Thomas Greanias - The 34th Degree

Deker and Philip shrank back from the door and huddled in the corner of the cell, waiting for the torrent to burst through and flood the cell. But the thick door blocked the water, as did one of the captors, who slammed into the metal barrier and whose face plugged the window slot. Deker looked up at the German’s eyes, turning round in terror. The entire door seemed ready to give way from the buildup behind it, and water started spurting around the edges, but the visible bulge in the center of the door flattened, and the blue face in the window slipped out of sight as the water receded.

Deker looked at Philip, who was making the sign of the cross. He then stood up and walked to the cell door. The force of the water had cracked the door’s frame. After a few pushes, they were able to force the door open.

The entire network of tunnels beneath the submarine bay was flooded, they discovered, and all who were inside had drowned, including the prisoner in the neighboring cell. Deker found a couple of German corpses floating about and helped himself to a Schmeisser.

“I have to find Aphrodite,” he told Philip as they waded through the sea water toward some stone steps and made their way up to the bay level.

Philip said, “She’s on the Nausicaa with the Maranatha text.”

“No,” said Deker. “The text is upstairs in von Berg’s study-unless you saw him take it aboard the submarine.”

Philip shook his head. “I don’t believe he took anything with him.”

At the top of the steps, they reached a dry corridor outside the submarine bay, still below the surface of the hillside but undamaged by the flooding in the lower levels.

“You go after Aphrodite,” said Philip. “I’ll go after the text.”

They were silent a moment, only dimly aware of shouts and gunfire in the distance. Deker looked into the old monk’s eyes. He hardly knew this man and yet had so many questions he would have liked to ask him. Philip seemed to grasp a greater world than Deker knew. But the Baron was getting away, and both he and Philip understood that there was no time now.

“Good-bye,” Deker said as they separated.

“God help you!” cried Philip, and he disappeared down the dark corridor.

Deker turned around, pulled out his Schmeisser, and started toward the submarine bay. Sirens blared, and soldiers ran past him in the opposite direction. He encountered no resistance, as everybody was preoccupied with their own survival. But when he entered the submarine bay, he was greeted by machine-gun fire from the aft deck of the Nausicaa, and he dove for cover behind some crates.

When the gunfire ceased, Deker peered over the crates and gazed out over the cavernous submarine bay. Large chunks of rock were falling from the ceiling. With all the smoke and confusion, Deker couldn’t see the submarine and feared she was gone. Then a curtain of smoke parted, and he could see the unreal image of the Nausicaa slipping away. Behind her giant gun on the aft deck was Franz, who spotted him behind the crates. Franz swung the gun toward him and unleashed a burst of fire.

Deker ducked as the bullets drilled a neat row of holes into the rock over his head. The Nausicaa ’s antiaircraft guns were designed to lock at a parallel angle, no doubt to prevent the gunners from tearing up their own deck. But in these circumstances, they frustrated Franz’s attempt to point the barrels low enough to kill him.

Deker emerged from behind the crates and ran beneath the line of fire until he reached the end of the stone pier. Only ten feet of water separated him from the Nausicaa. But to him, it could have been ten miles. He froze in fear.

Franz reached for his Luger to pick him off. Deker saw him and quickly lifted the barrel of his Schmeisser, fell to one knee, and fired, knocking Franz off the aft deck of the escaping submarine. Deker took a deep breath and dove into the water, crawling wildly toward the Nausicaa before it could get away.

He climbed up onto the Nausicaa ’s aft deck and lay sprawled on his back, gasping for air. They were slowly making their way through floating debris out of the cave. Behind them lay fiery destruction, before them a gaping hole and the open sea.

The Nausicaa was emerging from the collapsing tunnel and into broad daylight when Myers noticed Franz wasn’t firing the guns anymore. He turned to discover that Franz was nowhere in sight, only the dark, drenched figure of Andros pointing a Schmeisser at him.

Andros said, “You have new orders, Kapitanleutnant. You are to proceed on your present course and present speed, but you won’t take her down until I say so.”

“But we are vulnerable to aircraft,” Myers protested.

Andros raised the Schmeisser to Myers’s head. “Right now you are vulnerable to many things. Where’s von Berg?”

“My quarters.”

“With Aphrodite?”

“Yes.”

“How many are in the conning tower below us?”

“A helmsman and torpedo officer.”

“And in the control room on the level below?”

“Four technicians,” Myers replied. “The diving officer, a helmsman, and two planesmen.”

“So six crew members stand between me and von Berg,” said Andros, calculating the captain’s quarters to be the first compartment forward from the control room. “And the Flammenschwert device. Where is it?”

Myers didn’t respond.

Andros slid back the bolt of his Schmeisser, letting the loud click speak for itself. “I didn’t hear you.”

“It’s in the forward torpedo room,” Myers replied. “You’ll never make it that far. There are thirty-five crew members below and only one fore-and-aft passageway.”

“Let me worry about that. Now call your communications officer in the radio room.”

Myers was about to speak into the intercom when Andros buried the barrel of the Schmeisser in the back of his neck.

“Not into the public-address system,” Andros warned. “This is a private conversation. I know one of these pipes here connects you directly to the radio room, so choose the right one.”

Myers nodded and spoke into his piping to the radio room. “Funkgefreiter Voigt.”

“At your orders, Kapitanleutnant.”

Myers looked up for further instructions.

“Tell Voigt to tune to the following frequency.” Andros gave him the frequency, and Myers repeated it to the dumbfounded telegraphist.

There was a lengthy pause on the other end. “But that’s an Allied frequency, sir!”

“That’s an order,” Myers barked.

Andros told Myers, “And when he’s through sending the following message, you’ll order everybody to abandon ship.”

The Cherub was a few miles off the coast of Corfu as Erin Whyte watched the hillside and cove beneath the Achillion explode with columns of fire. She realized nobody could possibly survive that kind of destruction.

“It doesn’t look good,” she said softly as she peered through the periscope inside the conning tower.

“Let me see,” demanded a liberated Prestwick, who was standing next to her. His wrists were still raw from being tied up, so he grasped the handles of the scope gingerly as he pressed his spectacles to the glass. “Good show!” he exclaimed. “Those bombers hit the bull’s-eye.”

“No thanks to you,” remarked Erin, incensed at Prestwick’s utter disregard for Andros. “It was Chris who led us here.”

Prestwick kept his eyes glued to the periscope. “Thank you, Andros, wherever you are,” he said with a shudder. “Your father would have been proud of you. My God, would you look at that.”

Erin stepped aside as Captain Safire took a look for himself and removed his cap. “Aye, there’s nobody coming out of that alive.”