“Be still I say!” The old man’s voice rang with notes of power now. “Yet for all that, for all its passage across the infinite depths, this thing of wonder contained an even more wondrous thing. For when our holy men examined it, they discovered that inside was a creature, a being of the void, a cruel, savage, alien intelligence: hungry, voracious, a feaster upon men’s souls.”
Panic seized him, as his flesh was swallowed up in great streams, it had subsumed nearly all of him now, but with one last supreme effort of will he tried to break free, pull himself away from its crystalline embrace. But it continued to swallow him whole and now he could feel a presence, a malevolent intelligence rising from its depths, coming straight for him.
“We bound this nameless thing with powerful magics, ancient enchantments, imprisoning it forever inside this vessel before it could escape and wreak havoc upon our world. Yet we also believe that Yahweh makes everything with a purpose, nothing is superfluous in his creation. So we found a role for it: as a punishment, a scourge for the unholy, an instrument delivered to us by God himself to punish the wicked and iniquitous, the worst of mankind, those who prey upon their fellow man, those without pity or remorse.
“I told you I possessed nothing that honest men would crave,” said the old man. “And now you begin to discover the truth of my words.”
The thing was almost upon him now, a vast, nameless, shapeless, formless dread that accelerated sinuously up from the scintillating depths. He tried to scream, but found he no longer had a mouth to do so.
“I see into your mind Obersturmführer, see all you have done. Some men do great evil for a cause, but you? You are worse, the very personification of the banality of evil. You accept it, practice it for no greater cause than yourself.
“You will be in good company Obersturmführer, when you join your fellow murderers, torturers and thieves from down the long centuries. The creature is most adept, most inventive I believe in extracting retribution, precisely fitting the punishment to each crime, it actually delights in it. Reflect on that Obersturmführer, as you suffer for all eternity and know that you will be in good company when you finally meet your fellow servant of the dark.”
THE HEART OF THE SEA
by Mick Gall
LIEUTENANT Spencer Calvert paddled more quickly once he saw the M/V Copperhead. It was difficult to make out in the gloom; Calvert saw only a vague dark patch on the otherwise star-filled horizon. As they approached, the familiar contours of the 25-metre ship coalesced, and Calvert lifted his oar and let the canoe coast for a few seconds.
“We made it.”
Private Henry Austen, the young soldier sharing his canoe, kept rowing. “Yes, sir. You paddled so fast, I can’t believe we made it before the mines —”
He was cut off by the loud crump of a distant explosion, accompanied by a flash of light just over the horizon. The men in the trailing canoes let out a cheer, but Calvert cut them off.
“Hush!” he barked, grinning even as he said it. “Pay attention, and count!”
The first explosion was followed by another, and another. A moment of silence followed, then three more blasts in quick succession. Everyone held still. The trailing canoes stopped paddling, and the men in the canoes and the sailors aboard the M/V Copperhead all cocked their heads to look in the direction of the port they had just left.
“Come on, number seven,” Private Austen whispered.
Seconds ticked by, and no other sounds came. Calvert looked at the soldier, concerned now. “Did you set the timers like I instructed? They should have all gone off at the same time.”
The soldier avoided eye contact, casting his eyes down. “I may have set it for a little longer than —”
“Damn it, Private! I told you to set them all for the same amount of time!”
“Sir, I know, but the last one was on that ship on the pier. Sailors are all rushing to their battle stations now, and when it goes off, it’s going to take a lot more of them down.”
“If it’s not discovered and disarmed first! The point of the mission was to destroy ships. Killing enemy sailors wasn’t a concern. Sailors cannot do much if they don’t have any —”
He was cut off by another loud crump. The men in the other canoes whispered excitedly, and resumed paddling. Calvert caught the private grinning.
“Austen, don’t do that again. If I tell you to set the timers for three hours, you set the timers for three hours. Not three hours and one minute. Understand?”
