had seen it too.

  “Holy shit, Sergeant, there are hundreds of them down there,” Private Nelson muttered with fear in his voice.

  “Well it’s nothing we didn’t know, right? We secured the lift, ladders, and the stairs; they can’t get up here,” Brad tried to reassure the private.

  “I’ll be glad when we leave this damn place,” Nelson whispered.

  “Me too Private … me too.”

  As Brad arrived back at the third floor, he found Sean sitting in the lounge cleaning his equipment. Brad handed him the note and told him about the radio contact. Sean took the note and read it as Brad explained the contact and how the radar scope had been clear.

  “Shit, wish there was something we could do for them. That signal could have bounced for hundreds … even thousands of miles. No telling how far away they are,” Sean said, reading the message.

  “Yeah I know. It just sucks, man. Be nice to get some good news for a change. I put Craig on the frequency and told him to wake me if it comes back,” Brad said.

  “That’s all you can do, Brad, now get some sleep. I’m going to need you to be sharp tomorrow,” Sean said, turning back to his equipment.

  Some of the other men were also still up in the lounge, preparing for their watch, not able to sleep, or just avoiding sleep altogether. Sleeping was not a thing people enjoyed on the platform. Often it ended being awakened by nightmares, sometimes by the screams of your buddy in the cell next door as he relived the events of the past month. They all worked until they were exhausted, until avoiding sleep wasn’t an option, but they rarely got more than four hours before they found themselves back in the lounge.

  Brad used his free time and took advantage of the running water to shower and do laundry. It was a recent luxury to have a functioning laundry room and latrine. With the stores of food and the life support systems, Brad wondered if he might be tempted to stay here if they could somehow remove the primals. At least until the food and fuel ran out.

  His thoughts drifted back to the men in the compound and the promise he had made to them. Brad lay back in his bunk, holding one of PFC Ryan’s dog tags in his hand, knowing the other was buried on the man back in the Afghan sand. It was a stern reminder that it wasn’t his mission to find a safe refuge. It was his job to seek rescue for his men. That he was, and would always be, on the clock until he got them all home.

  Brad placed the dog tag on his night stand, then checked his good luck charm: the unfired S&W pistol. He pulled back the slide to make sure a round was chambered, then placed it within arm’s reach. Brad reached up behind him and cut the light, drifting to sleep with the sounds of the humming generators calming his nerves.

  17.

  It was go time. Tony was in the cab of the crane. A large steel cable had been looped over the ball and hook that extended from the end of the crane’s arm. Brooks had attached another two hundred and fifty feet of heavy rappelling line to the end of the hook. The SEALs sat on the rail with the ball and hook just over their heads. On command, Tony would swing them out over the open water and lower them to the boat below.

  Sean had synced his wireless headset to the radio in the cab. He gave Tony the word to move them. Brad watched as the crane swung out away from the platform, the SEALs dangling beneath it. Sean and Brooks were dressed in bright green dive suits and swim fins that had been salvaged from a locker on the platform. The men had tried to camouflage or at least darken the colors with grease, but the attempt only made them look worse.

  The crane swung out and abruptly jerked to a stop, swinging the men out and away uncontrollably. Sean reached out at the length of his arm and grabbed the steel cable, stabilizing them. He turned back and shot Tony a cold stare. Tony put his hands up apologetically and then gave Sean a thumbs up. Brooks nodded back and unclipped his D-ring, then began a slow descent to the attack craft below.

  Brad changed positions farther down the railing so he could see the boat hundreds of feet below. He held his rifle at the ready but was not confident he would be much good if he needed to fire at such a steep angle. Brad watched as Brooks descended, then slowed and hung barely twenty feet above the surface of the water. Sean slid down the length of the rope, stopped just above Brooks, and placed himself into an over watch position with his suppressed MP5 at the ready.

  Once Sean was in a comfortable position, Brooks continued his decent and cut into the water. Brad watched as Brooks disconnected himself from the line and quietly swam to the side of the attack boat before he slipped under the water. After several seconds, Brad watched him surface near the dock with his dive knife in hand.

  Slowly and quietly he cut the rope holding the smaller boat to the dock, allowing the small damaged military craft to drift free and away from the platform. He then swam closer to the attack boat and, finding the mooring lines too big to cut, pulled himself out of the water and onto the dock. Brad felt his heart race as he tried to get an angle to cover his friend.

  Brad watched the larger ship also begin to slowly drift free and away from the platform. On closer inspection, he could just make out Brooks’ head barely sticking above the surface of the water; he was holding one of the heavy lines and signaling for Tony to lower the hook and cable. The crane swung and came back to life.

