Authors: J. Clayton Rogers
"Top?"
"Fritz! You've got to do something for me."
"Yeah, Top?"
"Swear on your fucking balls, Fritz… swear you'll never tell anyone about this!"
"I swear."
"Fritz, I left my gun out in the dunes. In the sand. That son of a bitch came up so fast--and I ran. Enderfall took off and I turned tail behind him. Nearly shit in my pants. I abandoned my gun! Fritz!"
"Yes?"
"You got to go out and get it for me, before Anthony sees me without it. Before the men do! Please, Fritz. I'm begging you!"
"But the lieutenant… all right, Top. It's over by the bunker. I saw it there just a minute ago."
"It's out there. Get it!"
Lieber returned a few minutes later. "It's pretty well banged up, Top."
"Put it here." Ziolkowski patted the ground next to him.
Lieber lay the broken stock and twisted barrel of the Rexer next to the sergeant.
"Don't tell anyone I ran, Fritz."
"My name's Private Heinrich Lieber, Top Sergeant."
"I hate being fucked up like this. Someone ought to shoot me." Ziolkowski blinked at the stars, then abruptly fell asleep.
An argument had broken out in the direction of the lagoon. Lieber started over, taking a Springfield from the side of a badly wounded marine as he passed his stretcher.
Singleton had encounted an unexpected face in the landing party.
"How in God's name
-
-
" But Singleton stopped. It was apparent that the Ordinary Seaman's uniform William Pegg was wearing had been his means of getting onto the second whaleboat. The blood
-
soaked bandage on his forearm indicated he'd manned the oars with the rest of them. The pain must have been excruciating, but not a glimmer of regret showed in his eyes. The boy actually seemed pleased to be present. When he heard one of the boats was going to be sent back to the
Florida
, he seemed just as pleased with the prospect of getting back on the open water.xxxxx
"They'll need rowers. I rowed in, I can row back out."
"My dear boy, if you're suggesting
-
-look at you now, ready to bleed to death." Singleton had not quite recovered from his earlier nausea. The sight of even more blood curdled his stomach. He was about to ask William what good he thought he could do, but checked short on realizing he could ask himself the same question. "We'll see," he concluded in a stern paternal tone.
"Who's in charge here?" Hart asked.
"I believe that would be the marine captain who came with the first landing party."
"He's dead," Hart answered, giving the doctor a curious look. "I wirelessed that news back to the ship."
"Oh. Then I suppose it falls to Ensign Garrett to give us an escort back."
They found him at the far end of the compound, arguing with an angry flock of Leathernecks.
"We have to go back out. That's our whole reason for being here. Haven't you started loading the barges?"
Their silence provided his answer.
"We needed more artillery," someone finally ventured. "We aren't going to stay here with just two fieldpieces."
"There's three, now. That should cover us plenty. We're going out to the lighters. We're going to load the coal. And we're going to take it out to the
Florida
."
"Hell, the ship won't be left by the time we finish," a marine complained.
Even as they looked out to sea, the two remaining port searchlights on the
Florida
dimmed perceptibly.
"That's right," said Garrett. "And then what? Okay, when we go out, I'll ask only for volunteers. Until then, we shovel coal."
Heinrich Leiber did not wait. He stepped forward. "I will go with you to the boat. It's simple. If we stay here, we'll die."
Next came all of the surviving Japanese, who shared Lieber's sentiment. The Chinese quickly followed suit, as well as the rest of the marines from the original contingent.
With one exception.
"Enderfall!" Lieber hollered. "Get your ass over here!"
"What did you say?" came Enderfall's incredulous response. The German had sounded exactly like Ziolkowski..
One fact was obvious to the newcomers: After a week and a half fighting the creatures on land, the Midway contingent thought nothing about risking their necks on water.
"We could arm the tug," said one of the marines slowly. "Use the three
-
pounder as a bow chaser."
"But that'd only leave two for the island. How many men are you going to take out with you? Ten? Twenty? What about those left behind?"
"Details later," said Garrett, rubbing a bruise on his temple. He had every intention of putting all three guns on the tug. The coal was the most important thing. "Let's start the marbles rolling. We'll be half the night loading the barges."
Dr. Singleton and Hart came forward.
"We have to get back to the
Florida
with you."
Garrett eyed the doctor dubiously. "I don't think
-
-
"
"We have a plan. We just might be able to save ourselves and the ship."
Before he could elaborate, a frantic shout came from the shore. A moment later, one of the lookouts came running up. "The ship! It's moving toward us!"
"At the reef?" Garrett said, stunned.
2110 Hours
"Captain, there's nothing I can do. Not until that wood gets to me. There's not a lump left down here. But you've got to hurry… sir. Once the boilers go out, it'll take the better part of four hours to raise full steam again."
Captain Oates looked up from the voice pipe. Grissom blanched under his glare. "That order should have been given hours ago."
The exec nodded miserably. One of the first things he should have done when Oates was temporarily incapacitated was check the coal log. Seeing the critical shortage, he would have ordered every piece of wood available, from pianos to paneling, to be chopped up for the boilers. Now it was apparently too late. The creature had taken hold of the aft anchor and was tugging them in a slow but certain circle.
"The anchors should hold," he said tepidly.
"If that bastard has enough muscle to tow the
Florida
three hundred and sixty degrees, it sure as Dewey's nuts can break us out of our mooring."
"Aye, sir."
The order was given.
