Crewman Graham Walker, the man ordered to take position on the bow with a radio and report any stray lumps of ice in the ship’s path large enough to damage it, gazed out at the field of mini-icebergs. Like most aboard the Starlight, he had witnessed the spectacular breakup of the enormous iceberg and the huge alien spaceship rising majestically from the sea before it started on its final journey to the cold, dark seabed. He diverted his gaze to the small iceberg the wind and waves drove towards the ship. Though the size of a bus, it posed no threat to the ship even if it struck, but the bow wash would steer it clear like the others. He fished a packet of cigarettes from a pocket of his warm padded jacket, slipped one out and turned away from the wind to light it. As the lighter’s flame burst into life, something grabbed him from behind and yanked him over the rail. He screamed as he fell and grunted with pain when he struck the ice and slid down its side into the cold embrace of the ocean.
Lieutenant Miller, the CO of the first watch team, gazed past the tarpaulin-shrouded form of the impressive alien scout ship, and cocked an ear to the wind. Though he thought he had heard someone scream, the wind and rolling ship created so many sounds it was difficult to hear anything over the creaks, groans and the flapping of the covers covering the two salvaged alien spaceships. Duty required him to check it out and informed Patterson and Sawyer of his intentions.
“I’m moving to the bow for a scout around.”
“Copy that,” replied Sawyer. “Roaming to cover your base.”
As Miller approached the bow he glanced around for Walker, who twenty minutes earlier had gone to keep a lookout for icebergs, but there was no sign of the man. He stopped when his foot trod on something. He picked up the object and stared at the lighter for a few moments before gazing around the deck. He had learned to trust his instincts over the years and he wasn’t going to ignore them now. Something was wrong. When his eyes probed the many dark areas for signs of anything amiss, he noticed movement, no more than a fleeting shadow darting behind a row of shipping containers. Miller flipped the night vision goggles over his eyes and headed towards it.
Admiral Thomson stood on the aft deck gazing around at the flurry of activity. To ensure the safety of the hastily salvaged alien artifacts, he had ordered for them all to be stored below deck. The crew were just lowering the final shipping container into the hold to join the many already filling its cavernous space. He walked forward and gazed below as it was secured to the hold floor and looked at the three soldiers who would guard the invaluable alien technology that included the alien weapons. They had been wrapped, boxed and stored in a container with its door welded shut to ensure their safety. He regretted the SEALs had left shortly after the completion of their mission; they were true professionals. They arrive, do what’s needed of them and then fade back into obscurity without waiting around for praise or a pat on the back for a job well done.
Though he was aware of his paranoia regarding the Russians, Thomson did nothing to subdue it and was confident he had covered all the bases unless a Russian submarine appeared and torpedoed them. He doubted the Russian salvage team had the means to sink the ship, but if a small group of trained men managed to get aboard, a few well placed explosives could destroy the alien shuttlecraft―hence his decision for the armed patrols. The President had already congratulated him personally and then the rest of those involved via the ship-wide intercom for their successful salvage mission, and he wasn’t going to risk letting his President down by being careless now.
President Conner had also decreed he bring the ship straight to America and not return to New Zealand as originally planned. The nearest American and British battleships were already set on an intercept course to protect the alien artifacts and escort them home.
As the large cargo hold doors began to close, the Admiral cast one last look around the ship. Satisfied everything was in order, he headed for his cabin. He would celebrate his success with a single glass of brandy and one of the large cigars his wife detested the smell of.
Avoiding any humans it detected, the stowaway crept along the deck searching for a safe place to hide until it could escape onto land. When it arrived at the stern it stared at the large doors sliding together and noticing the space below that would shelter it from the cold. It rushed forward and leaped onto the top of a shipping container.
Selby glanced at his watch, still another four hours before his shift ended. The clink of a spoon on a cup cast his gaze across the room to the coffee station set up for them and where Cooper poured out a fresh cup of the steaming black coffee.
Selby yawned as he walked over to grab himself a helping of the caffeine-infused liquid, but paused when he noticed the shadow move over the ground. He turned and gazed up at the hold doors as they met with a thud and then scanned the shipping containers. When he saw the creature diving towards him, he grabbed the rifle hanging from the shoulder strap and opened his mouth to shout a warning.
One of the Hunter’s large paws landed on his face and stifled the warning before it could escape from the human’s lips. Claws extended and pierced deep into his skin as they thudded to the ground and another claw smoothly snatched the rifle from the air before it clattered to the floor.
Cooper halted the flow of coffee into the mug and lazily turned his head towards the sound. There was no sign of the man he had noticed there earlier. “You want a coffee, Selby?”
“I wouldn’t say no,” replied Fitch, crossing the room.
Cooper glanced at Fitch before looking back to where he had last seen Selby and activated his helmet mic. “You okay, Selby?” He placed the coffee jug down when the man didn’t reply.
Fitch picked up on Cooper’s concern. “Maybe he went for a piss?”
Cooper shook his head and slipped his rifle into his hands. “Not without telling us he was leaving he wouldn’t.” He pressed the talk button on his radio mic. “Lieutenant, we might have a problem in the rear cargo hold. Selby’s gone AWOL.”
“Copy that, Coop, we’re on our way,” replied Miller.
Fitch pointed his weapon across the room in the direction Cooper stared. “What is it?”
Cooper shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it might be the Russian saboteurs Thomson was so concerned about. We better go check it out.”
Fitch sighed. He thought he had waved danger goodbye when he had watched the spaceship sink beneath the waves. Still, he thought, a little cheerfully, he’d rather face a Russian than one of those alien horrors again. He followed Cooper’s slow walk across the room.
Miller had started running as soon as Cooper had informed him of the problem. Though he had no idea if Selby’s abandonment of his post was connected to what he had glimpsed or Crewman Walker’s disappearance, he didn’t like coincidences. “Patterson, Sawyer, switch comms to live and meet me on the starboard side. There’s a problem in the rear cargo hold.”
Both men copied their replies and rushed starboard.
When all three met, they rushed along the side of the ship towards the stern door that would take them to the steps leading down to the cargo hold.
Cooper and Fitch paused at the small splattering of blood on the floor and followed the trail of drips that led behind the shipping container with their eyes. Cooper signaled for Fitch to go around to the right side while he headed left. Fitch reluctantly nodded and moved away.