“Well, I—”
Everett caught Jack’s look, and it wasn’t because he was staring at him. It was the fifteen long, pointed spears that poked through the small palms and bushes. Collins pointed, and Everett turned right into the sharpest spear tip he had ever seen. Again, and for the second time in as many seconds, he raised his hands into the air and took a step back.
The Russians backed away, as did Charlie and Ryan. Jenks, Carl, and Jack held their ground but stood stock-still and didn’t flinch, and they all had their open hands in the air. After only a few steps, Captain Kreshenko felt the jab of a sharp object in his back, and he slowly turned, raising his own hands into the air.
Jack turned in time to see a small man with blond hair and brown skin step from the bush. He held no spear. He wore breeches made of some sort of fish-type skin and nothing from the waist up. He had a very lethal knife in a scabbard on his hip, and his necklace was made from small seashells. The brightly colored bird feathers were placed at varying intervals into his blond hair. Charlie started to lower his hands when he saw the inhabitants up close without their protective coating of mud. He thought they were a magnificent mixed race of people. He started to smile as his hands came down until five more of the native men stepped from the line of trees. Their ten-foot-long harpoon-like spears were held at the ready. Charlie placed his hands back into the air.
“Gentlemen, don’t move an inch. I think they’re more concerned about their children than they are us.” Collins smiled as best he could under the circumstances and nodded.
The blond-haired leader, whose hair was done in braids, looked from the Russians to Jack and then moved forward, unafraid of the strangers. As he did, fifteen more of the fishermen stepped onto the trail.
“Oh, crap,” Charlie said, watching history come alive for him once more. His field assignments had been of the most startling kind of late.
“Hang in there, Doc,” Jenks said as he eyed the weaponry aimed at them. He saw a bow and arrow aimed their way and spears longer than most American Indian lances he had ever seen in museums. “These aren’t weapons the way we think of them. They’re tools to these people.”
“Well, I don’t see them as a hammer or nails,” Ryan said as he took a step back from an advancing fishing spear. “That spear tip looks sharp.”
The leader of this advanced scout team stepped forward. His tilted head and his curious expression fixed on Collins. The man, who stood about five feet eight inches tall and was muscled beyond reason, advanced on Jack rather quickly, and the colonel thought he was going to feel the business end of the man’s short, strong knife. The man motioned for his hunters to lower their weapons. Then he reached out and quickly pulled Jack’s nine millimeter free of his shoulder holster. He looked it over with curiosity and then looked back at his men, and the newcomers were taken by surprise when the small man laughed. He jabbered something in strange, halting words, and then the other hunters started laughing along with him.
Jack met Carl’s eyes, and the confusion was evident on both of their uncomfortable faces. The laughing continued and then stopped when the leader of the group simply tossed Jack’s semiautomatic into the air toward him, where the colonel was forced to catch it. The man walked up to Charlie, who still had his hands in the air. The scientist had lost the welcoming smile and was nervous when the brown-skinned man reached up and pulled Ellenshaw’s glasses from his face. He placed them on his own small nose and then looked around. He quickly reached up and pulled the glasses off and threw them onto the ground.
“I guess they didn’t match his prescription,” Jenks said with a chuckle and the cold cigar in his mouth.
The leader rubbed his eyes, thinking that the glasses must have robbed him of his clear vision. Quickly his attention turned on the chuckling Jenks, and the headman’s eyes went from being rubbed to them looking at the master chief with interest. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Jenks, and he crouched low as he took the man in.
Jenks quickly stopped chuckling at Ellenshaw’s discomfort. The man cautiously approached him, and then his hand slowly rose to his face. The small man’s movement was so quick that Jack and the others thought the man had sliced the master chief’s throat. The leader of the small band of fishermen and miners had Jenks’s cigar in his hand, and he examined it. He then smelled it, and then his tongue reached out and tasted it. His face was a mask of horror as he quickly crushed the smelly cigar and then threw it away.
“Hey, those are a little hard to come by out here,” Jenks said in protest.
“I guess it wasn’t his brand, huh?” Charlie quipped, eliciting a dirty look from the master chief.
The man looked at the other visitors, and with a couple of clicks of his tongue, the others lowered their spears. Then they just simply walked away back to the underbrush. Jack and the others slowly lowered their hands and watched the fishermen and the far filthier miners leave. Collins smiled and then looked at his group. Without answering their unasked questions, the colonel just turned and started to follow the residents of this bizarre world down the trail.
Captain Thorne was on his back inside the sonar shack, cursing and trying his best to get the new cable attached to the equipment. They had stolen from Peter to pay Paul. The cable was from the PC that crewmen used from time to time to send loved ones e-mails. It had been sacrificed to repair the sonar and radar suites. Finally, he made the cable connection, and then he pushed himself from under the console.
“Well, give a shot, Lieutenant.”
As Thorne watched from the deck, the lieutenant silently prayed and then hit the switch. There was a loud electronic beep, and then the display screens came up. The four sonar men couldn’t hold in their unbridled enthusiasm, and they let out a cheer. Thorne was helped up by the lieutenant and patted on the back.
“You did it, Skipper.”
“One down, eighty more items to go. How is the XO coming along with our air supply?”
“He says we still have plenty of air, just no way to get it into the compartments. He has most of the crew busy cleaning up seawater, and that should keep their minds busy for a while.” The young lieutenant JG looked around, and then the captain caught his drift and moved away from the young sonar men.
“What is it?” he asked as he wiped his sweaty brow.
“Captain, the XO says the ballast control panels are totally scorched. We have cannibalized everything from personal equipment to the damn washers and dryers for the right boards, and nothing even comes close.”
“Okay, what we have to do is build new boards for ballast control.” Thorne stopped and thought a moment, and as he did, there was another cheer that erupted throughout the boat as fresh air once more started to flow through the ventilators. He took a deep breath and got as close to the vent as he could to catch the cold air.
“New boards?” the lieutenant asked.
Thorne felt the cold air wash over him, and after a moment, he fixed the officer with a determined look.
“I want circuit boards from everything not being utilized and others that we won’t need. Boom boxes, personal iPads, anything. Gather everything up and get it to engineering, and then we can piece something together. Just a blow switch will do.” He slapped the boy on the back. “Go. We’ll worry about diving some other time. Right now, we have to get up to the sunshine.”
The lieutenant turned and left, not catching the worried look from Thorne about their chances.
As he gave orders to his sonar men, Thorne lost his balance as the Houston was starting to lose its hold on gravity. The submarine started to slide down the shelf they had landed upon. He held on for dear life as the sliding increased. The sound of smashing rock and sand reverberated throughout the ship, and every man knew what was happening. Most closed their eyes and waited for the inevitable slide to the proverbial deep end.