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Chapter 22
The surface waters in the summer North Atlantic are warm, but it is only a superficial warmth. Deeper water remains winter-cold. The shift occurs suddenly, and that border – the thermocline – is a barrier to sound waves. Creya was long familiar with its properties, and had millenia of experience in using it to sneak up on unsuspecting whales. The little metal underwater ship had been nosing around closer than he liked, but when it went up to the surface (Why, he wondered. Did it need to breathe, like a whale?) he was ready. The Kraken moved as its noises vanished into the surface layer, jetting to its last known location and then ghosting along on its course, waiting. It would likely come back down again, and then he would have it.
“Three hundred feet, descending. Passing the thermocline.” Chief Aguirre watched the sonar plots, waiting to pick up the tell-tale rhythm of the Kraken's hearts as they cleared the surface waters. His normally swarthy face went pale when the display showed it strong, clear, and nearby. “Captain! It's moved! It's right under us, bearing two-three-five, less than a thousand yards!”
Peterson reacted instantly. “All ahead emergency! Come to zero-five-five! Planes level.” The boat slewed around, tilting to the side as it spun onto a heading directly away from the kraken, and the scimitar blades of the propellor thrashed the water violently as the engines sped up. “Active sonar. Williams, get me a firing solution.”
The tactical officer, a Transformed ocelot, chuffed in acknowledgement as the active array began pinging. “Have it now, sir. Bearing two-three-four, range nine-hundred-fifty yards. Spinning up one and four.”
“Fire when ready.”
Creya was annoyed. <So close, and yet out of reach after all. They are smarter than the dolphins, it would seem.> He swam toward the little vessel, tentacles reaching out ahead of him, but the ship had only just begun to clear the thermocline when it began turning, the blades thrashing wildly and turning towards him while it began to make that infernal high-pitched bleating. <No, you don't. Not this time.>
“Torpedoes away.” The pair of Mark-48's arced out from the bows of the Scranton, turning to circle out from the boat. Once they were clear, they jettisonned their guiding wires and their own seeker heads went active, pinging to identify their target and guide the torpedoes in. “Reloading.”
Creya was even more annoyed. The vessel had launched a pair of those nasty little fireball weapons as it tried to get away. He slowed to a stop, tentacles weaving in arcane patterns as he summoned a protective shield.
Tollant watched as the plots were updated. “I think we can safely assume that we have found our target.” Icons marked the position of the Scranton and her opponent, the submarine’s active sonar creating enough noise to penetrate the thermocline barrier. A moment later, a pair of eruptions on the surface marked the place where two torpedoes had detonated. The sound took another several seconds to arrive. Helicopters converged on the spot.
“Scranton has gone to full power, Admiral. They appear to be trying to get away from the thing.”
Tollant nodded. “Tell Normandy to get the special weapons ready.”
The submarine continued to ping away with active sonar. “Captain, I don't think the torpedoes had any effect. It stopped for a bit, but it's following us again.”
Peterson watched the plot. “It bought us some time, at least. It's not supposed to be able to match our top speed unless the tentacles are trailing behind it. Let's hope they have that right.”
“Range two thousand yards, still increasing.”
Peterson nodded. “Circle to starboard, five degrees per minute. Let's lead it back toward the fleet if we can.”
Creya released his shield spell and started swimming after the little vessel again. It took him a little while to build up speed, and it continued to run away from him – but not fast enough to save it, not once he was moving properly again. <Not this time, little morsels.> The sudden eruption of splashes all around him took him by surprise. <What--!?>
“ASW heloes engaging now, Admiral. Five torpedoes in the water.”
Tollant nodded. “Have them stagger their attacks. Keep it busy and distracted while Normandy gets into position.”
Creya was -very- annoyed. He'd had to stop again, and the undersea vessel continued to move away, turning to the south as it ran from him. The flying machines and their small fireball weapons were only a minor nuisance in and of themselves, but being pinned in one place made him uneasy. He decided to risk the chance of being hurt, and dropped the shielding spell again to jet off after the fleeing ship.
