Thorne was now at a severe angle as she came to rest almost on her side. He quickly regained his senses and stepped inside the mess. The warhead was lying against the far bulkhead, and its insides were scattered and smashed on the deck. Ramirez was being helped up to the sharply angled deck by the chief. The overhead lighting flickered and then steadied. Thorne reached for the phone and wrested it from its cradle.
“Damage report!” he said much louder than he intended.
“We’re still breathing up here. Forward torpedo room and engineering report small leaks, but nothing we can’t handle for the time being.”
Thorne placed the phone back and struggled forward. He stopped short of entering the mess as he faced Ramirez and waited for the bad news that they would have to wrestle another torpedo from the aft compartment and start over again.
“Well, let’s get going and get another Mark 48 taken apart.”
Thorne looked around, and then he heard the chief of the boat laughing. He became concerned that the chief had finally lost his mind for the many disappointments they had faced in the past three days.
“Almost blowing ourselves to hell is far funnier than I realized, Chief,” Thorne said as he looked from him to Ramirez, who was also smiling. His head dipped down, indicating the object he held. In his hand was the guidance board that had broken free of its screws when the sub jerked to life and started its slide. Thorne smiled himself as he realized that for the first time in three days they had caught a break. He stumbled and walked awkwardly toward the two men across the steeply angled deck.
“If you don’t mind, Captain, I think I’d better go change my pants,” Ramirez said as he handed Thorne the circuit board. He quickly excused himself and ran awkwardly toward the head.
“Chief?” Thorne asked, concerned over the lifelong navy man’s color.
“No, thanks, Captain. It’s a little too late for a crap break.” Thorne watched the old chief turn and leave, shaking his right leg as he did.
Captain Thorne closed his eyes as he felt the weight of the guidance board he held in his hand. He reached out and touched the cold steel side of Houston.
“Thanks for the break, Gray Lady.”
The CIC was well manned but mostly silent as technicians watched their scopes and screens but kept an ear open for the conversation being conducted by the gruff master chief and Charlie Ellenshaw. While most of the American naval personnel knew about how to take Jenks, they were still confused about crazy Charlie. They all to a man, Russian or American, British or civilian, liked the crazily coiffed Ellenshaw because of his naïveté when confronted with military protocol. They were impressed that the thin scientist wanted to learn everything he could. A million questions were asked by the cryptozoologist that highlighted the fact that the man caught on to everything very quickly. They listened to him and Jenks as they conferred with the young lieutenant flying the remote-controlled aircraft as it went high over Compton’s Reef.
“Nothing, Master Chief,” the lieutenant said as he banked the drone high over the destroyed village. “There is no one there.”
Charlie and Jenks watched the high-definition view of the destruction below the remote-controlled plane. The graves dug by the Russian and American sailors belied the fact that almost every man, woman, and child had been dispatched in the most horrible of ways by a ruthless enemy. Jenks was fuming as row after row of freshly dug graves filled the screen.
“All right, get out of there and head north toward the mountain. That’s the only place I think they could have gone.”
“The diamond mines?” Charlie asked as he adjusted his glasses.
Jenks didn’t answer as he studied the drone as it climbed and headed toward the slopes of the three thousand — foot mountain.
Charlie studied the master chief as he in turn watched the landscape below slide by. Jenks had become obsessed with finding the children and whatever adults of the innocent tribe remained alive.
“I’ll bet you your eighteen higher educational degrees, Doc, that those amphibious animal pirate bastards weren’t aggressive before the damn Bolsheviks got here.” Jenks rubbed a hand through his close-cropped hair and exhaled. “There was no reason for a mutual animosity between two different races to be enemies. One group lives and thrives in the ocean, the other on land.”
Charlie looked over at the six men monitoring the CIC’s radar and sonar stations. They almost to a man nodded in agreement with the master chief. He knew being a civilian sometimes made you a little slow on the uptake on military fairness. Now he understood it was the sense of justice that was being hurt by what had happened to the innocents of this world.
“Oh, shit,” the lieutenant said loudly as he used his joystick to turn the drone sharply away from the mountain. He brought the propeller-driven craft low to the trees.
“What?” Jenks asked.
The technician sitting next to the remote officer pushed a button, and the main monitor flipped pictures and rewound what was recorded.
“Shit!” Jenks hissed below his breath.
“How many?” Charlie asked.
On the screen, there was a long line of the Wasakoo scouring the jungle and sloping land of the mountain. From the high vantage point, it looked as though they were searching for the survivors also. Then the picture went black. The monitor again flared to life with the live feed coming from the drone. It was once more flying very high, and they could no longer see the aquatic species in their effort to find and kill the remaining men, women, and children of the island.
“Bastards,” a young seaman said aloud as others nodded in agreement.
“Why are they so intent on killing them all?” Charlie asked. He looked away from the monitor, hoping someone would answer him.
It was Jack who finally did. He had entered the CIC unnoticed. He was standing by the hatchway as the marine guard closed and secured the hatch.
“Because they are under orders.”
Charlie turned toward where Jack stood with his arms crossed. He looked tired and angry, but Ellenshaw knew that was the colonel’s natural state the past year.
“Orders?” Ellenshaw asked.
“One thing the Russians are good at, their main philosophy when they were being beaten or having to give up land, is to leave nothing behind that their enemy can possibly use; it’s called scorched earth. We suspect Salkukoff is getting ready to cut and run — close up shop, if you want to put it that way.” Jack uncrossed his arms and strode into the darkness of the control center. “The Wasakoo are exterminating the villagers, and then, I suspect, the blue diamond mines will be collapsed as if they were never dug. Scorched earth.”
“There!” the lieutenant said, pointing to the screen. “Recent trail sign.”
Jenks looked at the monitor, and there it was. A long line of brush and undergrowth had been etched into the landscape. It had to have been made by many people as they moved northward from the destroyed village.
“That’s got to be them. Follow the trail for as long as you can, but don’t let those Charlie Tuna sons of bitches see you.”
“Aye, Master Chief,” the lieutenant said as he drove the drone even higher into the sky.
“There. The trail leads right to the mountain.” Charlie leaned in closer. “And it looks like the Wasakoo are looking in the wrong direction.”