Beyond the Sea--An Event Group Thriller Page 4

  Lee waited until the far younger and better-armed marines entered, and then he cautiously followed with the .45 at the ready. The bridge was empty. It was also a wreck. Papers flew around, and the bridge windows had been smashed, and by the way of the glass patterns on the steel deck, Lee knew they had been broken from the outside. Someone entered the bridge uninvited.

  “This is not how I envisioned my day going, Lee,” came the voice from behind him.

  Donovan was there and had somehow gotten ahold of a Thompson submachine gun. Lee’s eyes went from the tommy gun to the frightened face of his boss.

  “Have you ever shot one of those before?” Lee asked with concern.

  “Of course, Lee,” Donovan said.

  Garrison knew the man was lying, but whether it was to him or himself, he wasn’t sure. He did know he was just as frightened about what they would find as the head of the OSS was.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said as he allowed Donovan to step up beside him. “I’ll trade you. How about that?”

  Donovan looked insulted at first but saw Lee’s sense of it and exchanged weaponry.

  “These things are rather touchy,” Lee said as he once more started moving forward as the marines advanced into the interior of the Eldridge.

  Suddenly, the line of marines stopped as they entered the main companionway from the bridge section to the command area that was filled with the radio room and the officers’ quarters. All flashlights were turned to the far end of the companionway. Lee’s eyes widened when he saw what was waiting for them.

  “What in the hell…” Donovan’s words trailed off just as the same statement started to come from the lips of every man in the marine fire team.

  At the far end of the corridor, barely visible in the lights of no less than four powerful flashlights, were what had boarded the Eldridge.

  “Can someone explain to me just what in the hell those things are?” a young corporal asked as he raised his M14 to his shoulder.

  “Hold fire,” Lee said as he stepped to the front of the stalled squad. Donovan tried to stop Lee from taking the lead but failed, and he cursed Garrison’s take-charge persona.

  The bipedal creatures were standing over two of the downed crewmen of the Eldridge. The crewmen were dead. The eyes of the creatures took in the new element. Garrison charged the Thompson as he took these strange beings in.

  The creatures were wearing some form of breeches that only traveled the length of their legs to the knee. Their shoes looked as if they were made of some form of seagoing life. The same for their partial pants. They were bare-chested. They weren’t frightened or shocked; they just stared as if they had been interrupted and it hadn’t been appreciated. It was the tentacles that curled around their necks and moved as if of their own free will, up and down, circling their thick necks. Lee saw the scales of the creatures as they gleamed inside the lights being cast by the flashlights. Lee saw the dark, fishlike eyes as they took in the marine intruders. The heads were scarce of hair, and their hands looked to be webbed. They wore brightly colored ribbons, and they all had extremely lethal-looking swords on their hips. These were slowly withdrawn as the intruders aboard the Eldridge took offense at the newcomers. As the men watched, one of the strange creatures stepped forward of the other two. Its feet hit several expended rounds that had been fired during the boarding of the destroyer. Lee knew then that the crew of Eldridge had at least fought for their ship before losing it.

  As the creature stepped to the forefront, Lee did the same.

  “We must take them alive,” said a voice from the rear of the group.

  Lee knew it was Admiral Stark.

  “Harold, I think you are done giving orders here. In case you didn’t know it, you have just killed an entire crew of men over this madness,” Donovan said as he also pushed forward of the marines.

  Stark huffed up his chest but said nothing as the young marines looked at him with wonder in their eyes over his callousness.

  The thing hissed loudly as it took in the large human standing defiantly before it. Lee watched as the back eyes settled upon him.

  Before Lee knew what was happening, the sound of gunfire erupted throughout the large ship. Distant shots were heard, first sporadic, and then they increased in volume until they could feel the vibration of the gunfire through the steel of the deck.