USS Normandy was officially part of the screening element around the nuclear aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan. She was currently steaming at full speed, moving out to the front of the task group as it closed on the Kraken. Her normal main armament was a bank of missiles, but at the moment she could only use about half of them. The rest of the tubes were blocked by the jury-rigged machinery that occupied her foredeck.
“Time to intercept?” Captain Jenkins asked the question while he watched the still-distant aerial ballet of the helicopters.
“Forty minutes, Captain.” The navigator was keeping that plot updated continuously. “The target is moving again, in our direction.”
Jenkins nodded. “Good. Get the crews ready on the depth charge launchers.” The two launchers were at least fifty years old, and the crew chiefs for both of them were re-activated retirees from the service. Both were Changelings who had apparently been rejuvenated in the Event. They'd done their best to teach the younger sailors how to operate the antiquated devices. The ammunition that had been provided for them, however... Jenkins shook his head. <It's crazy. But maybe it's crazy enough to work.>
“Mr. President? We've just received that message you've been waiting for – the one from the Navy.”
Boehner smiled as he looked up from his briefing papers. “Excellent. Tell the Situation Room we'll be down shortly.” He looked back at his NSA Director as the secretary disappeared back to her office. “I think you'll be interested in this. Care to join me downstairs, Janet?”
The wolf nodded, her ears twitched forward. “The Navy, eh? Have we caught up with the Kraken?”
The President nodded. “Caught up, and with luck we can make an end of him. He's destroyed too many ships and eaten too many sailors in the past eight months. No one's quite sure how effective this will be, but we've made one very useful bit of progress with the magical infrastructure research.”
“Oh? Let me guess. It has once again proven easier to build a bomb than a generator.”
Boehner chuckled. “This is why I asked you to take your job. Yes. Stardancer's people have come up with something that generates a pulse of what she calls 'raw mana'. They tested it in Nevada, and all of the magicians – Changelings or not - who were anywhere near it reported pain and disorientation when it was detonated. They've got two of the things with the task force that's hunting the Kraken, and we're hoping that it'll stun him long enough to finish him off with more conventional weapons.”
Lowe's grin was even more wolfish than usual. “From everything I've learned about that one, it's better than he deserves. Shall we finish up today's China report first, or just head downstairs now?”
“You were Navy. You should know that ship battles don't move too fast. We'll have time to finish up. So where were we?”
“Wei Lung's clean-up program. He's put something like half of the old People's Liberation Army – all non-changed humans, by the way – on the problem, and has been ordering all kinds of pollution control and cleanup technology from both us and the Europeans. I think you saw some of the technology release requests last week...?”
“I did. What do you recommend on that issue?”
The wolf sniffed. “I don't even know why it's on the restricted list. It can't possibly hurt to release pollution control gear, can it?”
“I asked that when it turned up. It seems that the scrubbers concentrate useful – and sometimes strategic - metals from the stack gases.”
“That would explain it. But I still recommend allowing it. China definitely needs cleaning up. There's places there that make our Superfund sites look clean.”
The tactical officer looked up from his plot. “He's gaining on us, sir. I don't think we're as fast as an Alfa.”
Peterson nodded. “All ahead flank speed. Take us up to two hundred fifty.” The helmsman pushed the engine telegraph switch to the farthest position. In the engine room, the turbine valves opened all the way and the reactor went above its official one hundred percent power rating as the propeller thrashed the water. The planesman pulled his yoke back and the submarine began to rise toward the surface.
“All ahead flank, sir.”
Chief Aguirre stepped out of the sonar shack as the sub's speed picked up. “We're losing track of it, sir. Even active, we're getting too much flow noise and cavitation to hear anything worthwhile.”
Peterson nodded. “I know. We'll run at top speed for half an hour and hope that's enough. That's more than enough time to lead it back to the fleet if we can keep out of its reach. And then?” He chuckled. “I wasn't given any details, but rumor has it that they sent something out specially for our friend back there.”
