Jonathan Maberry - SNAFU - An Anthology of Military Horror

“Don’t imagine for a second that makes things any easier for me,” she snapped. “And I will thank you to address me as ‘Lieutenant’ or ‘ma’am’, Seaman Hatcher.”

I looked down at the floor, my face warm. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

“This is not a costume I’m wearing.” Markey touched her uniform. “I earned my rank. I had to fight to get this job, and I fight every day to keep it.

“Yes, there are advantages to men finding you beautiful, but that perception also limits you. They think all you are is a pretty face and a nice body. They only care about what they can see.” She shrugged. “But I don’t have to tell you how appearances can be deceiving.”

“No, ma’am.”

Markey sighed. “What you’re doing now is very brave, Hatcher. But when this war is over, you’ll have to go back home — back to being a woman. Have you thought about how you’re going to handle that?”

“Well, ma’am, since most of my time in the Navy’s been spent cleaning one thing or another, I expect I’ll be well trained to be a housewife.” My words came out sounding more bitter than I intended.

“You have the talent, Hatcher,” Markey said. “More than that, you clearly have the will. These two things are powerful in combination.”

This conversation was becoming very uncomfortable. “With all due respect, ma’am, why the hell do you care? You don’t even know me.”

Markey stood and walked over to me. “I won’t be pretty forever. I’ll get old, and men won’t want me anymore. But this?” She held up a hand, then snapped her fingers to create an illusory flame bobbing in midair. “The talent will be with me until the day I die. And to know that, to have that and not use it for something good — that would be such a waste.”

I couldn’t decipher the expression on her face. Was she feeling some misplaced maternal pity for me? Or did she have another agenda?

After a moment, I decided I really didn’t care.

“Thanks for the advice, ma’am,” I said, “but we both have to survive the fucking war first.”

The floating fire winked out. “Dismissed.”

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I did my best to avoid Lieutenant Markey for the next several days. It wasn’t easy, since we were both stuck on the same three-hundred-foot, sixty-person submarine. And it wasn’t that I didn’t respect her. She clearly had major pull in OP-20-G to rate a teleport halfway around the planet. But she was calling as much attention to me as she was to herself, and I didn’t need that kind of exposure.

Fortunately, she spent most of her time in the control room or the conning tower, doing whatever she did to track down the mythical kraken, and I was assigned to the aft torpedo compartment. The captain had decided we would fire the fish from there once we were ready to wake the beast — we’d be facing away and ready to run like hell.

Markey had brought aboard divining bolts to replace the magnetic detonators in our Mark 14s. The magnets were supposed to explode a torpedo right underneath a ship’s hull, causing more damage than a broadside impact, but the damn things had never worked right. Markey’s instructions were to replace the magnets with D-bolts, which would make our fish detect monsters instead of metal.

The plan was to find the kraken, poke it with a couple of torpedoes, then skedaddle before it was fully aware of its surroundings. The kraken’s reported location was close enough to populated areas that it should — should — hear the noise from those cities and move toward Japan instead of anywhere else.

Working on the torpedoes occupied me for most of the time, but Markey’s questions kept bugging me. What was I going to do after the war ended?

Maybe I wouldn’t survive. Maybe that would be the best outcome for everyone: if I died in the line of duty, and my family didn’t find out until later what had happened to their daughter — that she’d given her life for her country.

Maybe they’d be proud of me. And maybe the good ol’ U-S-of-A would stop questioning our loyalty then.

I hadn’t thought about my future in a while — not since I first enlisted. It had always angered me to know how limited my options were, and now I was angry at Markey for reminding me, for making me worry about things I couldn’t change. That’s what I was thinking about that day, when the COB pulled Roseler and me out of the torpedo bay for another special assignment.

“We’re submerged in hostile waters, less than a hundred miles from enemy shore,” the captain said as I climbed into the conning tower. “We can’t surface, and we can’t outrun anything that swims. Anything goes wrong here and we are fucked .”

He was talking to Lieutenant Markey. Roseler was already crowded into the tight space around the periscope. I handed him the Bowfin ’s codex, which I had retrieved from the control room. He gave me a clipboard and a frantic look as I wedged myself into a corner next to the captain and the COB. It didn’t seem like all five of us needed to be here, but I wasn’t going to debate that.

“This will be a one-way tunnel,” Markey said. She might actually have looked better in trousers than a skirt. I tried my best not to feel jealous and failed. “There’s no danger of us being detected.”

“But why does Rosebud have to do the spell?” the COB asked. “Aren’t you the professional, Lieutenant?”

“Seaman Roseler is doing the easy part,” Markey said. “We don’t have a focus object, so I’ll need to guide the far end of the tunnel.”

The COB did a double take. “ You’re going to be his crystal ball?”

Markey sighed and looked at the captain. “We can spend all day discussing the finer points of scrying procedure, Captain, or we can get this done.”

“Carry on, Lieutenant,” the captain said.

I made as little eye contact with Markey as possible while she read off map coordinates for me to inscribe. I joined our target location and Bowfin ’s mantic signature into the spell, combining sonants and inflects from the codex reference tables and triple-checking each finished sequence. In principle, writing up the scry tunnel was simpler than describing a teleport path, but I did not want to be on the hook if this thing went sideways.

A few minutes later, Roseler and Markey were holding hands, their eyes closed as Roseler recited the full incantation.

Next to me, the captain muttered, “I’ll be glad when we’re done with all this black magic bullshit.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He glanced over as if noticing me for the first time. “Your family have talent, Seaman?”

I thought of my grandmother. She had introduced me to the occult, sneaking some mystical instruction into my language lessons every week. We never told my parents. They would have disapproved, to say the least.

I said, “Not that I’m aware of, sir.”

“Thank fucking God,” the COB said, on my other side. “Give me science and engineering any day of the week. I don’t trust anything I can’t take apart and see how it works—”

Roseler started screaming. It came suddenly, without even an intake of breath, and the sound was inhuman. He shrieked like an animal caught in a trap. I dropped the clipboard and covered my ears with both hands.

“Get the doc!” Markey shouted. “We need a tranquilizer!” Roseler’s body began convulsing. She wrestled him to the deck. “Hatcher! Help me hold him down!”

The captain leaned down the ladder and yelled for the corpsman. I jumped over him and grabbed Roseler’s shoulders. His eyes had rolled back into his head. He was still screaming, and his legs kicked around despite Markey’s iron grip.