In truth, the Captain had spent little time training on these boats so he saw this as opportunity to learn more about The Empire’s newest naval toy. He quickly realized that he did not like it much, but he respected the amount of fire power stuffed inside the boat.
The training mission had begun simple enough until the Secretary of Defense personally ordered them to track the Excalibur and its renegade commander. Apparently Dante Jones did not realize that Farway shared a brief but important history with Brewer.
With the aim of keeping this young crew away from the brewing shit storm, Farway originally decided to stay out of the mess by following his orders to the letter, and nothing more. But in the course of following those orders they came upon this…this island that was not, in fact, an island at all.
Then things had taken a turn into The Twilight Zone.
Brewer radioed that an Eagle transport had pulled Trevor Stone and his missing son from the top of this…this… island. Of course, Farway needed to confirm such a crazy claim. So an Eagle picked him up off the deck and carried him aboard the dreadnought where he stood alongside Trevor’s bed and listened to stories from Jon, a certain Captain Forest, and Trevor’s wife, Ashley.
It did not take the entire story to convince the old sea dog that the time had come to choose sides, and he chose the side of the warriors not the back stabbing two-faced politicians. The presence of an alien base so close to territorial waters impacted that decision greatly. Nonetheless, Brewer felt the Captain could best serve the cause in two ways.
First, continue to radio hourly reports to the mainland. The last transmission informed the Secretary of Defense that the E xcalibur stumbled along in the middle of nowhere still smoking from wounds received during an attack of Stingrays. A reply to this transmission suggested that Farway should report the 'enemy's' position directly to the Philipan, that ship now being in place to intercept Brewer should he re-enter Imperial waters. As for the second way in which the General felt Farway could be of help… "Engage the mag-drive, ahead one-half. Point our nose down, twenty degrees. Comm, alert all commands to follow." "Aye, aye! Dive planes twenty degrees."
"Blue leader to Blue two and Blue three, message follows: Dive! Dive! Twenty degrees all ahead one-half. Maintain formation." Two brief bursts from a horn warned the crew of the dive. The lead Barracuda slipped beneath the waves followed by the other two subs on her flanks. They approached the phony island. "Fifty feet." "Steady, helm. Give me depth. Sonar, what do you hear?"
A sailor standing at a station along the starboard wall reported, "Looks like it hangs down to about five hundred feet, sir. I've got sea bottom at eight hundred feet, sir." "Bottom? A little shallow, isn't it?" "I'm reading this right, sir." "Helm, drop us to five hundred, let's see what's under her skirt. Comm, signal all commands." "Five hundred feet, aye, aye!" "Blue two and Blue Three this is Blue leader message follows: dive to five hundred feet and maintain formation."
The trio of subs dove deeper into the chilly but clear waters of the North Atlantic. As they descended they also neared the underwater portion of The Order's facility. It began to take form as a murky shadow in the distance, visible through the small eyes at either end of the hammerhead bow.
"Sir! Sonar, getting some strange readings here."
"Talk to me, Ensign."
"Contacts…kind of faint, sir. I don't know. Something between the target and the ocean floor. Maybe some kind of net. It's hard to read, sir."
Farway could not be sure if the difficulty in the sonar readings came from the sailor's lack of experience or had something to do with The Order's strange ways.
"Helm, turn on the lights. Let's see what's out here."
Forward spotlights engaged illuminating the waters in front of the boat. The blob-like shadow of The Order's complex floated ahead, still too far away to see clearly. The submarines continued to descend, trying to slip beneath the monstrosity.
"Sir! Sonar! Definitely contacts on the ocean floor. Holy-I mean, sir…a lot of them!"
The Captain stood and hurried to the sonar station. The naval veteran analyzed the data marching across a monitor in front of the young seaman. Farway mumbled, "All along the bottom…what the Hell?"
"Looks like a little movement, too," the Ensign reported.
"Sir! Helm! We have visual, sir!"
Farway marched away from sonar to the front of the ship and peered out one of the forward windows. Spotlights helped explain the strange sonar readings.
The Order's facility ended in a rough round base, probably the same spongy rock material as on the surface. But that was not all. A tangled web of white, flaky lines or ropes drooped from the floating base. The helmsman muttered, "What the Jesus Christ is that?" "Easy son. Keep it professional." Still, Farway shared the sailor's sentiments. It looked to be a mass of lines connecting the base to something deeper. "Helm, drop our nose ten more degrees. Let's get a look at what's down here. Comm, alert all commands!" "Aye aye, sir!" "Blue Leader to Blue One and Blue Two message follows: angle of dive increase another ten percent. Maintain formation."
Farway reached for the low ceiling and grabbed one of the metal bars running the length of the ship on either side. Most of his bridge crew did the same as the front of the submarine tipped to a steeper dive angle.
"Okay, easy helm. Slow us down to one quarter. We don’t' want to get tangled up in any of this. Comm, radio our sisters and tell them to hang back."
Helm: "Aye, sir! One quarter!"
Communications officer: "Blue Leader to Blue Two and Blue Three message follows: all stop, hold position until further orders."
Farway's lead sub continued forward and down, moving closer to both the net of lines and the ocean floor. As they closed, the water grew murkier; white flakes floated about and puffs of greenish ink or mist seemed to drift in patches through the sea. "Depth, seven hundred feet!" "Sonar contacts all along the bottom, sir!" Farway ordered, "Steady, helm. Steady…"
He stared out one of the front-facing portals hoping the powerful underwater spotlights might reveal what secret hid beneath The Order's warped base.
The atmosphere inside the sub felt overly warm although the heat may have come more from the tension then the temperature. The crew grew silent with only the repeating 'ping' from the active sonar sounding. Deeper…deeper… "Seven Hundred fifty feet!" "Helm, trim out the boat. Bring our nose up to ten degrees; I don't want to go in too fast." "Ten degrees, aye, aye, Captain!" The steep dive eased. Farway released his grip on the overhead bar and came to realize how sweaty his palms were. The navigator muttered, "What is that…that noise?"
A sound came at the sub from the waters beyond. A soft sound that made Farway think of a breath. An exhale. The sound of someone breathing in and out while sleeping, but on a much larger scale. The noise grew until it caused a slight tremble in the hull.
The spotlights illuminated the murky water and the devil's garden came in to view.
Those were not ropes and wires hanging from the underside of The Order's floating base but, rather, umbilical cords. Each descended to the sea bed and attached to a house-sized white growth resembling an upside-down mushroom with luminescent skin. Around each of the fungi-things grew a patch of white bulbs arranged in rings. Inside those bulbs…things moved. Black balls, squirming masses, and worse. The sound of breathing came from whatever mechanism fed the garden. A hush fell over the crew. Even curses could not capture the grotesque horror hidden at the bottom of the sea. Captain Farway regained his composure-some of it-and ordered, "Helm! All stop!" Nothing. Farway barked in the crewman's ear, "Helm! I said all stop!" The shout shook the boat's driver from the horror ahead. "A-all stop, aye, s-sir."