Creya was pleased, for the most part. The underwater ship was moving quickly, but not quickly enough to evade him, and the flying machines were dropping behind. The only sour note was the lack of fear from his quarry. <Perhaps they do not know their peril. The crewfolk cannot see out, after all. I will make sure that they all know they have been caught before I crush their hull.>
Scranton reappeared rather suddenly from beneath the thermocline twelve thousand yards from Normandy. Lieutenant Commander Bauer reported the reacquisition to the bridge from his post in the CIC. “They're back, sir.”
Captain Jenkins smiled. “Perfect. Ten degrees starboard helm. We want to pass right over the sub if we can, the Kraken should be right behind her. And then we launch our depth charges.” He keyed the 1MC. “Now hear this. We are heading into battle with the Kraken monster. All hands below decks unless your duty station for this encounter has been specifically set.” The sailors on deck made an orderly retreat, leaving only the crews of the two catapults behind. “Master Chief Kwitowski? Load and arm the special weapons. Stand by for my signal to launch.”
On Normandy's main deck, the Changeling bear growled, “You heard the Captain. Let's get these things loaded and ready to go.” He glanced up to where the helicopters continued to circle, marking the position of the Kraken and the submarine. “Fifteen minutes 'til we're there. We've done it in five. This time I want it done in ten. Take your time, and make sure you get it right.”
Creya was merely amused as the submarine moved up through the thermocline layer. <It's too late for that now. There is no place to hide here in the open ocean.> He followed, floating up through the layer into the warmer surface waters and absently noting the suddenly increased noise of propellers beating through the water. Only one was close by, not a very big ship by the standards of the huge but lightly manned metal leviathans he'd been finding. <But this one is full of minds to consume, and it is coming straight towards me. Excellent... dinner and an appetizer.>
“Multiple contacts from the estimated position of the task group. One contact closer at ten thousand yards and closing.”
Peterson noted the sonar report. “So we know where the task group is. The question is, where has the Kraken gotten to?”
“Should be less than two thousand yards behind us, skipper.” Lieutenant Williams was hurriedly updating his tactical plot. “Assuming we were both at our maximum speeds when we lost track of it. And if that's the case, we have a maximum of twenty minutes left before it can reach us. We'll intercept Foxtrot One about five minutes before that with the current vectors.”
<More ships of war. They hurt me once, but I have their measure now. They will learn who is the true master of the oceans.>
“Bridge, CIC. We have the Kraken on sonar now. He is fifteen hundred yards behind Scranton and closing at two hundred yards per minute. We will be at optimum firing range in just over eight minutes.”
Jenkins nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. Special depth charges, prepare to fire on my command.”
The time ticked away inexorably as two warships and an ancient sorceror converged.
“We'll be directly under Foxtrot One in sixty seconds from... mark.”
Peterson keyed his 1MC. “All hands, stand by for depth charges. They're not going to be aimed at us, but we'll still have a front row seat. Prepare for torpedo countermeasures. We might pick up a stray aimed at --.” A horrid metallic squeal interrupted him, and the ship suddenly heeled to port. “At our overly affectionate friend. Hang on.” He let go of the mike. “Hard to port, helmsman.”
“Hard to port, aye!” The ship turned into the tentacle that had gotten a grip, slackening its hold for a moment while the propellor tried to build up speed to pull free.
<Still almost no fear? Annoyingly brave, these machine-users. I shall take them up to the surface and deal with them slowly. They -will- know terror before I grant them death. > Creya added another two tentacles to his grip on the submarine and swam toward the surface, his remaining tentacles already groping for the second ship.
“He's coming up! Repeat, he's coming up!”
Kwitowski growled. “Quick! Reset the depth for eight fathoms. He's surfacing, we don't want them going off deep!” The techs hastened to comply, and then jumped clear of the launchers. “Steady... steady...” A pair of tentacles emerged from the water, terrible things whose yards-wide suckers sported hooks in their centers.
