Captain Farway let his crew work and stepped close to Trevor.
“Whatever this is, I’m guessing it’s not just random that it found us.”
“No,” Trevor agreed. “I’d say our friend Voggoth knows we’re onboard.”
“Sir…,” Farway backed off whatever thought had occurred to him.
“Go ahead, Captain.”
“It’s just that, Trevor, if whatever is down there is one of The Order’s pets-and after what I heard your son did to them on that island last year-I mean, is it possible that he could…”
Trevor, sweat oozing along his cheeks, finished Farway’s idea, “Is it possible my son could do that again? Not a bad thought. One problem though. If I’m right, then Voggoth sent something to kill me and my son. He would not send something that JB could influence. He either found it or grew it specifically for this mission.”
Farway asked, “If they were able to find us, why not just blow up the sub? Not that I’m not grateful, you understand.”
“That’s not The Order’s style, Captain. They don’t like it neat and clean. They like messes,” Trevor’s thoughts drifted off to Leviathans and Bore-Bugs and Torture Spiders. “To Voggoth-to him the whole point is suffering. Captain, I’m guessing that we might all be wishing that it had been a big explosion that did us in. I’ve got the feeling that would be a lot more pleasant than whatever it is that broke in to your engine room.”
“Sir!” the Executive Officer interrupted. “Mess reports something breaking out from the aft compartment. The water tight hatch on deck four is failing!”
“Sir,” the Chief competed for Farway’s attention. He held one of the shotguns. “I’ve put together a security detail.”
Trevor asked, “Is that the heaviest weapons you’ve got onboard?”
The Chief handed a pistol in a holster to Captain Farway as he answered, “Aye.”
Farway buckled the side arm to his hip and added, “Fire fights aren’t our specialty, unless we’re using torpedoes. Chief, seal all compartments behind you. And Chief, good luck.”
The Chief of the Boat swallowed hard, nodded, and replied, “Thanks, sir.”
He then opened one of the bulkheads outside of which waited a group of a half dozen sailors with pistols and shot guns. The men moved off after shutting the water-tight door.
Farway closed his eyes and ran a shaky hand across his forehead, no doubt facing the real possibility that this would be his last command. If the water tight hatches could not keep the invader sealed, then that left their fate in the hands of small arms and Trevor did not like those odds.
Captain Farway said, “Whatever it is you’re up to, it’s got Voggoth pretty scared.”
“What’s that? Oh. I think he’d love to see the end of me and JB here no matter what.”
“Probably true, Trevor. But his focus has been fighting us in Colorado and the west so far and from what we can tell your boy here and Jon Brewer took out his only outpost in the Atlantic last year.”
“You were a big part of that, Captain.”
“The point is, he’s gone through a lot of trouble to track you down way out here when he should be happy that you’ve skedaddled just as things were coming to a head on land, right?”
“And?”
“So you’ve got him frightened, that’s what. Whatever it is you’re thinking about doing, he’s made it a priority to stop you. What I’m saying is you’re on to something. Maybe something more important than you realize.”
“A shot in the dark, Captain. If this were football, I’d call it a Hail Mary pass.”
“As a former Navy wide receiver, I appreciate the analogy,” Captain Farway answered. “But I think we got to make sure you get to where you want to go. Especially now. With this thing on my boat I’m starting to see how important your little side trip must be.”
A series of sounds-muffled pop-pop-pops and a pair of louder blasts-seeped through the metal between decks.
On the other side of the control room, the Executive Officer tried to get someone to report: “Mess Hall- anyone on Deck Four-report in. Security detail, what is your status?”
More pops. Another blast. They felt more like vibrations than outright sounds.
The Captain ordered, “XO, take us up. Surface. I repeat, surface.”
The planesman answered from his station at the dive controls, “Surface, aye.”
JB shook his head and in a frustrated voice warned, “It will follow us. Even if we swim away it will come.”
Trevor felt a flutter in his stomach as the submarine rose in the water.
Farway knelt and told the nine year old, “Not if it thinks you’re still onboard. Not if it thinks it succeeded in killing you.”
“Captain, what are you doing?”
“I’m getting you off my boat, Trevor,” Farway explained and then turned to his Executive Officer: “Paul, as soon as we get on the surface break out the RIBs.”
“Captain?”
“You’re taking Trevor and his son here the rest of the way. But haul ass. There are a lot of bulkheads for this thing to get through before it reaches us, but that doesn’t mean we’ve got all day.”
A loud splash marked their arrival on the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. The entire boat bobbed and wobbled. The sound of breakers cutting across the bow created a soft whoosh.
“Captain,” Trevor steadied his legs as the tremble in the decks subsided. “Where are you going with this?”
“To the bottom, Trevor,” he admitted with a sense of determination. “If the Newport News is going to be my tomb, then that damn thing is coming with us. And if it is tied in to Voggoth then he’ll think you’re dead. That might just buy you some time.”
“There has to be another way. You’ve got a lot of men on this boat.”
“A nice chunk of them were in the engine room and the decks below. If that thing is loose, I’m guessing there aren’t a whole lot left. The guys up here will be coming with you. As for me, well, it’s been a good career but since the world went to hell my biggest contribution to the war has been playing taxi. Now maybe I can do something a little more important.”
“Captain…”
Farway ignored Trevor and ordered, “Bridge crew, abandon ship. Planesman, rig for crash dive then get up on the weather deck. XO, break out those RIBs and anything else you can grab then get the hell out of here.”
Captain Farway stood atop the sail-or conning tower-and watched the two rigid-hulled inflatable boats speed away from the Newport News as fast as their small engines could carry them. He took solace in noting the calm seas. With a little luck the boats would make landfall at the rendezvous point about a day later than originally scheduled, depending on how well the men paddled once their fuel ran dry.
The career naval officer gazed at a morning sun hanging above the eastern horizon where it shared the sky with a crescent-shaped band of powdery white clouds. He filled his lungs with the salty but fresh air; always a shock after breathing the stale, super-scrubbed oxygen of his boat.
“A beautiful morning,” he spoke to no one.
The Captain vacated the sail, closed the hatch behind, and returned to the empty bridge. The lights still blinked, monitors still monitored, and the computers continued their routines and software programs all aimed at keeping the Newport News operating at peak efficiency. He wondered exactly how long the sub could manage without a human crew. It scared him-or saddened him-that the answer might be ‘a long time.’
Bong.
Something hammered against the stern bulkhead. The heavy metal there dented-a little.
Farway hurried to the helm and wound the boat’s engines to all ahead full. He then moved fast to the dive station. Out of habit he activated the ‘dive’ alarm. It echoed through an empty boat.
BONG- creak…
A second impact. The water tight door bent further.
Captain Farway grabbed hold of an overhead rail with one hand while working the controls with the other. The forward ballast tanks flooded fast and the nose of the Newport News tilted down-down-down. The hull moaned. The sound of water whooshing by outside created a roar through the control room. Debris fell and rolled and smashed. Momentum built.