  Next, Sean was slowly lowered into the water. He swam the lead line to Brooks and together they pulled it until the end of the steel cable was in their hands. Working together, they attached the cable to one of the heavy mooring lines. Tony took the slack out of the line and carefully guided the boat out away from the dock and close to one of the four large pylons that anchored the rig to
the sea bed.

  Brooks swam close to the pylon and tied the attack craft off to a series of pinion hooks embedded in the base of the structure just above the water line. Once the boat was secured to the pylon, Sean reached up and released the cable from the vessel and allowed it to swing free. Tony raised the cable up and away from the boat below while Brooks and Sean pulled themselves onto the dive deck at the rear of the vessel and ducked down, hiding.

  Tony quickly raised the hook back to the third deck and swung it in towards the rail. Bill immediately unhooked the steel cable from the ball and hook, then hurriedly attached a large basket to the end of the ball and motioned to Brad that it was ready. The basket was nothing more than a steel cage the size of a phone booth. Bill opened a gate on the basket and ushered them in. Brad shook his head but willed himself forward and stepped into the basket with Wilson and Craig, weapons at the ready.

  They held on tight as Tony raised them up and swung them out over the water. The crane again stopped quickly, swinging them out hard. They swung back and forth several times before slowing, and Tony began lowering them down toward the vessel. Brad looked out over the edge of the basket as it passed the second deck. It was far worse than he had imagined.

  A series of elevated cat walks surrounded by heavy pipes and drilling equipment covered the second deck. The walkways were littered with the dead. The sun was high in the sky, leaving the deep internal area of the deck shaded and in the dark. Brad squinted in the contrasting lights, trying to search for movement. There was little he could see but he knew they were there, hiding in a maze of walkways.

  The basket continued its descent until it was just above the vessel. As they got closer, Brad was finally able to take in the size of the attack boat. It was over a hundred feet long and painted in a grey camouflage pattern. He could see a turret on the bow – possibly a 30mm, maybe 40mm gun; it reminded him of the Bushmaster he had seen on the Bradley fighting vehicles. There were at least two .50 caliber machine guns on the rear platform.

  The bow was completely covered with metal deck plating. Brad could see a walkway that horseshoed around the large bridge structure and continued beyond onto the rear deck. The bridge held large, tinted windows, but Brad could barely see inside over the reflective glass. The interior looked empty, but the side doors leading to the walkways were open, swinging along with the swells of the sea. A large array of antennas and radar dishes sat motionless along the top of the bridge structure.

  The rear deck of the ship was vacant except for a large rigid hull inflatable strapped to a rack. Brad couldn’t see evidence of a battle or even a struggle on the decks; if there had been one, then the storms of the last week must have washed it away. Looking farther back, Brad could just barely make out the lime green silhouettes of the SEALs crouched low on the dive deck.

  Tony swung them to the left and right, trying to drop them precisely onto a cleared space over the covered bow of the attack boat. They touched the surface of the ship with a metallic crunch; the vessel briefly bobbed away from them, then rose and made a screech as the basket dragged. Tony let out more line, taking the weight of the basket off the crane and putting it onto the bow.

  Craig quickly jumped from the basket and helped to steady it as Wilson and Brad followed him onto the bow of the ship. Once they were clear, Tony began raising it away from the boat. They immediately checked their surroundings, making sure they were alone. Spotting cover, Brad and the Marines walked hunched over and hid behind the bow-mounted gun turret.

  The noise of their landing did not go unnoticed. They heard the screaming moans start from the second deck. Brad looked up just in time to see a primal run at them and leap into the water. He watched the primal fly out and away from the platform before plunging over a hundred feet to the water’s surface. The primal hit the water with a sickening crack.

  Brad then watched the creature begin to slip below the surface before it shuddered awake and tried to swim towards them. Craig raised his rifle and shot it twice in the head, ending the primal’s struggle. Before they could look away they heard three more screaming as they also flew through the air and smacked the water. Craig and Wilson took aimed shots at these creatures as well as they moved and struggled to stay afloat. As fast as they could shoot them, more dropped into the sea, jumping from the high platform.

  Screaming and a rush of feet came from behind them. Brad turned to watch a mad rush of primals fill the bridge windows. They ran and crashed at the glass but failed to break through it. The primals left the bridge, found the walkway, and attempted to make their way out onto the bow to get at Brad and the Marines. Sean and Brooks broke cover from the dive deck and cut them down with their MP5s as they crossed their paths.

  Brad pulled the Marines back into cover to prevent them from being hit by the SEALs’ crossfire. He heard more splashing and the sound of primals impacting the water. Brad grabbed Craig’s shoulder and faced him in the direction of the splashes. He ordered the Marines to concentrate their fire on the primals leaping from the deck while he covered the walkways. Simultaneously he heard more gunfire and rounds hit the water.