Captain Jenkins gauged the moment, just as the tentacles reached for his ship. “FIRE!” The launcher crews reacted as one, and two depth charges rocketed into the air and splashed down on either side of the Normandy. Kwitowski watched them go, and muttered, “For what we are about to receive, Lord, let us be truly thankful...”
Creya cringed at the splashes, but this time the machines just sank rather than coming for him. He'd just started to relax again when the first one went off, followed a second later by the other.
Peterson held on to a bulkhead as the submarine's hull creaked and groaned around them. “Prepare to fire torpedoes two and three!” Scranton's sonar didn't pick up the two splashes, but the explosions hammered her already damaged hull.
"It's no good, sir! The doors are jammed, we can't get a green light!"
On board Normandy, the explosions made the hull ring. Every man standing felt it in the soles of his feet as the cruiser tried to absorb the shock. Had they been normal depth charges, she would have taken damage from her own shots, but the explosives were only a small part of the energy released. Master Chief Kwitowski, along with every Changeling crew member and not a few apparently normal humans collapsed as weirdly colored light erupted from the water on either side of the ship.
Scranton's hull creaked under the blows of the two depth charges, but of more immediate concern was the eldritch light which managed to penetrate to every bit of the submarine. A third of her crew collapsed in agony, including the planesman, who fell against his controls.
Creya writhed in torment, his mind blasted to incoherence by the sheer surprise of the attack. The sleet of raw magic blasted through his shields as if they weren't even there, and he never even noticed as the helicopters moved in for the kill.
Scranton leaped forward as the tentacles gripping her slackened, but with her engines still at full power and the planesman slumped against his control yoke, the submarine started to dive. Peterson shouted to the crewmen who were still standing. “We need to get the planes up! Chief Carpenter, blow the ballast tanks!” Getting the raccoon unstrapped and out of his seat took precious seconds while the depth meter ran faster and faster and the damaged hull made all kinds of unpleasant creaks and pings. Chief Aguirre took the planes as soon as Petty Officer Sanders was out of the way and yanked back on the yoke. Scranton shuddered, and the depth gauges slowed as the plane angle changed and the ballast tanks took effect.
Above them, the waiting helicopters had launched every torpedo they had as the Kraken writhed in pain. The target was unmistakable even to their limited electronic brains, and one after another they took bites out of the gigantic squid.
Underneath the White House, the President took Admiral Tollant's report. “He appears to be dead, but we're continuing to use him for gunnery practice, sir. Can't hurt to do as much damage as possible. Normandy is fine, aside from a little bit of blast damage from the charges. Scranton will probably have to be scrapped. She's taken a lot of damage and her hull is actually visibly bent. We've got Moosbrugger towing her in to Rota right now, that's the closest port.”
The President nodded. “I think we'll have a few unit citations coming up, Admiral. Well done, everyone.”
“Thank you, sir. I'll pass that on to the men. We did have a few losses. Two helos went down when the special weapons went off, both had Changeling pilots. We didn't realize that they'd be affected at that range.”
Boehner sighed. “Nobody did. I'll write those condolences personally, Admiral. Still, I think we got off lightly for what could have been. Stardancer tells me he'd have only gotten stronger as the Change continued, and he'd already eaten over three hundred merchant mariners. With any luck, the other dangerous Immortals will treat us with a bit of respect now.”
“As you say, sir.” Tollant said. “We can hope, anyway.”
“Carry on, Admiral. Thank you for the update.”
“You're welcome sir. Over and out.”
Lowe nodded as the radio went silent. “I think we'll have definitely gotten their attention with that mana-bomb device. Let's hope we can get the generators working half as well.”
Boehner grinned. “We've got a few years yet on that one. I'm more concerned about all those not-quite-human kids who are going to start being born in a couple of weeks. Back to work, Doctor. Back to work.”
