Clay looked back to Caesare who was reloading his gun. “Get him out of here, Clay!”
Caesare gave him his best smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.” Clay stared at him for a long moment. They both knew it was a lie. Caesare had limited use of his shooting arm, and more shadows could be seen entering from the main hallway. The two friends stared at each other. They knew this was it.
“Get him out of here!” Caesare yelled again. So many bullets were hitting the other side of the desk that it was beginning to move, pushing in on Caesare. “Give me your gun,” he said, “and go stop that nuke!”
Clay hesitated for only a second. He then replaced the magazine, flipped his rifle around, and handed it over. He then turned and kicked one of the desks to the side outwards, making a small path. He grabbed Palin and laid him flat on his back, making it easier to pick him up. He looked at Caesare and nodded. Again they moved together. Caesare came up over the desk shooting with both guns giving the cover needed for Clay to pick Palin and throw him over his shoulder. With his dislocated shoulder screaming in pain, Clay got to his feet and ran.
Behind him, Caesare got hit twice in the chest and fell backward onto the floor. Clay ran as hard as he could with every step propelling him toward the glowing portal. Palin was heavy but at just several feet away Clay pushed off with everything he had, throwing them both forward. They flew through the air and into the center of the giant oval. It was then that Clay and a large bullet entered the portal at the same instant.
37
Red lights replaced the interior ones on each of the twelve submarine bridges, and commands were called down for all levels to “man battle stations”. The Tridents had received their orders and were preparing to fire. They had strategically positioned themselves with six on one side of the giant ring and six coming around the far side to reduce risk. Each submarine also remained nearly five hundred yards apart from each other. The commanders had no idea what kind of strike Palin’s people might retaliate with, so it was lunacy to have all of your ships together providing a singular target.
At nearly the same time on each Trident, the torpedoes were armed and loaded into both forward tubes. The communications officer on board the lead sub, the Montana, sat glued to his instruments waiting for any word or change in orders that might signal aborting the attack. The Montana’s commander Captain Hallgren waited patiently knowing the other subs were also loading and arming. With no radio communication, they had to do this the old fashioned way. He kept checking the red LED clock on the wall.
After another minute, he looked at his communications officer, who looked back at him and shook his head. Hallgren turned to his Operational Commander. “All hands…stand by.”
His Operational Commander repeated the message into the microphone. Hallgren took a deep breath and watched the digital clock hit its mark. “Fire!”
The Operational Commander immediately passed the order. “Shoot two one! Shoot two one!”
Less than a second later two torpedoes burst from their tubes on either side of the Trident’s bow, as they did on the other subs simultaneously. The torpedoes raced forward, their target less than two thousand yards away. The men on board waited, listening for the sound of a direct hit. Their hearts began to beat faster.
“One thousand yards…” called the Helmsman.
“Eight hundred yards…”
“Six hundred yards…”
“Four hund-” the Helmsman stopped. He pressed his headset harder against his ears. “Sir! I’ve lost them.”
“What?!” said Hallgren. “What do you mean lost them?”
“I don’t know sir, I just….wait!” Suddenly a piercing alarm sounded behind them. His eyes opened wide. “Sir! Torpedoes are CLOSING!”
“Closing?!” Hallgren yelled. “Closing on who?”
“Closing on US sir!” replied the Helmsman. “Ten..NO twelve torpedoes in the water at eight hundred yards bearing 192, bearing 183, bearing 166…”
“Evasive maneuvers! Get us turned around!” He looked at his helmsman. “Are they ours?!”
“No sir!” he said shaking his head. He turned to Hallgren. “I think they’re from the other subs.”
“That’s impossible, they’re over fifteen miles away!” Hallgren shouted.
With full power, the Montana began to turn. At that moment, the other eleven subs were all doing the same thing.
“Five hundred yards and closing!”
“Blow the tanks.” growled Hallgren.
Still turning the Montana opened its tanks and forced a hundred thousand gallons of water out as an emergency measure. The exiting water was replaced with air quickly increasing its buoyancy. The Montana slowly started to rise. Beneath the water, the sounds of all the subs pressurizing their tanks could be heard for miles.
“Three hundred yards!”
The Montana’s crew held tight and like the others desperately willed the giant ship up through the dark waters. Their ascent was agonizingly slow.
“A hundred and fifty yards!” called the Helmsman.
“Launch the decoys!” yelled Hallgren.
Several large canisters shot from the rear tubes and began to descend. They instantly began releasing giant bubbles and noise to confuse the detection systems of the torpedoes. Several torpedoes suddenly changed course and smashed into the decoys exploding prematurely, but the others did not. One by one, the rest found their mark slamming into the submarines with giant blasts, destroying the hulls and causing them to instantly implode under water. The Montana, still clawing for the surface, was the last to be hit. Like the others, its hull shuddered under the impact and collapsed in on itself. Slowly the shock waves subsided, and what was left of the twelve nuclear submarines stopped their ascent and slowly began the lifeless slide into the dark waters below.
38
The small metal door opened slowly with a creak, and Alison tilted her head out just far enough to get a look around. Beyond the grass that surrounded the back of the building was the secondary parking lot and it appeared empty. She looked slowly to the right, the direction back to the main entrance, and saw nothing but the familiar dark trees and shrubs. She leaned just a little outside and looked around the door’s edge to the left. The large grassy area, littered with picnic tables, sat silently. Further and around the left side of the building was the exterior of the giant tank which had no entrance into the aquarium except from the large deck which was high above and inaccessible from the ground.
“What do you see?” asked Chris nervously from behind her.
“Nothing. Shhh!” she snapped. She tried to concentrate over the sound of gunfire inside the building. She could not hear anything outside. She looked at the waist high hedge that bordered the far end of the parking lot. Beyond that were trees and further still was a faint outline of a sloped roof. She turned around. “It looks clear. I think if we can make it to the hedge, we can stay out of sight until we get to the larger trees. From there, we should be able to get to the maintenance shed.
They both pushed their heads through for a look.
“That looks awfully far,” said Chris.
“Not if we’re fast,” said Alison. She looked at Chris who was wearing a white T shirt. She quickly pulled her green sweatshirt over her head. “Take off your shirt and wear this.” She straightened the dark shirt she was wearing underneath.
With shaking hands, Chris pulled off his shirt and put the tiny sweatshirt on. It was at least two sizes too small and barely covered his skin but was better than wearing a white shirt and acting as a beacon. They both looked at Kenwood’s red shirt.