Then the nets suddenly shuddered to a halt, the retracting motors whining and shunting the machine cogs back and forward, the engines rising in ferocity as the mechanisms jolted from side to side. One of the crew lunged for the struggling retraction motor, the other two grasping the nets on either side with thick gloves and tugging, used to the occasional obstruction…rocks or heavy debris from deep in the darkened waters sometimes dragging on the catch, preventing the fish from emerging into the vessel as the net swept underneath or worse still, rose upwards into the whirring propellers.
The two fishermen pulled on the thick rope, dragging the reinforced nylon cable a couple of inches before gasping as the net fell back, the outside load or obstruction too heavy to free. Then one stiffened, his ears straining as they heard clunks against the outside hull, the scraping and squealing of steel, their gloved hands yanking furiously on the nets once more, sweat glistening across their brows.
The motor suddenly cut out, the crewmate behind shouting desperately over the crashing waves, ‘Now we free it or the drag will turn the vessel in the waves…’ He turned, stepping towards his two friends, his vision focussing on their strained frames in curiosity, ‘What can it be? The motor was overheating…the net is too heavy…’
His eyes widened in shock as their hands dropped, both men staggering backwards as they all stared at the opening in the hull, the men used to the sights of fish slipping onto the conveyor, the glistening eyes and shimmering scales of freshly caught catch surging through the opening and cascading along the rusted edged steel with freshly pumped water, all destined for the frozen hold below to conserve freshness.
Salt water spray glistened across the edges of the opening, further droplets sweeping inside as the distant large waves outside rose and fell, the men stepping forward in unison as gulls cawed in anger and swept past their vision. Then the lower rim of the opening seemed to move, a renewed clanking on the steel hull resuming, the fishermen frantically wiping their bloodshot eyes and straining to see.
Then they stepped back in alarm as the screeching of metal against metal increased, a black dome seeming to rise into the opening, obscuring some of the shaft of light. The rising black resin dome glistened with water as it rose further, the light dimming, the steel encased bulbs of the lower deck flickering as the shaft of light became narrower, then almost disappeared.
One of the fishermen swallowed hard, glancing round in the dimming light, ‘W-What is it?’ Then he gasped, red eyes flickering, then glowing through the darkened opening, further loud clanking to either side and the screeching recommencing as large bulky items were dragged upwards. Suddenly an intense bright light filled the fish preparation area, the men shielding their eyes and virtually blinded as the glow swept across their bodies, scanning the motors and gutting knives around them, a loud high pitched shriek as they staggered backwards in fear.
Then the figure was gone, clambering upwards across the hull, magnetised gloves and boots assisting the ascent, the fishermen glancing at each other in breathless horror as the deep clanking spread to the other side of the boat, the hull seeming to throb from the sound.
On deck, the two fishermen were staggering against the afternoon swell, pulling the damaged net and battered buoys across the water swept steel plates, their hoods up as waves crashed against the sides of the vessel, the boat rising and falling in the violent swell. Staring down at the thick high density torn nylon rope, a gloved hand reached forward, grasping the severed strands in confusion, the man’s voice rising in nervous awe, ‘These were cut…and quickly…something very sharp. What the f…?’
Rising slowly from a crouched position, the fisherman steadied his shaking crewmate, both wiping sea spray from their eyes and gradually turning in alarm, one hissing pensively as the other shook his head, ‘We should tell the skipper. To hell with fishing…we need to get back to shore and quickly!’
Their bleary, blood shot eyes widened, the bridges windows streaked and splattered with blood, rain beginning to fall with the intense sea spray around them as the two men’s frames sagged in fear, their heads turning to either side slowly, tall and bulky black exoskeleton frames rising from each side of the boat, the fishermen turning in a virtual circle back to back in terror.
Six dripping black armoured Morgon figures stood around them, the red eyes glowing as twin bladed swords slipped from the backs of glistening armoured plate, muffled screams echoing from the deck below as their three crewmates were hunted mercilessly down.
One fisherman stared at the Morgon that stepped from the door of the bridge, the decapitated head of their skipper held aloft as a prize at the end of his crimson soaked sword in relish, sea droplets running across his shining armour.
The surrounding soldiers hissed and raised their sharpened steel before stepping forward, the blades sweeping downwards as a victorious shrieks rang out, the fishermen screaming in terror. The blood lusted slashing continued for a couple of minutes, bone cracking as sinew stretched and was twisted from the shredded corpses, the soaked deck eventually coated in bloodied pulp and mush.
Chapter Four: Central Sector, Russia and the Ukraine
A World in Peril
South of St Petersburg: North West Russia
A lone