Throughout the ship, men wielding axes circulated through the passageways and wardrooms, looking to make kindling out of any wood in their way. They hacked fiercely at the ship's fake armor, paneled walls, tables, elegant carvings. A line formed to the boiler rooms. Finely stained pine, oak and maple were consigned to the flames. Flammable varnish caused a burst that gave the chief engineer headaches, but Oates could not concern himself with that.
He was thinking of ways to disconnect the ship from the aft hawser in the event the forward sea anchor broke loose. The serpent had begun toying with the
Florida
again, yanking the ship about by its aft anchor chain. Sand Island now appeared on the starboard quarter, whereas fifteen minutes earlier it had been abeam. If the creature brought them a full circle and they lost steam completely, they'd be cast adrift. The incoming tide would put them on the reef.
Glancing out the side of his eye, he caught Grissom's stricken expression. He wanted to pat his exec's shoulder. His slip
-
up with the fuel was understandable, if not officially forgivable. The unnatural stress could have induced forgetfulness in any man. After all, it had given Oates himself a heart attack.
But the exec's rare lapse might prove fatal to them all. Oates walked as briskly as he could to the port wing. Raising his binoculars, he scanned the atoll and was gratified to see lanterns clustered around the coal bunker on Sand Island. Finally, they were loading the barges. Yet the job would take hours to complete. Even then, they could not coal while under attack.
"Sir, the fo'ard hawser...."
Oates turned his attention to the bow. The huge chain looped backwards through the hawsehole and rattled loudly on the flashplate.
"Son of a bitch is strong." He brooded a moment, then grew excited. "Grissom! Turn off everything! Auxiliary engines! Conveyors! Everything! Reserve all power for the searchlights and capstan. That wood doesn't give us much power, but we can still use it to good purpose."
"Sir?"
"What do you do when you've hooked a fish?"
"You reel it in?" Grissom said doubtfully.
2129 Hours
The master-at-arms and first lieutenant were assigned the task of assembling as many guns as possible on the quarterdeck. The six-inchers aft, undamaged, were depressed as far as they would go, a lucky shot in mind. Every machine gun was trained sternward. Captain Oates envisioned a point-blank fusillade directed at the creature's head.
When everything was set, Oates gave the order. From the aft bridge he could see the water boil not far astern. The dumb tenacity of the monster stunned him. It wouldn't let go! Well, all the better. In eagerness and fear, he leaned out for a closer look.
"Stay with the engine room telegraph," he told Grissom. "That thing just may be strong enough to break the chain. If so, I want full steam. If we can swing around the fo'ard anchor, we'll fire both our bow tubes. Maybe we can send a torpedo up her arse."
The ship trembled. The stern dipped perceptibly. The water was a cauldron. The creature's body bulged over the waves. Its tremendous flippers whirled upwards, raising a sheet of seawater that soaked everyone on or near the quarterdeck. Deck plates rattled and rang as the anchor chain screeched through the hawse-pipe.
Oates found himself giving the old whaling shout: "She breaches!"
The creature rocked up, the chain still in its mouth. Rifle fire plummeted, machine guns chattered, three-pounders huddled closer for a shot, but it was too close for the six-inchers. Oates watched breathlessly as tracers arced towards the head like a swarm of fiery gnats. He gripped his megaphone to his chest, ready to call out orders to Grissom the instant the beast let go.
But there was something wrong. The creature was yanking at the chain with insane might, as if intent on ripping it out of the boat. Smoke caused by friction roiled up from the capstan. No one dared go near to throw water over it, but the shower caused by the animal's thrashing prevented the aft windlass and quarterdeck from bursting into flame.
"No!" Oates shouted to himself when he saw the reason for its behavior. The creature's teeth had become jammed between the links. It was trying to let go and couldn't.
The capstan howled with torn mechanics, steam and smoke clouding the afterdeck. Its internal ratchets pounded so hard the deck visibly jumped with each turn. Oates caught the peculiar stink of burning varnish pouring out of the funnels. If the Chief used too much stained wood, the
Florida
might blow up.
"Let go the capstan!" he yelled through his megaphone. "Let it go! Let her run out!"
No one below could hear him over the noise. A moment later, he felt as if his heart was being torn out when the capstan was ripped halfway from its mounting. An instant later the creature dove. The quarterdeck dipped perilously, was suddenly awash. There was a sucking of air as the water gushed under the mounting and hit the red-hot windlass gears. The hawser slacked, whipped, went taut again. The ship bounced twice, followed by a loud bang as the keel hit an underwater island of coral.
"It's twisted us 'round! Ahead engines!"
Too late. The soul-wrenching rip of metal could be heard stem to stern as they plowed across the coral ridge. The few men who remained on their feet were forced into a herky-jerky dance, like the hornpipes of drunken sailors. The aft hawser whipped one last time. The capstan flew up and crashed across the deck. To Oates, the sight of the powerful engine gouging through the hawse-pipe was the most astonishing hallucination since this whole thing began. There was a wicked snap as the chain broke at the hawsehole, leaving the conical engine five yards from its mount.
He ran to the pilothouse. "Grissom! Goddammit, we have to--"
He stopped cold as he noted Grissom's absence and the shocked expression worn by a yeoman leaning next to the bridge screen. With trepidation, he went to the rail and looked down.
"He heard you shout," the yeoman explained. "He couldn't understand what you were saying. He was going out when the deck just... kind of jumped."
He'd lost his footing.
He lay at the bottom of the bridge ladder--his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
2205 Hours