  Looking up, he could see that Swanson and the others had joined the fight. They were taking long shots from the top deck, firing at the struggling creatures in the water. Brad heard the SEALs’ fire wither and turned to see the last of the primals crumple at the edge of the walkway. Looking back at the platform, he saw that the primals’ strategy had changed.

  The primals were running down the ladder wells to the bottom deck where they swarmed the docks, howling and screaming at the water’s edge. Occasionally one would step forward and leap into the sea. Brad and the Marines watched the primals struggle in the water. Apparently they were not good swimmers, as most of them sank beneath the surface after only going ten to fifteen feet.

  The attack boat was safety tied off to the pylon at least forty feet from the dock, so Brad ordered his men to cease fire. The primals were no longer a threat, and he didn’t want to expend hundreds of rounds of ammunition on them. The Marines held their kneeling position with their weapons up and closely watched the primals as they howled. There were over a hundred of them massed along the edge of the dock. Looking up, there must have been close to a hundred more looking down from the second level.

  Sean and Brooks moved forward from the dive deck, slowly clearing everything as they moved towards the bow. Sticking to the outside of the boat, Brooks shut and dogged the hatches as he passed them. Finally, they crept up alongside of Brad and the Marines and stood with them. Brooks unzipped the front of his wetsuit and leaned against the turret, looking at the screaming primals on the dock.

  “Look at all of them! I’m glad we didn’t decide to push down to the lower decks,” Brooks said.

  “No shit. I don’t think we would have gotten through them. We would have been overrun for sure,” Brad answered.

  “Nahh, we would have made it, come on, Brad. This was just smarter,” Sean joked.

  “What are we going to do with all of them?” Wilson gasped, his voice cracking.

  “For now, we aren’t going to do anything with them; just keep an eye on them, okay?” Sean said before turning his back and speaking to Tony over his headset.

  Moments later the crane started dropping the basket again with Swanson and Nelson on board. As it got closer, Brooks grabbed it and directed it toward a flat spot on the deck. Nelson jumped out first with a large kit bag in each hand. Once Brooks made sure they were clear and the gear was on the bow, he flashed a thumbs up skyward. Tony again pulled the basket up and away from the boat.

  Quickly Sean and Brooks took the bags from Nelson and opened them. They peeled the wetsuits off and changed back into their combat uniforms and armor. They removed the silencers from their MP5s and attached flashlights and lasers to them. It only took a few minutes and the SEALs were back on their feet and ready for the second leg of this mission.

  “Corporal, I need you and Nelson to watch the decks. Keep an eye on their
movement. Call out to us if you see any changes. Try not to fire on them, but don’t be afraid to shoot if you have to. I’m just worried about stray rounds starting a fire if you shoot towards the platform,” Sean said.

  “Got it, Chief,” Swanson said as she and Nelson moved closer to the bow and took up kneeling positions where they could observe the crowds on the docks.

  “Okay Brad, it’s show time. Brooks and I will assault from the engine room hatch and through the hull. I want you three to pop that door and secure the bridge. Like before, watch what you are shooting at. We actually want to be able to drive this boat when we’re done, so don’t go wild shooting shit up. Any questions?” Sean said.

  “Understood. My team is going to assault and secure the bridge. We’re on it, Chief,” Brad answered.

  “Good, give us a minute to set up on the back deck and go on my movement,” Sean said as he slapped Brooks on the back.

  Brad watched the SEALs move back down the platform toward the back deck, then turned and looked Craig and Wilson in the eye. “Wilson, you’re my point man. Craig, back him up. I’ll direct our movements from just behind you. Move slow Wilson, this isn’t a race. Just like in training, guys,” Brad whispered to them as they moved toward the door.

  “Just like training, my ass,” Wilson said. “I’m an equipment mechanic, not a door kicker.”

  “Well then, I guess now is a good time for some on-the-job training,” Brad said.

  They moved forward and stacked up on the port side door leading to the bridge. Brad looked back at Swanson and Nelson, who were intently watching the crazed mobs on the docks. Feeling his stare, Swanson looked back at him and gave him a thumbs up. Brad returned the gesture and took up the six-position on the stack at the door.

  Wilson had his rifle at the ready and waited for the go signal. Craig was just behind Wilson, his left hand on Wilson’s back and his rifle in his shoulder. Brad was staggered just slightly, leaning out with his hand on the door handle ready to launch it in. “I know what Chief said, but if you have to fire, take the shots. I’d rather have damaged equipment than lose one of you guys,” Brad whispered.