Austen had the good grace to look ashamed. “Yes, sir,” he said, and resumed paddling.
The men were talking more openly now, congratulating each other and comparing notes on mine placement, close calls with sentries and the like as they drew up to the Copperhead. Another series of explosions echoed, followed by a crackling noise.
“Secondary explosions, sir,” Austen said. “I told you I’d hit the magazine on that big cruiser.” He was grinning again, and Calvert couldn’t help but smile also. Private Austen had that particular American self confidence about him. Infuriating at times, it also came with an infectious optimism that permeated everything he did. He was certainly optimistic now; it sounded like they had just sunk seven ships of the Imperial Japanese Navy, including a heavy cruiser.
Calvert’s smile faded, though, as he heaved himself aboard the Copperhead. It was a success, yes, but the mission wasn’t over until he and his crew were back in Australian waters. He knew the Japanese would send out patrols to find those responsible. He pulled Austen up, and together they were lifting their canoes on board when Rapata approached him. Broad shouldered and muscular, with skin the colour of oiled teak, the Maori warrior used one hand to yank the canoe over the gunwale.
“Chief,” Rapata said in greeting. Calvert had tried to get the Maori to address him as ‘lieutenant’ like the rest of the men, but Rapata had insisted on calling him ‘Chief’ saying only that Calvert was the chief, and Rapata was a warrior in his war band. “A little man fell from the sky. Said he has important message for you.”
“Fell from the sky?” Calvert asked. Rapata was a strong and fierce fighter, a natural woodsmen and an excellent seaman, but the tribal spiritualism and superstition that coloured his language made communication difficult sometimes.
“Fell from sky,” Rapata confirmed. “Man is small. Said Mother Sea too cold, too wet. I think this man weak. But he says he has message for you, and waits below.”
Heading aft, Calvert saw a sailor arranging and folding a sopping wet parachute on the deck, and Rapata’s comments suddenly made more sense. Someone had airdropped to their location, and landed in the drink before being fished out.
Must be one hell of a message, Calvert thought.
* * *
Calvert would never describe the man as ‘small’ owing to his height. Most men were small next to the muscular Rapata. But he was skinny, scrawny even, all arms and legs with elbows so sharp they threatened to cut through his sleeves. The lanky man lorded over the galley’s entire table, eating soup and poring over maps and notebooks spread out before him. He looked up when Calvert arrived in the small galley. The man was dry except for his hair, and had discarded his wet utilities on the floor. He had changed into dry clothes from his kit — sturdy khakis like Calvert wore — but atop that a collared shirt, bow tie and herringbone jacket.
“Lieutenant Calvert?” he asked with an aristocratic English accent. He squinted and pulled on a pair of tortoise-shell glasses. “Yes, you are Lieutenant Calvert. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Professor Raymond Blackburn.” He grasped Calvert’s hand and pumped it twice. “I’ve been sent by operations. I’ve seen your resume, very impressive work. And congratulations on your recent commission,” Calvert grunted at that last remark. He’d been an enlisted man with the commandos for some time, until his bold actions during a raid and the untimely death of another officer inspired command to promote him into the role. He was unused to praise, as he was frequently reminded that as a commando his ac
complishments would go unheralded.
He was not sure how to respond to this lanky man and his dramatic entrance into their midst, dressed like he was going to a faculty meeting at Oxford. Everything about him was strange, and amongst commandos, that was saying something. Calvert had carried out a number of unconventional raids before, and even had additional assets parachuted to him while a mission was underway. But those men were invariably hardened soldiers or seasoned commandos. This man looked as though he belonged teaching ancient history. Not that there weren’t bookish types in the service; command just tended to keep them in intelligence and logistics, in the rear with the gear. Never in the field. The professor took no notice of Calvert’s curious stare, and rummaged through the papers and journal that occupied most of the galley’s table. He smoothed down a nautical chart.
