LOS ANGELES–CLASS ATTACK SUBMARINE USS HOUSTON
Blankets and other soft materials had been spread out on the deck after the Mark 48 torpedo warhead had been removed. The entire warhead assembly had been taken to the mess to be disassembled by Machinist Mate Ramirez. Captain Thorne and XO Devers watched the kid of nineteen as his white cotton gloves felt for the pin release that would separate the 650-pound charge from its working innards. The entire torpedo, built by Lockheed Martin, weighed in excess of 3,500 pounds when fully assembled, but all Ramirez had was the stainless steel cap. The business end. He pulled the final pin inside the warhead, and his eyes closed momentarily when the warhead’s gyroscope released easily. He turned and handed the expensive part to the chief of the boat, who was assisting. The officers in the hatchway watched with sweaty palms as their lives and the life of Houston hung in the balance.
Ramirez swallowed and took a deep breath. If the warhead detonated inside the pressure hull, there wouldn’t be enough left of them to float to the surface.
“You’re doin’ fine, kid,” the chief said as he too wiped sweat from his dripping brow.
“Now, if I can pull her guidance board without any electrostatic discharge, we may be in business.”
The chief looked up and saw Thorne standing silently in the hatchway. He nodded, feeling far less confident than his display to the captain.
Ramirez reached inside past the charge of high explosives. He had his eyes closed as he visually pictured the torpedo from months and months of training. His fingers probed past the metal-encased charge and felt for the panel that had the waterproofed circuitry.
“Oops. That’s the trigger. Don’t want that,” the young machinist mate said as he backed his hand away slowly. He then started over, edging his probing fingers closer to the charge that was strong enough to break a capital ship’s back and sink her straight to the bottom.
The chief felt panic at the nonchalant way the kid did things.
“There we are. Now, where is that damn cable?” he asked aloud as his fingers finally found the electronic cable that connected the targeting computer board to the gyroscope. Again, he closed his eyes as he freed the three-inch-wide cable from its motherboard filled with computer chips. “That’s it. Now, to pull the board.”
Suddenly, Houston lurched. The submarine once more lost its grasp on the shelf and started to slide. The chief and Ramirez both lost their footing. The 190-pound nose cap slid free of the table and crashed to the deck, missing Ramirez’s head by five inches. He rolled free as the rest of the warhead, including her guidance package, came down next. It smashed into the blue-tiled floor and rolled against a bulkhead, where it came to a stop.
Thorne grabbed for a handhold as Houston gained speed. This time it looked as though the boat was going to slide right off the far end and down into a grave they would never rise from.
Suddenly, as men and women sang out prayers for their delivery from the crushing depths, Houston rolled to port. Her sail tower dug into the rocky strata, and her periscope and radar mast inside the tower sheared off as Houston slid to a stop only six feet from the edge. The grinding halt sounded throughout the boat as her four-story-tall tower had saved them.
Thorne was now at a severe angle as she came to rest almost on her side. He quickly regained his senses and stepped inside the mess. The warhead was lying against the far bulkhead, and its insides were scattered and smashed on the deck. Ramirez was being helped up to the sharply angled deck by the chief. The overhead lighting flickered and then steadied. Thorne reached for the phone and wrested it from its cradle.
“Damage report!” he said much louder than he intended.
“We’re still breathing up here. Forward torpedo room and engineering report small leaks, but nothing we can’t handle for the time being.”
Thorne placed the phone back and struggled forward. He stopped short of entering the mess as he faced Ramirez and waited for the bad news that they would have to wrestle another torpedo from the aft compartment and start over again.
“Well, let’s get going and get another Mark 48 taken apart.”
Thorne looked around, and then he heard the chief of the boat laughing. He became concerned that the chief had finally lost his mind for the many disappointments they had faced in the past three days.
“Almost blowing ourselves to hell is far funnier than I realized, Chief,” Thorne said as he looked from him to Ramirez, who was also smiling. His head dipped down, indicating the object he held. In his hand was the guidance board that had broken free of its screws when the sub jerked to life and started its slide. Thorne smiled himself as he realized that for the first time in three days they had caught a break. He stumbled and walked awkwardly toward the two men across the steeply angled deck.
