Уильям Мейкл - Operation - North Sea

“We’ve got company,” one of the operators said. “Duke class frigate, two miles south and closing.”

“Tell them to back off. We’ve got this,” Banks said.

Again, Green looked like he wanted to argue but something in Bank’s stare dissuaded him, and he gave the order, reluctantly, while Seton busied himself at the console setting up the audio loop.

“Ready to go,’ the older man said a few minutes later.

“It’s your show, Sandy, you give the order,” Banks replied.

Sandy grinned.

“Make it so,” he said and pointed at the screen.

The now familiar chant echoed through the sub.

He sleeps and he dreams with the fish far below.

He dreams and he sings in the dark.

“What nonsense is this now?” Green said.

“‘However daft it seems’, that’s what your orders said, was it not?” Banks replied. “Just keep quiet and watch. I’ve told you, the man knows what he’s doing.”

Banks studied the screen closely. The beast’s head came up and cocked, almost comically, to one side as if it was listening.

He sleeps and he sings and he dreams far below.

The huge head shook, like a dog shedding water then dropped to rest again on the castle rock. The huge tail rose slowly, and descended again, slapping the water along the shore.

Then it was still.

And the Dreaming God is singing where he lies.

“It’s working,” Seton said, almost a shout. “Look, it’s working.”

Banks wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t been looking directly at it, and even then, watching on a screen made it look more like a big-budget effect than he would have liked. But the solidity of the beast was definitely in question; it faded, like a developing photograph running in reverse, the color leeching out of it until the rocks of the cliff behind it could be seen showing through.

The beast’s wailing song rose up, somehow audible even here in the sub, a mournful sigh more than a song, fading even as the beast faded.

“It’s working,” Seton shouted again.

Then the captain of the frigate to their south did something really stupid.

He opened fire on the beast.

They didn’t hear the shot, only saw the result, an explosion of rock and earth and smoke and debris that fell over the beast like a shroud. One of the sub’s crew yelled in triumph but it was short lived. A breeze blew the aftermath of the explosion away, revealing the beast, still there, uncoiling now from its snug in the bay and gaining solidity again by the minute despite the fact that Seton’s chant was still going out across the waves.

“The stupid bastard,” Seton said. “We had it. We were that close.”

“Harm’s done now,” Green said and barked out an order. “Arm the Spearfish. Let’s give it something bigger to play with. And please, somebody, switch off that fucking singing; it’s getting right on my tits.”

But they weren’t going to be given time to fire a torpedo; before anyone had a chance to put the captain’s orders into action, the beast launched itself out of the bay, its tail taking a large chunk of cliff-face with it as it left. It headed, faster than any torpedo, directly out to sea and straight for the frigate.

“Get me eyes on that boat,” Green shouted.

By the time the scope rotated and they had a view of the frigate, it was too late; the serpent had already reached it. The frigate fired one more round that hit the beast in the belly and had as much effect as a pea-shooter against a stone wall, then the creature rose up out of the water, towered high above the vessel then simply let itself fall. The frigate broke in half midship under the weight, the rear end going down fast. The serpent took more time with the front end and superstructure, dismantling it in a similar manner that they had seen it do to the rig the night before, tossing bits of metal weighing tons high in the air like confetti, but in a matter of seconds the frigate was gone. As the remains sank, so too did the serpent, as if following its prey down to the depths.

There were no survivors left behind.

“Do you still have it on radar?” Green shouted.

“Aye, sir, but it’s moving away fast.”

“Then get after it; full power. We can’t lose it now.”

“You need to let me try again,” Seton said. “We were so close.”

“I need to do no such thing,” Green replied. “I’ve gone along with your nonsense long enough. We’re going to get it out into open water and nuke the bastard.”

“What are you armed with?” Banks asked.

“Four Trident IIs. Each missile carries four Mk-5 RVs with four hundred and fifty-five kiloton W88 warheads. That’s about thirty Hiroshimas each in layman’s terms.”

“Fuck me sideways,” Wiggo said.

“Bend over, the missile’s ready to go,” Green replied with a grim smile. “You’ve had your turn, gentlemen. Now please stand aside. This one’s all mine.”

The sub captain’s plans proved to be short-lived. They were only a mile or so away from the site of the frigate tragedy when the radar operator spoke up.

“Lost it again. It was there, and then it wasn’t.”

“How in hell could it do that?” Green asked.

“You saw how,” Seton replied. “I showed you how.”

“All you showed me was how daft you all are,” Green answered.

“Aye, well, show us how smart you are then,” Wiggo said. “What’s your plan now?”

“Same as before. We find it and nuke the bugger.”

“Good luck with that,” Seton said and without another word turned and headed out of the bridge.

Wiggo followed him out and found him in the cabin, taking his hip-flask out of a pocket.

“At least I managed to fill this from your colonel’s supply back at the barracks,” Seton said. “The one good thing to come out of this mess so far. Will you join me?”

“Aye, just don’t let on to the captain. He just prompted me and I don’t need to give him a reason to go back on it.”

Seton passed him the flask. The whisky went down smooth and warm and set a wee fire in his belly like all the best stuff does. He passed it back reluctantly and spoke while Seton took a swig for himself.

“You really think the nuke won’t work?”

“I think it’s a possibility… maybe even a probability. But although I had a go at the captain back there, I can’t really see another option unless we can lure it to some known location away from people. And I can’t see how we could do that without being too close to it when the nuke went off.

“Some deserted island?” Wiggo said, accepting another swig of the whisky.

“In the North Sea? Not much chance of that… but…”

It looked like Seton had just been hit by a eureka moment. Without finishing the sentence, he left the cabin in a hurry.

Wiggo was right behind them as they returned to the bridge.

“I’ve got an idea,” Seton said.

Green looked skeptical until Banks spoke up.

“You still have your orders, Captain. And the beast has vanished. Would it hurt to listen?”

Green waved his hand that Seton should continue.

“I was thinking about the rig again,” Seton said. “And I remembered. There are numerous derelict rigs out in these waters. What if we find one far enough from everything so that the nuke could go off without killing anyone… including us? We set up a beacon, a pinger like the one that drew it to the castle, then we back off out of range of the nuke, set off the pinger and wait for the beast to approach. If we leave a camera with the pinger, we should be able to see it on screen, and then the captain here can do his thing, take it down. Or at least try to.”

Wiggo saw Green thinking.