  The thing before them screamed something, and then its rather large sword was raised above its head, and the large animal charged Garrison. Lee stood his ground, and then he opened fire with the Thompson just as the other two creatures charged with swords in hand. Every marine was glad to open fire. Bullets struck the marine animals and tore into their scaly bodies, sending shards of bright fluorescent scales into the air and the lighting. The small battle was soon over as Lee stepped forward. The lead creature moved, but it was Wild Bill who placed a round into the creature’s head. The body went still as did the others.

  “We have reports of fighting throughout the ship, same opposition. Thus far, there are no signs of the crew.”

  Lee turned to face the lieutenant. “Drag these bastards out into the light.”

  Garrison watched as Stark was shoved unceremoniously out of the way as the marine detail dragged the creature that Lee had just dispatched into the bridge area, where they could get a good look at it.

  “What have you done, Harold?” Donovan asked as he nervously looked behind into the long and dark companionway.

  “We have much to learn from this experiment.”

  “Yes, we have learned that we discovered another way to kill ourselves,” Lee said as he knelt down to examine the species of beast before him.

  He could see that there was intelligence behind those dead and open eyes. Garrison reached out and touched the large sword that was still clutched in the creature’s web-fingered hand. The teeth, which were stained in the reddish blood, were clear and sharp. The rags it wore had been hand sewn and stitched. The weapon itself was wood. The blade was fashioned out of some mineral Lee couldn’t place. It was a see-through bluish color and had an edge like no other weapon he had ever seen before. He reached out and touched it and then pulled his bleeding finger back, as the blade that had barely touched his skin cut deeply into his flesh. He winced as he looked at the scabbard, which held a knife. This Lee pulled free, and he examined it. It was also made of wood but was fashioned with a clear edge of some form of diamond-like material. Then Lee saw the pouch wrapped around the creature’s waist. He reached for it.

  “Everything here is navy property, Lee. We want it all.” Stark was still being held at bay by his own fright, and the order was basically ignored by the OSS officer.

  Garrison felt Donovan kneel beside him as he opened the leatherlike pouch and pulled something out. It was folded. The paper itself looked aged and waterlogged. Garrison unfolded the paper and looked at it. Donovan was confused as he also took it in.

  “What is that?” he asked as several of the young marines also joined the two men as they studied what it was this creature had carried into battle.

  The page was wide, as if from a magazine or book. It was a painted picture of pirates and of wooden ships. It seemed familiar to Lee, but he just couldn’t place it. The writing was what he did recognize. It was written in Cyrillic. Russian.

  “This is strange,” Donovan said.

  “No, sir. It’s a page from Treasure Island.”

  Both Lee and Donovan looked up into the baby-faced marine who was looking at the full-page picture and words.

  “How do you know that?” Lee asked.

  “I have the same book on a shelf back at the barracks, sir. Only it isn’t written in no Russian.”

  Lee looked back at the colorful and exciting picture of who had to have been Long John Silver with a broadsword waving above his head. “The kid’s right. This is a Russian-language version of that book.”

  Lee compared the picture to the clothing the creature wore. If he didn’t feel as if he were losing his mind, he
would have sworn there was a resemblance to the clothing worn by the pirates depicted in the page from the book—the swords, the strange breeches the beasts wore, even down to the tentacles that had been wrapped in brightly colored ribbons. Garrison quickly folded the paper and placed it in his pocket. He eyed Donovan, and the look said, Let’s get the hell out of here.

  * * *

  Hours after the event, Lee was ordered back to South America and to his station. Donovan met with the president of the United States three days later and, through his report, which did not jibe well at all with Admiral Stark’s version, talked the president into not funding any more experiments in the phase shift field—ever again.

  Garrison Lee had kept the page from Treasure Island. The depiction of Long John Silver remained with him for the rest of his life. His dreams were always filled with the same memory of that day during the war years. While men of other areas of endeavor were consumed by actions against their fellow men at a time of war, Lee’s were centered around a little-known incident that occurred in home waters during that same conflict.