“If you don’t mind, Captain, I think I’d better go change my pants,” Ramirez said as he handed Thorne the circuit board. He quickly excused himself and ran awkwardly toward the head.
“Chief?” Thorne asked, concerned over the lifelong navy man’s color.
“No, thanks, Captain. It’s a little too late for a crap break.” Thorne watched the old chief turn and leave, shaking his right leg as he did.
Captain Thorne closed his eyes as he felt the weight of the guidance board he held in his hand. He reached out and touched the cold steel side of Houston.
“Thanks for the break, Gray Lady.”
TICONDEROGA-CLASS AEGIS MISSILE CRUISER USS SHILOH
The CIC was well manned but mostly silent as technicians watched their scopes and screens but kept an ear open for the conversation being conducted by the gruff master chief and Charlie Ellenshaw. While most of the American naval personnel knew about how to take Jenks, they were still confused about crazy Charlie. They all to a man, Russian or American, British or civilian, liked the crazily coiffed Ellenshaw because of his naïveté when confronted with military protocol. They were impressed that the thin scientist wanted to learn everything he could. A million questions were asked by the cryptozoologist that highlighted the fact that the man caught on to everything very quickly. They listened to him and Jenks as they conferred with the young lieutenant flying the remote-controlled aircraft as it went high over Compton’s Reef.
“Nothing, Master Chief,” the lieutenant said as he banked the drone high over the destroyed village. “There is no one there.”
Charlie and Jenks watched the high-definition view of the destruction below the remote-controlled plane. The graves dug by the Russian and American sailors belied the fact that almost every man, woman, and child had been dispatched in the most horrible of ways by a ruthless enemy. Jenks was fuming as row after row of freshly dug graves filled the screen.
“All right, get out of there and head north toward the mountain. That’s the only place I think they could have gone.”
“The diamond mines?” Charlie asked as he adjusted his glasses.
Jenks didn’t answer as he studied the drone as it climbed and headed toward the slopes of the three thousand–foot mountain.
Charlie studied the master chief as he in turn watched the landscape below slide by. Jenks had become obsessed with finding the children and whatever adults of the innocent tribe remained alive.
“I’ll bet you your eighteen higher educational degrees, Doc, that those amphibious animal pirate bastards weren’t aggressive before the damn Bolsheviks got here.” Jenks rubbed a hand through his close-cropped hair and exhaled. “There was no reason for a mutual animosity between two different races to be enemies. One group lives and thrives in the ocean, the other on land.”
Charlie looked over at the six men monitoring the CIC’s radar and sonar stations. They almost to a man nodded in agreement with the master chief. He knew being a civilian sometimes made you a little slow on the uptake on military fairness. Now he understood it was the sense of justice that was being hurt by what had happened to the innocents of this world.
“Oh, shit,” the lieutenant said loudly as he used his joystick to turn the drone sharply away from the mountain. He brought the propeller-driven craft low to the trees.
“What?” Jenks asked.
The technician sitting next to the remote officer pushed a button, and the main monitor flipped pictures and rewound what was recorded.
“Shit!” Jenks hissed below his breath.
“How many?” Charlie asked.
On the screen, there was a long line of the Wasakoo scouring the jungle and sloping land of the mountain. From the high vantage point, it looked as though they were searching for the survivors also. Then the picture went black. The monitor again flared to life with the live feed coming from the drone. It was once more flying very high, and they could no longer see the aquatic species in their effort to find and kill the remaining men, women, and children of the island.
“Bastards,” a young seaman said aloud as others nodded in agreement.
“Why are they so intent on killing them all?” Charlie asked. He looked away from the monitor, hoping someone would answer him.
It was Jack who finally did. He had entered the CIC unnoticed. He was standing by the hatchway as the marine guard closed and secured the hatch.
“Because they are under orders.”
Charlie turned toward where Jack stood with his arms crossed. He looked tired and angry, but Ellenshaw knew that was the colonel’s natural state the past year.
“Orders?” Ellenshaw asked.
“One thing the Russians are good at, their main philosophy when they were being beaten or having to give up land, is to leave nothing behind that their enemy can possibly use; it’s called scorched earth. We suspect Salkukoff is getting ready to cut and run—close up shop, if you want to put it that way.” Jack uncrossed his arms and strode into the darkness of the control center. “The Wasakoo are exterminating the villagers, and then, I suspect, the blue diamond mines will be collapsed as if they were never dug. Scorched earth.”