The surface waters in the summer North Atlantic are warm, but it is only a superficial warmth. Deeper water remains winter-cold. The shift occurs suddenly, and that border – the thermocline – is a barrier to sound waves. Creya was long familiar with its properties, and had millenia of experience in using it to sneak up on unsuspecting whales. The little metal underwater ship had been nosing around closer than he liked, but when it went up to the surface (Why, he wondered. Did it need to breathe, like a whale?) he was ready. The Kraken moved as its noises vanished into the surface layer, jetting to its last known location and then ghosting along on its course, waiting. It would likely come back down again, and then he would have it.
“Three hundred feet, descending. Passing the thermocline.” Chief Aguirre watched the sonar plots, waiting to pick up the tell-tale rhythm of the Kraken's hearts as they cleared the surface waters. His normally swarthy face went pale when the display showed it strong, clear, and nearby. “Captain! It's moved! It's right under us, bearing two-three-five, less than a thousand yards!”
Peterson reacted instantly. “All ahead emergency! Come to zero-five-five! Planes level.” The boat slewed around, tilting to the side as it spun onto a heading directly away from the kraken, and the scimitar blades of the propellor thrashed the water violently as the engines sped up. “Active sonar. Williams, get me a firing solution.”
The tactical officer, a Transformed ocelot, chuffed in acknowledgement as the active array began pinging. “Have it now, sir. Bearing two-three-four, range nine-hundred-fifty yards. Spinning up one and four.”
“Fire when ready.”
Creya was annoyed. <So close, and yet out of reach after all. They are smarter than the dolphins, it would seem.> He swam toward the little vessel, tentacles reaching out ahead of him, but the ship had only just begun to clear the thermocline when it began turning, the blades thrashing wildly and turning towards him while it began to make that infernal high-pitched bleating. <No, you don't. Not this time.>
“Torpedoes away.” The pair of Mark-48's arced out from the bows of the Scranton, turning to circle out from the boat. Once they were clear, they jettisonned their guiding wires and their own seeker heads went active, pinging to identify their target and guide the torpedoes in. “Reloading.”
Creya was even more annoyed. The vessel had launched a pair of those nasty little fireball weapons as it tried to get away. He slowed to a stop, tentacles weaving in arcane patterns as he summoned a protective shield.
Tollant watched as the plots were updated. “I think we can safely assume that we have found our target.” Icons marked the position of the Scranton and her opponent, the submarine’s active sonar creating enough noise to penetrate the thermocline barrier. A moment later, a pair of eruptions on the surface marked the place where two torpedoes had detonated. The sound took another several seconds to arrive. Helicopters converged on the spot.
“Scranton has gone to full power, Admiral. They appear to be trying to get away from the thing.”
Tollant nodded. “Tell Normandy to get the special weapons ready.”
The submarine continued to ping away with active sonar. “Captain, I don't think the torpedoes had any effect. It stopped for a bit, but it's following us again.”
Peterson watched the plot. “It bought us some time, at least. It's not supposed to be able to match our top speed unless the tentacles are trailing behind it. Let's hope they have that right.”
“Range two thousand yards, still increasing.”
Peterson nodded. “Circle to starboard, five degrees per minute. Let's lead it back toward the fleet if we can.”
Creya released his shield spell and started swimming after the little vessel again. It took him a little while to build up speed, and it continued to run away from him – but not fast enough to save it, not once he was moving properly again. <Not this time, little morsels.> The sudden eruption of splashes all around him took him by surprise. <What--!?>
“ASW heloes engaging now, Admiral. Five torpedoes in the water.”
Tollant nodded. “Have them stagger their attacks. Keep it busy and distracted while Normandy gets into position.”
Creya was -very- annoyed. He'd had to stop again, and the undersea vessel continued to move away, turning to the south as it ran from him. The flying machines and their small fireball weapons were only a minor nuisance in and of themselves, but being pinned in one place made him uneasy. He decided to risk the chance of being hurt, and dropped the shielding spell again to jet off after the fleeing ship.
