from port to starboard and back again. He felt his heart thump faster and harder. Pencils, coffee mugs, and notebooks tumbled from perches; a few shouts of injury and frustration echoed through the corridors outside the control room.
After a several seconds the boat leveled again with what sounded like a groan of relief.
XO: “Sonar?”
Chief-looking over the Sonar operator’s shoulder: “Fifty yards-shit, it’s accelerating-and it matched our depth. Damn. Negative on the counter-measures. Whatever it is it’s locked on to us.”
“Torpedo room, load tubes one and two. XO, get me a firing solution-“
Chief: “Too late!”
The Executive Officer shouted, “Sound collision!”
The collision alarm echoed through the ship. JB held bunny in one arm and, with the other, clutched his father.
A voice from behind them in the corridor asked, “What’s going on?”
Trevor saw Rick Hauser standing in the passageway. The flat hair on the back of his head suggested he just woke up.
“I’m not sure,” Trevor told the pilot. “Looks like something is tracking us.”
“Me and you, Father,” Jorgie corrected. “It’s coming for me and you.”
Trevor knelt and placed his hands on JB’s shoulders.
“What do you know, Jorgie? What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know,” the kid admitted bashfully. “I sense it, I guess. I can feel it. Like-like he’s watching us. Looking for us…”
“Who?”
“Voggoth.”
Captain Farway’s voice sounded the slightest bit panicked: “Stand by for collision! All hands, brace for impact!”
Trevor wrapped both arms around his son and pushed them into a corner in the hall just outside the bridge. Hauser grabbed an overhead railing.
“Jorgie, whatever happens-hey buddy, I love you.”
“I love you too, Father.”
A sound like a gigantic gong banging carried through the vessel. At the same time, the entire boat felt shoved from behind, and up; a solid impact to the rear end of the vessel.
Lights flickered. Warning chimes sounded. Men fell from chairs. Curses and shouts. Trevor protected JB as the two of them were pushed first away from and then into the wall. Hauser fell over but managed to break his fall on the hard steel floor.
Then nothing. The submarine leveled. Sailors returned to their work stations.
Trevor waited for two seconds-three-four-he expected an explosion or a wall of water to pour through the ship. But nothing came.
XO: “Status report, all stations.”
“Contact lost,” the sonar operator said but everyone knew why.
The Chief moved between several stations and reported, “Helm operational. Nav on line. We’ve got power and propulsion, still on course and coming back up on thirty-knots. Depth holding.”
A voice came over the intercom, “Con, this is engineering. We’ve got a situation.”
Farway responded personally: “Go ahead engineering.”
“Sir, we’ve got an impact down here. A foreign object has penetrated the hull on the starboard side near the stern.”
“Are you taking on water?”
The XO actually answered first as he examined a gauge at the damage control station: “Slight drop in air pressure but nothing major. Hull integrity appears intact.”
“No water, Cap,” the engineer responded over the com system. “But it looks like-I dunno-some kind of torpedo head or something. But, well, not quite metal. Not sure, sir.”
JB pulled free of his father’s grasp and stepped fast toward the center of the bridge.
“Captain! Captain! Get them away from it! Get them away!”
The boy’s interruption surprised Farway. Before he could react, however, the engineer’s voice returned over the intercom.
“Captain, something is happening.”
The XO muttered: “Timed detonation. It’s gunna blow. Shit.”
“Engineering? What is going on?”
“Get them away!”
“Con, engineering, sir, the thing has opened up. It’s some kind of capsule. Movement!”
A sound came over the open microphone from the engineering room. Some kind of moan-and gurgle. Something-something sickening.
From the intercom: “What the fuck? What the hell is that?”
JB squeezed his head in his hands as if shutting out noise, closed his eyes, and pleaded: “Get away! Get away! Get away!”
Farway: “Report!”
“Con! We’ve been boarded! Oh shit…”
“Get away!”
Farway: “Engineering, get out of there!”
“Jesus Christ it’s got eyes-look at all the fucking eyes…”
XO: “All hands, intruder alert. Crackerjack, repeat crackerjack.”
“…the eyes-they’re in my head-I want to go home- please let me go…”
The voice on the other end of the line changed from human words into gurgles and gasps-and sobs. Then silence.
Captain Farway stared at the intercom for a long moment, his mouth agape and his hands shivering.
It was JB who broke his trance. Tears ran along the young boys cheek as he warned, “Captain. It will be coming up here soon.”
Farway blinked fast and then commanded, “XO, seal aft compartment.”
The Executive Officer ordered over the intercom, “All hands, intruder alert, crackerjack,” came the code word for boarders in engineering. “Seal aft compartment, all decks.”
Farway turned to the Chief of the Boat and told him, “Chief, open up the weapons lockers and allocate side arms. Form up a security detail.”
The sturdy Marine-like jaw of the Chief hesitated in the slightest; a very human hesitation.
He gulped, “Aye.”
It occurred to Trevor that the crew of the Newport News had seen very little of the horrors of the post- Armageddon war. Certainly they fought their share of sea battles but their duties on the world’s oceans never brought them face to face with Crawling Tube Worms or Jaw-Wolves.
Whatever penetrated the hull in engineering came from one of the darker nightmares of the post Armageddon world. Yet whatever had come aboard, Trevor felt powerless. He was merely a passenger and knew nothing of submarines or how to combat a threat onboard. The feeling of being trapped threatened to overwhelm him. He longed for the tactical options and maneuverability of open land, or high mountains, or even a desolate city.
The XO spoke over the intercom, “Seal all water tight doors. Prepare to repel boarders.”
Trevor watched the Chief of the Boat open a locker on the far side of the control room. From it he pulled several automatic pistols with holsters as well as a pair of Benelli Super 90 shotguns.
Sailors shut the water tight bulkheads to the control room, sealing the bridge crew inside.
“Captain,” the Executive Officer communicated, “All aft compartment hatches closed. Crewmen report hearing activity in the engine room of an unknown source or type.”
“Keep those doors closed,” Farway ordered. “Maybe we can contain whatever it is in the engine room.”
The XO said, “We’ve still got full power and helm control, sir. Whatever is going on, it doesn’t seem interested in our systems.”