“Right then,” he began. “We’re approximately here on the map but we’re going to divert from your planned course. Rather than heading west-southwest toward Australia, we shall head over here.” He pointed to an area of open sea on the chart. An “X” with a circle around it had been drawn in charcoal. “I’ve given your helmsman a new course. As soon as your men are aboard, we’ll be underway.”
Calvert didn’t mind late changes to orders. He didn’t mind being assigned additional objectives in the middle of delicate missions. He also didn’t mind ferrying around some VIP when necessary. It was the nature of special operations that change was the only constant. But when he ran operations, he ran the operations, and no one else.
He leaned over the table, stabbing a finger into the professor’s chest. “I don’t know who you are, and —”
“I told you, sir, I’m Professor Blackburn, and —”
Calvert pushed harder, heedless of the professor’s objections. “Like I said, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. No one comes on board my ship and gives orders to my sailors, or my soldiers. The orders come from me. I don’t know whose authority you’re acting on, but this is my mission. Now, unless you give me a damn good reason, we’re going to continue west-southwest until we arrive in Australia.”
He eased the pressure on the wide-eyed professor, who leaned back to make some space between the two of them, removed his glasses, and began cleaning them with a handkerchief. “My apologies, Lieutenant. Sometimes I do get ahead of myself. There’s been some rather unusual seismic activity, and it appears to be triangulated right here —” he tapped the charcoal X again, “…and command feels it should be investigated, because of its anomalous nature.”
“We’ve been dodging Japanese naval patrols for several weeks,” said Lieutenant Calvert. “After the hit on the harbour, there are going to be more ships out looking for us.”
“I’m afraid this effort is critical to the war, and cannot wait,” Blackburn parried.
“We’re running low on fresh supplies, and that’s even supplementing them with any fish and rain water we can catch. This ship is little more than a fishing vessel. I need to get my men back for a rest and refit before taking on another mission. And you’re telling me to divert because of an earthquake?”
“It’s more than just an earthquake,” Blackburn said evenly. “This could be a very important development. We’ve been seeing this activity at other isolated areas, and every survey has revealed volcanic activity. They are literally growing mountains under the sea. It’s vital we get to this location and survey it further.”
Calvert didn’t know what that meant, or what the implications were, but was not about to admit that to the professor.
“We have just sank several Japanese ships. They’re going to be out for blood, and heading toward Allied waters is our best chance of escaping them.”
“I’m afraid I must insist. This comes from the highest levels.”
“What levels are those?”
“The Old Bird sanctioned it personally.”
That gave Calvert pause. Only once before had he been involved in a mission directly ordered by the ‘Old Bird’. An especially messy situation had required that mission, and the outcome had been nearly as messy. However, it drove home to Calvert the depth and breadth of special assets the Old Bird had access to, and his willingness to employ unconventional methods to achieve his goals. But the Old Bird seldom involved himself directly, and Calvert had known others to throw around the Old Bird’s name to enhance their own authority.
“Professor, you look like a pretty smart bloke, so I’m sure you’re being honest with me when you say the Old Bird ordered this.”
The professor’s eyebrows arched up in alarm. “Lieutenant, of course I’m being honest with you. Why would I lie about such a critical issue? But you’re right; we must be thorough in ensuring the proper protocols are followed.”
He shuffled papers around the galley table again, plucked out a letter, and offered it to Calvert. The signature was genuine. The words ‘all assets deemed necessary by Professor Raymond Blackburn shall be made available to him’, and ‘immediately cease all other operations to accomplish this objective’, told Calvert all he needed to know. He grunted.
Seeing the look on his face, Blackburn pushed on. “Right, then. We’ll set course for the survey area as soon as possible.”
“We’ll need to be careful of Japanese patrols.”
“If we’re fast enough, it’s doubtful we’ll encounter any. Before I jumped in, the plane had to search for your boat for some time. Before we found you, we saw only one other craft, a patrol boat coming from the east.”