“There!” the lieutenant said, pointing to the screen. “Recent trail sign.”
Jenks looked at the monitor, and there it was. A long line of brush and undergrowth had been etched into the landscape. It had to have been made by many people as they moved northward from the destroyed village.
“That’s got to be them. Follow the trail for as long as you can, but don’t let those Charlie Tuna sons of bitches see you.”
“Aye, Master Chief,” the lieutenant said as he drove the drone even higher into the sky.
“There. The trail leads right to the mountain.” Charlie leaned in closer. “And it looks like the Wasakoo are looking in the wrong direction.”
Jenks stood straight and looked at Jack. In turn, Collins looked at his watch and then back at Jenks. “We are scheduled to leave this world soon, Master Chief. You yourself said the phase shift reactor is too unstable to wait too long, even with it shut down.”
Jenks reached into his pocket and gave something to Ellenshaw. Charlie accepted it, and then he looked from the object to Jack.
“There. Give me five hours. If I’m not back, Charlie knows how to start the chain reaction to get the phase shift operational. The frequency is constant. You should be right back where we started in the Atlantic of our world.”
“No, I can’t take the chance, Jenks. I have too many men depending on your calculations. You can’t tell me Charlie can think on his feet on this if something goes wrong. No offense, Doc.”
“None taken, Colonel. But I think the master chief is right. We, at least our kind, did this thing to these beautiful people. We have to do something.”
“No.” Jack sat down in an unoccupied chair and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked up and faced his two people and the interested ears of the sailors around him. “What do we do if we actually find survivors? Uproot the whole species from their world and return them to ours? That would be almost as cruel as what Salkukoff and his superiors have done. We can’t return them to their life before this, and we can’t bring them back.” Jack stood and walked toward the hatch, where it was opened by a marine. He stopped and turned. “I’m sorry, Master Chief, Doc, but no. We have too much riding on this. I am not losing another man under my command for a reason not of our choice. We make the attempt to leave in five hours. I suggest you prepare the reactor on Simbirsk, and let’s get these boys home before Salkukoff really puts his scorched earth policy into full swing. Because I think we are the final domino he has to push over.”
They watched Jack leave, and Jenks looked at Ellenshaw. “I hate officers.”
Charlie just pushed his glasses back onto his nose. He saw one of the young seamen looking their way. The kid had to be no more than nineteen years of age. Ellenshaw fixed on the seaman. Jack was right to a point—these boys, along with the Russians and the British, deserved to get home. But still, he was fighting his own conscience and needed to know if he was alone in his confusion.
“What would you do?” Charlie asked.
Every ear in CIC heard the question, and it was if they all wanted to answer. But the young man held Charlie’s eyes.
“I think…” The boy hesitated momentarily until the lieutenant nodded that he could offer that opinion if he wanted. “I think that we won’t make it back anyway. I also don’t like running away. What happened to those people isn’t right, sir. I mean, what is our duty here? I thought we were here to protect those who can’t protect themselves. Does it matter where those innocents live? I say we not only find those people but also that we stay and get the asshole who caused all of this.” The boy lowered his eyes. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”
No words were spoken. Jenks was proud of what the new navy was currently producing. He could not have said it any better than the young radar tech who had placed everything into such simple terms that he had wished Colonel Collins could have heard it and reminded him of his duty. He knew Jack was killing himself over the losses of his Event Group people the past few years and was compounding his mistake by overprotection. Jenks came to a decision. He looked at the large marine guard and saw that he was watching intently, although silently.
“Lieutenant, feel like giving us heroes an hour without reporting a radar contact heading toward the island?”
The young officer looked around at all the eager faces inside CIC. They were waiting.
“The radar and sonar equipment is still sketchy, Master Chief. Sometimes we lose everything at once. Possibly for at least three hours.”
Jenks smiled and popped a cold cigar into his mouth. “Goddamn, I guess the navy is still on the ball when it comes to getting competent men. Thanks, son. Now you keep in contact with the Doc and me. We’ll be on secure channel 6. Keep the remote searching but under no circumstances lead those catfish-lookin’ bastards to the survivors. Understood?”