USS Normandy was officially part of the screening element around the nuclear aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan. She was currently steaming at full speed, moving out to the front of the task group as it closed on the Kraken. Her normal main armament was a bank of missiles, but at the moment she could only use about half of them. The rest of the tubes were blocked by the jury-rigged machinery that occupied her foredeck.
“Time to intercept?” Captain Jenkins asked the question while he watched the still-distant aerial ballet of the helicopters.
“Forty minutes, Captain.” The navigator was keeping that plot updated continuously. “The target is moving again, in our direction.”
Jenkins nodded. “Good. Get the crews ready on the depth charge launchers.” The two launchers were at least fifty years old, and the crew chiefs for both of them were re-activated retirees from the service. Both were Changelings who had apparently been rejuvenated in the Event. They'd done their best to teach the younger sailors how to operate the antiquated devices. The ammunition that had been provided for them, however... Jenkins shook his head. <It's crazy. But maybe it's crazy enough to work.>
“Mr. President? We've just received that message you've been waiting for – the one from the Navy.”
Boehner smiled as he looked up from his briefing papers. “Excellent. Tell the Situation Room we'll be down shortly.” He looked back at his NSA Director as the secretary disappeared back to her office. “I think you'll be interested in this. Care to join me downstairs, Janet?”
The wolf nodded, her ears twitched forward. “The Navy, eh? Have we caught up with the Kraken?”
The President nodded. “Caught up, and with luck we can make an end of him. He's destroyed too many ships and eaten too many sailors in the past eight months. No one's quite sure how effective this will be, but we've made one very useful bit of progress with the magical infrastructure research.”
“Oh? Let me guess. It has once again proven easier to build a bomb than a generator.”
Boehner chuckled. “This is why I asked you to take your job. Yes. Stardancer's people have come up with something that generates a pulse of what she calls 'raw mana'. They tested it in Nevada, and all of the magicians – Changelings or not - who were anywhere near it reported pain and disorientation when it was detonated. They've got two of the things with the task force that's hunting the Kraken, and we're hoping that it'll stun him long enough to finish him off with more conventional weapons.”
Lowe's grin was even more wolfish than usual. “From everything I've learned about that one, it's better than he deserves. Shall we finish up today's China report first, or just head downstairs now?”
“You were Navy. You should know that ship battles don't move too fast. We'll have time to finish up. So where were we?”
“Wei Lung's clean-up program. He's put something like half of the old People's Liberation Army – all non-changed humans, by the way – on the problem, and has been ordering all kinds of pollution control and cleanup technology from both us and the Europeans. I think you saw some of the technology release requests last week...?”
“I did. What do you recommend on that issue?”
The wolf sniffed. “I don't even know why it's on the restricted list. It can't possibly hurt to release pollution control gear, can it?”
“I asked that when it turned up. It seems that the scrubbers concentrate useful – and sometimes strategic - metals from the stack gases.”
“That would explain it. But I still recommend allowing it. China definitely needs cleaning up. There's places there that make our Superfund sites look clean.”
The tactical officer looked up from his plot. “He's gaining on us, sir. I don't think we're as fast as an Alfa.”
Peterson nodded. “All ahead flank speed. Take us up to two hundred fifty.” The helmsman pushed the engine telegraph switch to the farthest position. In the engine room, the turbine valves opened all the way and the reactor went above its official one hundred percent power rating as the propeller thrashed the water. The planesman pulled his yoke back and the submarine began to rise toward the surface.
“All ahead flank, sir.”
Chief Aguirre stepped out of the sonar shack as the sub's speed picked up. “We're losing track of it, sir. Even active, we're getting too much flow noise and cavitation to hear anything worthwhile.”
Peterson nodded. “I know. We'll run at top speed for half an hour and hope that's enough. That's more than enough time to lead it back to the fleet if we can keep out of its reach. And then?” He chuckled. “I wasn't given any details, but rumor has it that they sent something out specially for our friend back there.”
