With a mighty bang the grenade killed the nearby men instantly, ripping limbs off half a dozen others, blinded several and concussed even more. Buckman was hit by smaller pieces of flesh and the odd piece of small shrapnel.
The grenade killed Joey instantly and Buckman sagged downhearted. He waded to the door through the waist high water. The grenade had had no effect whatsoever. He knew that the game was over.
The men shuffled close to the door, at the high end of the corridor, as the aircraft carrier sank fast. When the water reached Buckman’s neck, he took a few moments to think of his wife and kids, and a tear trickled down his cheek, as he knew he would never see them again.
The men to the side and behind him thrashed about as they ran out of life giving air. The water passed his mouth; he turned his head sideways to gain a last mouthful of air and then completely submerged. His cheeks puffed out, in the fading light and he could see the floating bodies of his crewmates, and one by one they sucked in the water, and drowned in what looked like agony.
His lungs burned and were fit to burst. He felt light headed as the air to his oxygen-starved brain diminished. He thought once more of his wife and kids then breathed in. The water stung his nose, he coughed and spluttered and as his lungs filled with fluid he eventually died.
In the conning tower of the USS Thomas Jefferson, Commander Roscoe watched grimly as the men rioted as the boat sank. The tannoy announced. “Abandon ship!” on a continual loop. Commander Roscoe had ordered that all doors be sealed, containing most of the men below decks. From his position on the bridge nine floors up the conning tower, he could still hear the screams of the dying men and the odd burst of machine gunfire. He remained resolute in his determination, along with his crew, to go down with his ship.
Lebec, one of the few men left on the bridge acted nervously. He wore a protective suit, and he was healthy, so no need for him to die. Lebec had valuable information to share with high command; maybe he should make a break for it. He shuffled slowly to the door and the ship suddenly lurched to the starboard side, listing as is slowly sank.
“Stay at your post!” said the commander, without turning. “Be a man, show some backbone.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Lebec said dejectedly. The commander must have eyes in the back of his head, he thought. Well, damn him, I’m getting off this sinking ship if it’s the last thing I do. The doors from the lower decks burst open interrupting his morbid thoughts and men swarmed out, most had weapons and fired up at them on the bridge. The commander stood firm as one or two shots were on target and ‘pinged’ off the bulletproof glass.
Lebec looked down on the throng, who appeared to be fighting amongst themselves. He saw one sailor sitting on the back of another repeatedly stabbing him in the throat, the arterial spray covering the attacker, painting him red with the blood. Others were kicking a fallen crewmate, until his neck snapped and his head flopped from side-to-side. Another group was in the process of gang-raping one of the enlisted men.
Lebec wondered what the sailors had done to warrant the wrath of their shipmates, then it dawned on him, they would have been the Swabbies instructed to seal the hatches and lock the doors, dooming their shipmates to death by drowning. Serves them right, thought Lebec, until he concluded that the mob’s next target would be the men in the bright orange suits, tucked away safely nine floors above them in the conning tower. This realization made him sweat even more in the stifling hot suit. He choked, the claustrophobic garment made him feel suffocated.
The ship made another lurch further to the starboard. Lebec used the distraction and promptly stripped off the telltale suit that would mark him out as one of the elite, deemed more special that the enlisted mob below. Ones considered worthy of saving. Unlike them, the great unwashed, who were about to be swallowed up by the mighty Atlantic ocean. He understood their rage and was determined to get off the gigantic metal leviathan that would suck them down to the bottom of the seabed.
He remembered a girlfriend who thought the ending of Titanic had been SO romantic, uh-uh, not him, he thought it stupid. There was plenty of room of the makeshift raft for two. Failing that, push the bitch off; he could have found himself a much hotter babe than that snooty broad. Nope, there was nothing at all romantic about drowning. He shuddered at the thought, imagining the water filling his lungs as he held his breath to bursting point, with his lungs burning as they were depleted of oxygen, fighting his body’s own reflexes to breath, and then the final, fatal moment when he would suck in a lungful of water.
The Commander may have a noble, lofty notion of going down with his ship, and of containing the disease, to ‘sacrifice oneself for the protection of the many’. Fuck that, he thought, who did he think he was, Mister Spock? He’d look after number one; it was every man for himself as far as he was concerned. He would get off this crate one way or other. He’d stripped off the suit, when the commander snapped, “What the hell do you think you are doing?” He glared at him and looked him up and down as if he was something he’d found on the sole of his shoe, “Lebec? Lebec. There’s obviously French somewhere in your ancestry, no wonder you’re trying to run away — it’s in your cowardly country’s yellow nature. You sicken me, get out of my sight.” He turned to the African-American Petty Officer. “Arrest that man for dereliction of duty!” he instructed.
What’s the point? thought the Petty Officer, we’re all going to be dead shortly. He unclipped his sidearm thinking that the brig was below decks which meant leaving the conning tower and maybe, just maybe have an opportunity to escape.
He grabbed Lebec roughly by the arm. “Come with me you worthless piece of crap.” he waited for Lebec to acknowledge him then gave an over-exaggerated wink. “You’re coming with me.” He manhandled him from the bridge. Lebec played along acting as the cowardly snake, begging for his life.
They left the bridge and when they were out on the internal staircase, the African-American let go of his prisoner. “Let’s get out of here, pal, before the crack-pot changes his mind.”
“Thanks buddy,” Lebec said gratefully. “I owe you my life.” He scooted on ahead, as the African-American lumbered down the metal staircase hindered by his awkward hazmat suit.
Lebec was easily a floor below the petty officer, when he heard the noise of the mob clanging up the metal staircase. He stopped dead in his tracks, looked left and right, up and down, and gulped hard. There was nowhere to run, trapped between the mob and the commander back up in the bridge. His mouth dried and he was in a blind panic, and when the horde approached he shouted. “Up here, this way!” He turned and ran back the way he came now at the head of the mob, and bumped into the petty officer, when they rounded the bend, Lebec shouted. “Get the nigger! He’s one of them!”
The mob enflamed by the sight of the orange suit, were on the petty officer like a pack of wolves, tearing at the loathed suit, they ripped off his helmet and kicked and punched him.
A blood lust passed from one man to another and they kicked him mercilessly. A heavy steel toe-capped boot smashed into his mouth and broke some teeth. Blood poured from his nose, and a stubby thumb hooked into his eye socket and popped out an eye, and left it dangling on his cheek.
Lebec booted him on the side of the head, joining in with the blood lust. The petty officer’s head jolted around, his good eye locked onto his. Lebec felt the hatred slide down his back like an icy hand when the African-American’s head was lifted by the hair, and his throat cut, and then cast aside like an old rag doll, as the mob continued up the stairs led by Lebec. “Charge!” he yelled, and they howled their revenge.