“You got it, Master Chief.”
Jenks turned and faced Charlie. “Well, Doc, you feel like disobeying the colonel’s orders and stealing a boat?”
Charlie looked taken aback at first, and then he came to a quick decision.
“We need more men,” he said simply.
The large marine finally stepped from the hatchway and faced the entire CIC.
“That shouldn’t be a problem, Master Chief. I have marines just standing around and getting spoiled by these navy boys. I think about fifteen of us. The Brits have the Simbirsk covered.”
“Thank you, son. I can only guarantee that I’ll volunteer to get shot by firing squad first.”
“The US Marines appreciate that.”
With that simple statement, the rescue of the villagers by Jenks and his team of American pirates was under way.
KIROV-CLASS BATTLE CRUISER SIMBIRSK
Jack, Carl, Jason, and Henri examined the small Europa link as supplied by the laptop. Jack pointed out the graph and shook his head.
“Even Europa Jr. is having a hard time keeping this damn thing in check.”
“Even with Jenks having removed the main power coupling?” Jason asked as he too saw the graph lines as they spiraled to the top every ten minutes.
“It has to have something to do with the uranium stolen from Chicago in the ’40s,” Jack said. “Jenks and our late Professor Gervais couldn’t get safely into the glassed perimeter surrounding the damn thing without causing a meltdown. They said we would have to wait until we were safely home again to decipher this mess. Until then, Europa will have to siphon off her power to other areas of the phase shift program, as you can see.” Jack ran his finger along the graph, and they all saw what he was saying. The graph clearly indicated that the power fluctuations were growing and for longer durations. “She’s about to run out of time and space on where to place the added power runoff. Europa?” Jack asked. “Also, in case you hadn’t noticed, the weather topside is getting a little dicey. We have storm clouds developing directly overhead.”
“Yes, Colonel Collins,” the twin sister of Europa replied.
“How long until containment of the power source is lost?”
“Estimate three hours, forty-seven minutes until phase shift is unstoppable.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Jason said as he turned away from the bad news.
Henri looked at his watch. He grimaced as the pain he was feeling after the fuss late last night showed on his face.
“Regardless, I suggest we get the Simbirsk, Peter the Great, and Shiloh tied down good and then recall all personnel just in case your little sex symbol computer is off on her estimate.”
“I hate to agree with Mr. Optimist here, but he’s right, Jack.”
Henri looked at Everett but kept his rebuttal at bay.
Jack merely nodded in agreement.
“Where is our esteemed science team?” Henri asked instead.
Jack looked around. “I thought they were right behind us.”
The alarms sounded from above deck, and that got everyone’s attention.
A Russian-language announcement sounded over the loudspeakers. They heard, even from their low vantage point, many hundreds of feet running across decks far above them.
“They just announced general quarters,” Henri said as he started to leave.
Jack removed the radio and called Shiloh. “Collins to Shiloh actual, over.”
He waited as the distant sound of the American warship’s alarms could be heard.
“Shiloh actual to Collins, go, over.”
“Captain, what’s up?”
“We may have an attack brewing thirty miles to the north. They started showing up on radar twenty minutes ago. Thought nothing of it at first, but their forces have built up quite substantially since.”
“Anything scary at this point? Over.”
“I don’t think it’s as heavy as their nighttime raid last night, but why take chances?”
“Got it. We’ll stay on Simbirsk. After this is settled, we must start getting the ships prepped for our attempt to get home, over.”
“Hang one, Colonel,” Johnson said as the radio went silent. Jack gave Carl and the others a worried look. “That damn master chief and crazy-haired Mr. Spock just stole one of the Zodiacs.”
“Alone?” Jack asked, forgetting to release the call button. Then he cursed and caught the tail end of Captain Johnson’s response.
“—took ten marines with him, over.”
Jack lowered the radio briefly and shook his head in wonder.
“Damn fools,” Carl offered.
“We have to send someone to help. Ten men and Charlie? Come on, not even the great Jenks can do that. No telling what in the hell they’ll run into.” Ryan kicked at the steel bulkhead.
“I hate to be the realist here, gentlemen, but what difference do the islanders make? It is not as if we can take them back with us.”