Creya was pleased, for the most part. The underwater ship was moving quickly, but not quickly enough to evade him, and the flying machines were dropping behind. The only sour note was the lack of fear from his quarry. <Perhaps they do not know their peril. The crewfolk cannot see out, after all. I will make sure that they all know they have been caught before I crush their hull.>
Scranton reappeared rather suddenly from beneath the thermocline twelve thousand yards from Normandy. Lieutenant Commander Bauer reported the reacquisition to the bridge from his post in the CIC. “They're back, sir.”
Captain Jenkins smiled. “Perfect. Ten degrees starboard helm. We want to pass right over the sub if we can, the Kraken should be right behind her. And then we launch our depth charges.” He keyed the 1MC. “Now hear this. We are heading into battle with the Kraken monster. All hands below decks unless your duty station for this encounter has been specifically set.” The sailors on deck made an orderly retreat, leaving only the crews of the two catapults behind. “Master Chief Kwitowski? Load and arm the special weapons. Stand by for my signal to launch.”
On Normandy's main deck, the Changeling bear growled, “You heard the Captain. Let's get these things loaded and ready to go.” He glanced up to where the helicopters continued to circle, marking the position of the Kraken and the submarine. “Fifteen minutes 'til we're there. We've done it in five. This time I want it done in ten. Take your time, and make sure you get it right.”
Creya was merely amused as the submarine moved up through the thermocline layer. <It's too late for that now. There is no place to hide here in the open ocean.> He followed, floating up through the layer into the warmer surface waters and absently noting the suddenly increased noise of propellers beating through the water. Only one was close by, not a very big ship by the standards of the huge but lightly manned metal leviathans he'd been finding. <But this one is full of minds to consume, and it is coming straight towards me. Excellent... dinner and an appetizer.>
“Multiple contacts from the estimated position of the task group. One contact closer at ten thousand yards and closing.”
Peterson noted the sonar report. “So we know where the task group is. The question is, where has the Kraken gotten to?”
“Should be less than two thousand yards behind us, skipper.” Lieutenant Williams was hurriedly updating his tactical plot. “Assuming we were both at our maximum speeds when we lost track of it. And if that's the case, we have a maximum of twenty minutes left before it can reach us. We'll intercept Foxtrot One about five minutes before that with the current vectors.”
<More ships of war. They hurt me once, but I have their measure now. They will learn who is the true master of the oceans.>
“Bridge, CIC. We have the Kraken on sonar now. He is fifteen hundred yards behind Scranton and closing at two hundred yards per minute. We will be at optimum firing range in just over eight minutes.”
Jenkins nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. Special depth charges, prepare to fire on my command.”
The time ticked away inexorably as two warships and an ancient sorceror converged.
“We'll be directly under Foxtrot One in sixty seconds from... mark.”
Peterson keyed his 1MC. “All hands, stand by for depth charges. They're not going to be aimed at us, but we'll still have a front row seat. Prepare for torpedo countermeasures. We might pick up a stray aimed at --.” A horrid metallic squeal interrupted him, and the ship suddenly heeled to port. “At our overly affectionate friend. Hang on.” He let go of the mike. “Hard to port, helmsman.”
“Hard to port, aye!” The ship turned into the tentacle that had gotten a grip, slackening its hold for a moment while the propellor tried to build up speed to pull free.
<Still almost no fear? Annoyingly brave, these machine-users. I shall take them up to the surface and deal with them slowly. They -will- know terror before I grant them death. > Creya added another two tentacles to his grip on the submarine and swam toward the surface, his remaining tentacles already groping for the second ship.
“He's coming up! Repeat, he's coming up!”
Kwitowski growled. “Quick! Reset the depth for eight fathoms. He's surfacing, we don't want them going off deep!” The techs hastened to comply, and then jumped clear of the launchers. “Steady... steady...” A pair of tentacles emerged from the water, terrible things whose yards-wide suckers sported hooks in their centers.