  Yes, he remembered the creature that had scale-covered arms and legs, and what was most disturbing were the tentacles, his memory recalled. The skin had been clear in his mind—like that of a jellyfish, with dull, colored highlights of green, blue, and clear white. The face had been that of a human, with the exception of the clear, large, and very pointed teeth and even larger black, lidless eyes. The braided hair was almost seaweed-like in appearance. Lee remembered the Eldridge’s superstructure and the men who had lost their lives upon it. He swore he would never allow technology like that to ever exist again.

  Years later, Garrison Lee would go to his grave without ever fully understanding just what it was that happened in the world’s oceans in the 1930s and ’40s and to tell the truth, he was quite content to go to his final resting place willingly without that information.

  On that day in October of 1943, Garrison Lee, future director of Department 5656, secretly known as the Event Group, became a witness to the results of a little-known scientific incident officially labeled as Fleet Action 129871.

  Legend would later label it the Philadelphia Experiment.

  PART ONE

  SHOW OF FORCE

  I have seen enough of one war never to wish to see another.

  —Thomas Jefferson

  Letter to John Adams,

  25 April 1794

  1

  OPERATION REFORGER IV

  NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN

  (LOCATION—CLASSIFIED)

  Rear Admiral Jon Andersson, the Dutch commander of the immense NATO operation Reforger IV, sat in his command chair aboard the aircraft carrier USS Nimitz and pursed his lips as the mighty warship sank deep into a trough and then fought her way back to the surface. His eyes watched the northern seas as the storm increased in size and ferocity.

  Andersson was extremely proud to have been chosen as task force commander for the largest seagoing war games in the history of the NATO alliance. The task: escort a living lifeline of over two hundred transport ships from Norfolk, Virginia, to the NATO base at Scapa Flow in Scotland. The Games and Theory Department and NATO intelligence were concerned that in the ever-increasing standoff with Russia and her new aggressive posture around the world, NATO could not act fast enough to a wartime crisis by getting vital supplies and war matériel to Europe in a rapid enough response time, which would ensure the fall of NATO forces before the full might of America’s military could come into play. This Reforger mission was to prove that no matter the timing, the NATO navies of the world could meet the challenge.

  His thoughts about the increasing size and suddenness of the storm were interrupted by the captain of the USS Nimitz, Charles McAvoy. He handed the admiral a flimsy from communications. Andersson read the communiqué and frowned.

  “My reaction exactly,” said McAvoy as he reached out to steady himself as the Nimitz once more went on an elevator ride to the bottom of an immense trough.

  Both men quietly sweated their anxieties until the forward flight deck finally rose from the sea.

  “Orders?” McAvoy asked as he watched the concerned look on the tanned face of Admiral Andersson. He liked the Dutch task force commander. The man was no-nonsense and understood his duties and responsibilities of guiding the most powerful battle group in the history of the North Atlantic. He knew the man would make the right decision.

  “Okay, Chuck. That does it. Let’s get the civilian transports turned around and order them back to the coast. Get a coded message off to NATO Maritime Command—Operation Reforger IV has been scrubbed due to heavy and dangerous weather concerns.”

  “Aye,” McAvoy said. “You’re doing the right thing, Admiral.” The captain of the Nimitz was about to leave the command wing but hesitated when he saw the admiral was still mulling something over as he watched the heavy seas continue to batter the giant carrier.

  “We’ll give the transports thirty minutes to start for home and then get our boys out of here also. Have the Houston hold station until all command ships are clear of these seas. Also, have the frigate De Zeven and the cruisers Shiloh and Bunker Hill standing by with the Houston. All will hold station until the fleet’s egress maneuver is complete.”

  McAvoy noted the admiral’s orders. They were in essence leaving a rear guard of the Dutch Provinciën-class frigate De Zeven, the US Navy’s Ticonderoga-class cruisers USS Shiloh and Bunker Hill, and as a guard to the smaller asset, the navy’s Los Angeles–class attack submarine USS Houston. All would form up together to keep an eye on the Russian Red Banner Northern Fleet steaming only two hundred miles to the northeast. The rest of the battle group, consisting of German, Dutch, American, and many other ships of the NATO northern command, would make a slow turn in the heavy seas and follow the transports back to Virginia. McAvoy saw the angst in the admiral’s face. He dreaded seeing the final portion of script on the fleet action report of Operation Reforger IV: Mission Failed.