“We don’t play that damn mythical Prime Directive here, Colonel,” Ryan said, but Jack silenced him when he raised the radio.
“Captain, there’s not a lot we can do about your stolen boat. We’d better see what this gathering of ships is. Then I’ll let you keelhaul Jenks yourself—if you still keelhaul in the navy.”
“We do with pride. Now watch yourself over there, Colonel. Johnson out.”
Jack turned and nodded as he made for the hatchway and then quickly followed the others to the upper deck.
* * *
Men were scrambling everywhere. Russian sailors manned the twenty-millimeter and .50-caliber machine guns. Sailors lined the rails with their smaller close-quarter weapons, the venerable AK-47s. The Royal Marines had joined them, and all eyes looked to the northern seas.
“There,” Ryan said, pointing to the horizon.
Collins turned away from examining the readiness of both Peter the Great and Shiloh. He was relieved to see that, thanks to the overwhelming small-arms stores of the ancient Simbirsk, a ship out of time. The old girl had been filled to the brim with American-donated firearms from the days of the old alliance when the Soviet Union had needed everything the United States could ship to her in the earliest days of the war. Now Americans, Russians, and Brits all had either a Colt .45 semiautomatic tucked in their holsters or a weapon that every Axis soldier once feared, the venerable tommy gun—the Thompson submachine gun. One of these was tossed to Jack by Everett, who also slung a holstered .45 over his shoulder. Jack used the binoculars and finally saw what they were facing.
“Count, Mr. Ryan?” Jack asked as he focused on the distant ships.
“Fewer than sixty, no more.”
“Maybe we whittled them down a little more than we thought during their night attack,” Everett said as he too studied the distant fleet of sail.
Collins lowered the field glasses, and his look carried one of concern.
“You don’t have to say it, Colonel,” Henri said as he slammed a clip of ammunition into the Thompson. “Something is wrong. Why attack at midday? Why so few of them?”
“Well, since you have all the right questions, got any answers?” Carl asked, lowering his glasses and staring at the Frenchman.
Henri smiled and then charged the machine gun as he stepped to the railing. “In this world, Captain, I suspect that the answer is not going to be to our liking. I feel Salkukoff is out there, close by.” He again smiled as he faced the larger Everett. “And that is the man with a plan.”
“Yeah, great. I would have never guessed.”
Jack cursed when he saw Peter the Great casting off all her lines that linked her to the Simbirsk and in turn Shiloh. He started to raise the radio once more, but this time, Carl held him back. He shook his head and nodded toward the Shiloh. Jack turned and saw that Captain Johnson was doing the same thing.
“You can’t argue their logic, Jack. A captain is going to protect his ship at all costs. If they need to maneuver, they won’t want to be tied down. Without them, the Simbirsk doesn’t stand a chance anyway.”
Collins nodded in understanding. “What the hell. If this damn ship blinks out with all of us on deck, we’ll fry for sure, just like those boys on the Eldridge. Besides, if we don’t return with everyone we can, Niles will have our asses anyway.”
“See? No problem at all,” Everett said, commiserating with his boss.
“Here they come,” Ryan said.
They turned and watched the large sails of the ships unfurl and their outriggers dig into the violet waters of the sea. Some of the larger boats had to hold at least a hundred souls, the smaller, fifty.
An announcement in Russian and then one in English came across the loudspeakers: “Damage control parties stand by for fire suppression. Reserve units will stand by forward hatchway of turret number one.”
Across the way, Jack heard the now familiar announcement as broadcast by Captain Johnson. “Stand by to repel borders, port and starboard!”
The sterns of both missile cruisers churned to life. They sat unmoving, but still the microscopic sea life burst to the surface like a well of rainbow-colored water.
“Damn. This crap is getting real now,” Jason said as he watched from the port rail.
On came the fleet of processed wooden, shell, and skinned animal life that made up the Wasakoo seacraft. As all eyes watched, the sails were blown taut as the fast-attack craft came on far faster than anyone could believe. Some cut over the wakes of others, jumping high into the air and then coming down with a splash. The agility of the seamanship on display shocked the modern sailors. Other ships rolled heavily onto their outriggers. Again, the seamanship was astounding as the pilots of these strange and otherworldly ships almost defied the laws of gravity as they hopped over the swells their sisters were creating with their speed.