Captain Jenkins gauged the moment, just as the tentacles reached for his ship. “FIRE!” The launcher crews reacted as one, and two depth charges rocketed into the air and splashed down on either side of the Normandy. Kwitowski watched them go, and muttered, “For what we are about to receive, Lord, let us be truly thankful...”
Creya cringed at the splashes, but this time the machines just sank rather than coming for him. He'd just started to relax again when the first one went off, followed a second later by the other.
Peterson held on to a bulkhead as the submarine's hull creaked and groaned around them. “Prepare to fire torpedoes two and three!” Scranton's sonar didn't pick up the two splashes, but the explosions hammered her already damaged hull.
"It's no good, sir! The doors are jammed, we can't get a green light!"
On board Normandy, the explosions made the hull ring. Every man standing felt it in the soles of his feet as the cruiser tried to absorb the shock. Had they been normal depth charges, she would have taken damage from her own shots, but the explosives were only a small part of the energy released. Master Chief Kwitowski, along with every Changeling crew member and not a few apparently normal humans collapsed as weirdly colored light erupted from the water on either side of the ship.
Scranton's hull creaked under the blows of the two depth charges, but of more immediate concern was the eldritch light which managed to penetrate to every bit of the submarine. A third of her crew collapsed in agony, including the planesman, who fell against his controls.
Creya writhed in torment, his mind blasted to incoherence by the sheer surprise of the attack. The sleet of raw magic blasted through his shields as if they weren't even there, and he never even noticed as the helicopters moved in for the kill.
Scranton leaped forward as the tentacles gripping her slackened, but with her engines still at full power and the planesman slumped against his control yoke, the submarine started to dive. Peterson shouted to the crewmen who were still standing. “We need to get the planes up! Chief Carpenter, blow the ballast tanks!” Getting the raccoon unstrapped and out of his seat took precious seconds while the depth meter ran faster and faster and the damaged hull made all kinds of unpleasant creaks and pings. Chief Aguirre took the planes as soon as Petty Officer Sanders was out of the way and yanked back on the yoke. Scranton shuddered, and the depth gauges slowed as the plane angle changed and the ballast tanks took effect.
Above them, the waiting helicopters had launched every torpedo they had as the Kraken writhed in pain. The target was unmistakable even to their limited electronic brains, and one after another they took bites out of the gigantic squid.
Underneath the White House, the President took Admiral Tollant's report. “He appears to be dead, but we're continuing to use him for gunnery practice, sir. Can't hurt to do as much damage as possible. Normandy is fine, aside from a little bit of blast damage from the charges. Scranton will probably have to be scrapped. She's taken a lot of damage and her hull is actually visibly bent. We've got Moosbrugger towing her in to Rota right now, that's the closest port.”
The President nodded. “I think we'll have a few unit citations coming up, Admiral. Well done, everyone.”
“Thank you, sir. I'll pass that on to the men. We did have a few losses. Two helos went down when the special weapons went off, both had Changeling pilots. We didn't realize that they'd be affected at that range.”
Boehner sighed. “Nobody did. I'll write those condolences personally, Admiral. Still, I think we got off lightly for what could have been. Stardancer tells me he'd have only gotten stronger as the Change continued, and he'd already eaten over three hundred merchant mariners. With any luck, the other dangerous Immortals will treat us with a bit of respect now.”
“As you say, sir.” Tollant said. “We can hope, anyway.”
“Carry on, Admiral. Thank you for the update.”
“You're welcome sir. Over and out.”
Lowe nodded as the radio went silent. “I think we'll have definitely gotten their attention with that mana-bomb device. Let's hope we can get the generators working half as well.”
Boehner grinned. “We've got a few years yet on that one. I'm more concerned about all those not-quite-human kids who are going to start being born in a couple of weeks. Back to work, Doctor. Back to work.”
Category Story / All
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