  The admiral remained silent as the seas rose and fell once more. The weathermen under his command had been surprised when the strange storm suddenly turned without warning. Even Norfolk was taken by surprise. He knew he was acting prudently, but that did not make the mission failure any more palpable. He knew the Reforger battle group would have, could have, fulfilled their mission in a time of actual war, but this fact would still be lost on NATO command, and even the Russian Navy would declare NATO assets in the North Atlantic weak in comparison to their mighty Red Banner Group. The humiliation and second-guessing would be silent, of course, but his career would still take a hit. Ridicule, and crap, to put it mildly in his estimation, rolled downhill.

  LOS ANGELES–CLASS ATTACK SUBMARINE USS HOUSTON

  “Lord, look at those seas. I would hate to be those boys on the frigate and cruisers. I don’t think they’re going to be too enthusiastic about chow tonight,” Captain Roger Thorne said as he removed his eyes from the periscope and then turned the sail cameras and monitors on throughout the ship for his crew to see what the surface navy was currently battling. “One MC, please,” he said as the chief of the boat, MCPO Harry Hadland, handed the microphone over to his commander. “All hands, this is the captain. We’ll be holding station for the next eight hours. We’ll keep Houston as shallow as possible during that time, so we’re still going to get some roll. During this time, there will be no hot meals, so saddle up to the salad bar, ladies and gentlemen; it’s going to be a long ride.” He was getting ready to hand the chief of the boat back the mic and then clicked the button once more. “It could be worse; you could be up top with the surface boys. So let’s keep the bitching to a minimum, and don’t eat all the ice cream.”

  The young sailors around the control center chuckled, relieving the tension of the impending hurricane they found themselves surrounded by. The captain, satisfied that his crew was up to the task, went to the navigation console and leaned over the projected map.

  “Captain, the latest plot shows the sur
face fleet and transports are clearing the storm just to the south of Greenland; they will soon slow and take shelter in shallow seas. The Nimitz and her group are only an hour from getting to calmer waters. Only one fire and four injuries reported from the fleet. The task force got off lucky. Why didn’t anyone pick up on this weather? We could have had some serious issues here.”

  Captain Thorne looked up from the navigation plot and rubbed his eyes, and then he winked at his second in command, Lieutenant Commander Gary Devers. “According to CINCLANT, there’s hell to be had with the meteorologists about storm predictions. I suspect a few boys will be reassigned soon to Iceland, or at the very least Alaska.”

  Both men laughed but soon became serious as the huge attack sub took a sudden pressure dip from the waves above them.

  “Feels like the entire Atlantic is knocking on our door,” Devers said as he grabbed for the console until their stomach-churning roll was stopped.

  “I’d take her deeper, but with a frigate and two battle cruisers in harm’s way, I want to be able to go to rescue stations at a moment’s notice.”

  “Understood, Captain.”

  “Well, I think I’ll get some of that salad,” the captain said as he stretched. “First officer has the deck.”

  “Aye, first officer has the deck.”

  “Conn, sonar.”

  Lieutenant Commander Devers took the mic so the captain could go eat. Thorne hesitated anyway. “Sonar, conn.”

  “We have an unknown signature bearing three-two-seven degrees, north, eighty miles out. We missed it because of the high swells, but we have a solid fix now.”

  “Roger,” Devers said as he and Thorne simultaneously leaned over the plot board. “Okay, three-two-seven degrees. Those aren’t our boys up there,” Devers said as the captain increased his frown.

  “With the Russian battle group here”—Thorne pointed to an area three hundred nautical miles from the Houston—“and with us, the two cruisers, and the frigate here.” His finger moved to another spot on the chart. “That leaves us an unknown in our vicinity.”