Krauser ran over to his friend, and grabbed his arm. “It’s submerged. It means to attack us from below once more!”
Dahlen shook his head. “No. I have seen it do this before.”
“What do you mean?”
There was a deafening thunderclap, and Krauser felt the spray of the sea on him, as he turned to the source of the noise.
The shark – his White Ghost – had leapt out of the water in a vicious lunge towards them. It hadn’t entirely cleared the water, but he saw enough of it to finally truly appreciate its size. It wasn’t just huge, for “huge” was not the right word: it was colossal, gargantuan, even. It was not a shark so much as a prehistoric creature of nightmares taken the form of a hideous, stocky, scarred Great White. The leviathan’s one working black eye took in the U-616 dispassionately, and it landed on the deck with another thunderclap. Krauser lost his footing, went down hard on his backside, and found himself skidding and sliding towards the water. No! Not towards the water! Towards the mouth of the monster that had beached itself on his submarine!
The deck listed at a hard angle as the weight of the monster attempted to drag it under. Krauser managed to steady himself by grabbing a railing, but some of the crew were not so lucky. Two fell directly into the sea, and a third tumbled straight into the maw of the megalodon. His screams changed sharply in pitch from fear to agony as he fell side on into the teeth that then clamped down hard. When the mouth next opened, the man had been almost entirely bisected, held together by just his spine and several stringy pieces of gristle. Krauser vomited, and desperately tried to stand upright, using his spear as a makeshift crutch.
Dahlen let out a deadly war cry and thrust his knife tipped spear into the shark’s mouth. The knife sank deep into the gum line, causing a spurt of red blood to flow and mingle with the dead sailor’s. Twice, then thrice more he jabbed into the roof of the monster’s mouth. The shark exhaled a low grunt that stank like a fishmonger’s on a hot day, lifted its head up, and then sharply down again, crashing onto the submarine with all its weight. The submarine shuddered in the water, and tilted at an increasingly terrifying angle. Maintaining their footing was proving harder and harder for all of them.
The Norwegian had fallen onto his backside, and only managed to get back up again with Hertz’s assistance. Hertz had drawn his revolver and was pumping shot after shot into the shark’s face. The rocking of the boat and his nerves threw his aim off, however, and only one of the rounds hit, just above the thing’s eye, and they were rewarded with the sight of a chunk of flesh flying off.
Krauser yelled as they sensed the thing’s pain. He thought it exceptionally unlikely that they would be able to kill this thing, but if they hurt it enough, it was just possible that it could be driven off, in search of much easier prey. If they could persuade it to go off in search of an easier meal, they could make it out of here alive! He stepped back two paces and launched his knife-spear like a javelin. It arced high, and sank in by the massive dorsal fin. It had lodged in! He laughed loudly, and shouted his victory to Hertz and Dahlen. Dahlen launched his own, but his aim went much too high and the spear splashed into the water behind the shark.
Hertz threw his own spear to Krauser, urging him to take another shot, before turning to Dahlen. “Come with me. I have another idea.”
The shark thrashed left and right, in search of its attackers, and once again Krauser was forced to grab hold of a railing for stability. The shark headbutted up and down again, shaking the deck once more. Fearing for his life, Krauser screamed and threw his spear hard at the monster’s face. The knife point entered the jaw and knocked a tooth loose – but what was one tooth from that hell hole of death and destruction? The spear clattered sideways, and fell into the ocean.
The monster belched another gust of foul stench and had Krauser not already emptied his stomach he would have done so then. The creature’s breath stank of all the pain and misery this thing had ever caused. It was the gust of death from the Mariana Trench. It was beyond foulness.
Just as he prepared himself for the White Ghost to launch itself against him, it let out a sighing burp and slid back and into the ocean. The waves passed over it, and but for the death and destruction in its wake, it was as if it had never been there. Krauser shivered and shook with shock, hearing the blood rushing around his body, and feeling every ache and pain in his muscles (especially the bullet wound which had begun to throb once more). He felt partially deafened, as though his head had been held under ice cold water. Eventually, this feeling began to subside, and he heard his name called from across the deck.
With what felt like an Olympic effort, he raised his head and turned to the deck gun, where Hertz and Dahlen had it ready to fire. Yes! He jogged across the slippery deck to his friends, and laughed. “Yes! Yes, this could work.”
Hertz nodded. “I think so, Captain. We just need… well, we just need a little bait.”
Dahlen hopped down from the firing seat and shook some water from his hair. “While you were down there earlier, Hertz and I did a dry run. I think we can actually hit it. Our bullets and knives are wounding it, but not deeply or severely enough. I think an eighty-eight millimetre shell might make a touch of difference, though.”
Krauser shivered. “So, you need me back there as bait?”
“No. I will go. It is yours and Hertz’s boat, and it is your gun. You should be the ones to kill this thing. My place is down in the front.”
“That’s lunacy!”
“It is not more lunacy than any of this, Captain. This shark has had ten chances or more to eat me; I do not think that this time will make any difference to my odds in the long run.”
The Norwegian man pulled a kitchen cleaver from his belt, and turned to go, when the captain called after him.
“Arild… be safe.”
“I will. You too, August.”
Hertz had hopped gleefully into the firing position. “Standing ready, Captain.”
Dahlen strode to the far end of the deck and, showing no signs of fear or disgust, picked up a hunk of half-chewed sailor and threw it into the ocean before stamping in the shallow waters a few times, shouting a challenge to the shark that hunted them.
“Do you think it’ll come?” asked Hertz.
“It’ll come. It’ll keep coming until we’re dead,” replied Krauser, coldly.
The deck suddenly shook beneath their feet, as the shark rose up from the port side. Dahlen screamed and ran towards it, ducking in and back again, swinging with his cleaver when he felt brave enough, though the blade was old and seemed to do little damage.
“Aim the deck gun, Mr Hertz!” shouted Krauser, above the clamour and cries of the battling Viking and sea monster. The deck gun slowly, painfully slowly, cranked into position and his brave second-in-command positioned the gun as best as he could. He was a commander of men, not a hands-on gunner; and although he knew the theory behind the attack, the theory he had learned did not extend to close quarters fighting with demon sharks.
“Ready?” shouted Krauser.
“Ready!”
“Take aim!”
“Aimed!”
“F-”
The shark jumped higher out of the water, lunging an extra six feet or so towards Dahlen. The Norwegian was taken by surprise and while he managed to avoid being caught in the monster’s jaws, he was caught full on by the side of its head. He fell hard on his back, the cleaver skittering away, and struck his head hard on the deck. Krauser screamed as he saw the man slide down the length of the deck to the stern, and into the cold, deadly water of the North Sea, disappearing with an ominous splash.
The shark seemed to smile cruelly, before sliding back off of the deck, and going in search of its prize.