A woman’s voice interjected. “After the fireworks went off, I’d say it’s probably engaged in rescue and recovery efforts. Right, Spencer?” Both men turned towards the speaker who appeared in the doorway. Shorter than the two men and slender and lithe, her sophisticated class and beauty looked out of place in the rough, functional galley of a fishing vessel. She had dark auburn hair, fine, aristocratic features and wore high-quality — and extremely flattering — safari gear from a high-end outfitter. The professor was struck speechless for a moment — Calvert merely grunted again.
“Probably,” Calvert conceded. “But the Japanese are pretty thorough, and they’ll search a wide swathe of the sea. And if caught… well, they aren’t known for their humanitarian tendencies.”
Professor Blackburn chimed in. “True, but we can plan on at least a few hour’s grace while they figure out what happened. Then we can be on our way. An astute observation, Miss —?”
“Van Garrett. Doctor van Garrett, actually.”
“I wasn’t aware you had a woman on board, Lieutenant,” said Professor Blackburn. “She’s not on any of the rosters.”
The woman looked annoyed. Calvert knew she was sick of the sailors remarking that a woman on board was bad luck. So, he’s seen the mission roster, in addition to packing a letter from the Old Bird. He is well connected, Calvert thought.
“Professor, meet our team’s surgeon. She’s been serving in a volunteer capacity, and yes, she isn’t on any of the books.”
“Yes,” Van Garrett chimed in smoothly. “God save the Queen, and all that.” The professor nodded and smiled, noting her distinctive New England accent.
“Doc,” Calvert began, “the Professor here was sent with a task for us… what are we surveying exactly, Professor?”
Professor Blackburn pointed to a charcoal ‘X’ marked on the map. A chain of islands was nearby, but the ‘X’ itself sat in an area of open, featureless ocean. “Seismic activity has been detected in these areas, and it’s been pushing up large amounts of the sea floor. Each event in the past three months has been bigger than the previous one. More and more land is being pushed up each time. We cannot determine why they’re happening there. There’s no major fault line that we know of. It’s as if dozens of undersea volcanoes that we didn’t know existed suddenly burst into life. The indigenous people have either flocked to them or fled from them, and once-fallow fishing grounds nearby have sprung to life. The land thrust up by these events extends above the water, and
some islands have collapsed and sunk back to the ocean floor. Some stick around for weeks or even months, while others collapse within a few days.”
Doctor van Garrett looked at the maps. “Interesting, but what have they got to do with the war effort?”
Professor Blackburn fidgeted. “We do know that the Japanese have been keenly interested in them. There’s been significant activity in recent months. We just don’t know what they’re up to. We haven’t yet had an opportunity to launch a large, dedicated operation to seize one. We’ve tried to get a closer look with observation planes and ships, but everything we send anywhere near them is immediately chased off. I’m not sure why,” he confessed, sounding truly perplexed.
“The newly fertile fishing grounds draw indigenous people to the area, but they flee shortly after their arrival. We’ve been searching for them, but have been unable to locate any. We suspect the Japanese have been taking them away. We’ve also heard at least one report that a Japanese survey crew took some Kriegsmarine advisers with them to the new islands.”
Calvert waved that last bit away. “That’s just a rumour. Any time the Japanese pull off any half-competent action, the Jerries get their fair share of the credit. If every report of German collaboration I’d heard was true, there’d be more Jerries in the Pacific than Japanese.”
Van Garrett’s brow furrowed. “How much land are they pushing up?”
“We’ve not been able to get close enough to measure exactly, but the first one was small. Just 20 feet of rock jutting out of the sea.”
“But they’re getting bigger?” she asked.
“Yes. The last one we got a good look at was, judging from the photographs, about an acre across. Jagged rock and coral, with oddly-shaped boulders near the middle. The seismic activity indicates they may be getting bigger.”
Van Garrett snapped her fingers. “Runways.”
The men looked at her, and Calvert let out a bark of laughter. “Good luck with that.”
Dark Tales From the Secret War Page 16