from the roof of the long snout, and arcing back over the spine of the vessel were four rows of dorsal arches that flared out in increasing degrees. The tips of the arches were separated by at least five feet and gradually expanded over the surface of the sub. The tops of these solid arches were serrated with iron teeth. Each arch looked like a giant table saw blade; the thickness of each saw tooth was at least six-inches. Each blade tapered down from the teeth to base which was at least two-feet thick. The peak of the blades were at least 30 feet before the arched down aft and unseen. Between the two innermost blades was a space or groove about four feet wide and opened to the sea, that ran the length and contour of the sub for some unseen distance.
The entire forward section of the vessel was covered with armored plating that looked more like iron scales, giving the vessel a menacing reptilian look. After 50 feet of the pronounced armor, the rest of the body seemed of normal submarine plating. There didn’t appear to be a traditional center sail or conning tower. Only as the sub drew closer did anyone see a tower, equally menacing in design, in the distance.
“Can you hear that?” someone asked. “Is that us?” The question went unanswered for it was instantly obvious that it was not them. It was the sound of a thunderous, mechanical churning by some gigantic undersea turbine. The cacophony definitely had a rhythm, a timing. The staccato sounded rotary-like, cyclic and grinding. It penetrated the hull and reverberated throughout the ship. Like a gigantic washing machine, the repetitive grind grew louder as the sub drew closer.
“That is definitely not us,” answered Frost. “What’s our depth?”
“One thousand feet!” yelled Christian through the din.
“We don’t have time now. Roy, tell Mister Avila to send the message.” Lesher turned to the COMMS position.
“Send the message!” he yelled. Avila gave a thumbs up and turned to his console. He knew that a thousand feet was still too deep for his equipment to send a strong signal; nevertheless, he pressed the SEND button and his pre-typed signal was transmitted. Just as a precaution, he hit the SEND button several times to insure that the signal transmitted as they continued to climb; hopefully, one would get through if, for obvious reasons, they stopped their ascent.
Frost reached for Lesher and pulled him near.
“Are we still taking pictures of this thing?”
“Yes. The mast is set on object-search mode. Whatever it does, wherever it goes, the cameras are on it.”
“Roy, if something happens, jettison the camera mast. It’s designed to float to the surface.” Lesher looked into her large blue eyes with complete understanding and nodded.
“HERE IT COMES!!!” When Frost and Lesher turned their eyes to the IMAX, it was too late.
“IT’S GOING BENEATH US!” For a moment there seemed to be a collective sigh of relief. The vessel had not shot any torpedoes and it wasn’t ramming them; at least, not directly. Suddenly a deafening sound pierced the bridge, silencing everyone. Amid the deafening grinding sound, there was now the sound of ripping, yawning iron. The bridge shook violently, knocking those who were standing to the deck.
“IT’S CUTTING US OPEN!”
“Roy, the IMAX view beneath us.” For the first time in the two years he’d served with her, Lesher saw Frost’s eyes reflect urgency. He manually changed the camera views using his toggle. The view was captured and it was horrifying. They watched as the vessel drove its arched, table saw blades into the belly of the Texas. It sliced through the double hull in a straight line, slowing only when the teeth got caught in the thick tangle of the wreckage ripped out.
“BREACH!” yelled Lesher. He reached for the mike and pressed the 1MC button. “ATTENTION ALL HANDS! ATTENTION ALL HANDS! BREACH IN THE HULL! AMIDSHIPS FORWARD THE REACTOR ROOM! BIRTHING COMPARTMENT! I SAY AGAIN, BREACH IN THE HULL! AMIDSHIPS FORWARD THE REACTOR ROOM IN BIRTHING! SECURE ALL WATERTIGHT DOORS FORE AND AFT OF BIRTHING!”
The collision stopped their ascent abruptly as the blades of teeth bit into the Texas’ hull. The attacker’s sheer size and weight dragged the sub down more than 100 feet before it ripped free. It moved off leaving behind a massive churning cloud of twisted debris. The deafening staccato followed it into the shadows. With its bowels cut open, crews struggled to keep the flooding from spreading to the reactor room aft and the bridge forward.
“There should be no one in birthing since GQ was sounded,” voiced Frost with regained calm. She turned to the sonar rack. “Miss Evans, Mister Lowe, find that sub. Reduce speed to 10 knots to give damage control time to assess the damage. Mister Price, resume surfacing.” Lesher still had the mike in his hand.
“Reduce speed to 10 knots.”
“Is everyone okay in here?” asked Frost. “Damage report.”
“Reduce speed to 10 knots,” Lesher said into the mike. He turned to Frost.
“CON SONAR! BOGEY INCOMING! PORTSIDE, 97 DEGREES! FOUR HUNDRED METERS OUT!” yelled out Lowe.
“Hard to port, Mister Christian. Mister Bingham, prepare to fire torpedoes one through four, at my command.”
“Torpedoes ready!”
“THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY METERS!”
“Steady. Everyone brace for impact.”
“THREE HUNDRED METERS!”
“Fire, Mr. Bingham.” All four forward torpedoes shot out of their tubes, temporarily visible via the IMAX cameras on the sub’s nose. Four trails of bubbles roped forward and disappeared.
“Track them. Reload, Mister Bingham.” A digital rendering of the two subs plus the four torpedoes were displayed on another screen near the IMAX. They waited silently; the horrible grinding noise could be heard in the distance, getting louder.
“Three, two, one!” called out Bingham. Suddenly the IMAX screen flashed three times with brilliant light. “THREE DIRECT HITS, CAPTAIN! The fourth missed!” The undersea explosions caused huge walls of bubbles and wave concussions that rocked the Texas.
“Great shooting, Mister Bingham. Continue assent and get me that damage report.”
“Roger that, ma’am!” Lesher was smiling as he moved to his position to check the damage report. Then he stopped. All heads turned toward the IMAX as the grinding sound returned again.
“BOGEY AT 150 METERS! TWENTY-FIVE KNOTS!”
“Sweet mother of God!” breathed Lesher.
“Mister Bingham, fire!”
“TOO LATE! BRACE FOR IMPACT!”
The monster came in fast and low, heading straight for the same location it previously hit. In the next second Captain Frost showed that she was a human being.
“EMERGENCY BLOW!” she yelled. “BLOW ALL TANKS!” But before that order was performed, the intruder ripped into the jagged perforations again. The saw blades tore deeper into the ship as the sub pitched up. The Texas’ hull moaned hauntingly as its beams, strakes and frames snapped and collapsed. The booming grinding noise was made more deafening by the sounds of tons of metal crumpling or being ripped free. Power and lighting flickered on the bridge and then went out. In the darkness the sub