“Three thousand yards,” Ryan said as he finally placed the binoculars down and charged his own weapon.
As the speedy ships came closer, flags of different colors were hoisted by the strange creatures that sailed them. Suddenly, the sound of drums started thumping over the rush of sea and the cacophony of the men watching. The deep bass sound made the sailors of all nations lining the rails uneasy as they watched the attack unfold.
Before anyone realized it, the heavy weapons opened up. Large twenty-millimeter tracer fire lit up the afternoon sky as the missile cruisers opened up simultaneously. Being fed direct targeting from the spotty radar systems of both ships, the fire became deadly accurate as the exploding shells burst among the oncoming ships. Then the sixteen .50-caliber machine guns opened up. The green tracers streaked through the sky and started shredding the lead sails of the tough ships.
“My God, they’re chewing them up!” Ryan said, almost feeling sorry for the backward species in the crosshairs of a modern navy.
On the surface, the battle grew closer. The lead ships were either burning from the magnesium in the tracer fire or the explosion of the twenty- and forty-millimeter cannon fire. The din was deafening as the fire continued. A few of the smaller ships virtually disintegrated in front of their eyes as .50-caliber rapid fire tore through the wood, shell, and skin construction. The sickly green bodies started to be hit as many of the Wasakoo attackers chose death in the sea rather than the burning steel-jacketed dismemberment.
The explosion rocked the stern of Peter the Great. Even those lining the railings of Shiloh and Simbirsk ducked as the roar ripped over them. Jack cleared his vision as best he could and then saw the large black cloud as it reached skyward from the stern of the great battle cruiser. As he watched, he saw why as another round object came down on her deck. It rocked the ship once more as it too detonated. The sight was baffling at first, as he thought he was looking at some sort of giant bird. It was Henri who quickly realized what it truly was. He was the first to open fire into the blue of the sky.
A hundred manta-like winged creatures swooped in low. The wings weren’t the short, stubby sort you would see on normal manta rays, but long and silky looking. The scales were transparent in nature, making them light but strong. Each of these animals was saddled, and the Wasakoo rode them like stallions in a cavalry charge. They each tossed round balls that hit the decks of both cruisers and exploded. The grenade-like weapons were as deadly as their modern variant. Both Peter the Great and Shiloh were aflame before they even knew what was hitting them. After delivering their payloads, they drove back into the sea and vanished. Others rose to take their place, and more explosions rocked all three ships.
The volume of defensive fire slowed as each man tried to dodge the death being delivered from an area they never saw coming—the sky. Then the ships finally gained the right distance, and they too opened fire. This attack was far deadlier than the one from the air. The large arrows thumped down and around the men as they tried in vain to dodge both explosives and the sharpened projectiles. They thumped into and penetrated the steel of all three ships. The small platelets of steel-like material attached to the arrows burst to killing life, like a magnesium flare. The steel of the decks and the bulkheads where they struck started to burn and melt. Men ran from conflagration to conflagration, extinguishing as best they could the sun-hot chemical.
The small-arms weapons fire erupted from the railings of all three ships. Jack and the others took aim and started placing a withering fire into the ships as they came close enough to start tossing grappling hooks toward the anchored ships.
Suddenly, Shiloh burst to life as her stern dug deeply into the sea as her large propellers churned at full speed. The turbine wash was so severe, it threw seawater high into the air enough so that Jack and his men were inundated with a blinding sea.
“Peter the Great is also moving!” Henri shouted as he quickly lashed out with the butt plate of the Thompson, sending one of the climbing Wasakoo flying back into the roiling ocean.
Two hundred yards away, Peter the Great, with her engines screaming, exploded into movement. Her bow dug in at first, and then, when her powerful power plant kicked in, the stern went down, and then the giant ship was off. As they watched both the smoldering ships moving off, the men fighting on the desk of Simbirsk felt their hearts sink. It was a lonely feeling, seeing all that firepower leaving you behind.
Still, the heavy bombardment from above continued as sailors fired into the sky. Magnesium-fed tracers of green, white, and red filled the air as bullets went in all directions. Simbirsk was now fighting for her life.