Leviathan. Joaquin De Torres

thousand seven hundred feet!”

      “Bogey now at 500 meters, Ma’am!”

      “All tubes flooded, Captain!”

      “Open torpedo bay doors, Mister Bingham.”

      “Doors opening!”

      “We’re at 1,500 feet, Captain!”

      “Bogey at 350 meters!”

      “Prepare countermeasures, full spread.”

      “Countermeasures ready, Captain!”

      “Have they opened their doors?”

      “No, ma’am!”

      “IT’S GOING TO RAM US!” shouted Evans.

      “Calm down, Miss Evans,” calmed Frost. “I need your focus now.” She looked at Lesher and nodded her head.

      “Sound collision alarm.” Lesher hit the button, sending the Claxton staccato through the sub’s speakers again. The sound further unnerved the crew who hadn’t heard both alarms together since their initial training days.

      “Increase speed to flank.”

      “OH MY GOD!”

      “Shut up, Rita!” Lesher snapped harshly at Evans. He pulled the mike to his mouth, still glaring at the young ensign on her first cruise.

      “Increase speed to flank!” he resumed. No one could tell, but Lesher’s professional calm was beginning to unhinge itself with every frightened utterance of the crew. He looked nervously at Frost. Her expression was as placid and concentrative as if she were playing chess. She studied the several screens adjacent to the IMAX from her captain’s chair, calculating their information with her rapidly-moving blue eyes. While everyone’s voice rose, shook or gasped, she showed no desperation in hers. Her orders and comments were voiced as quietly and confidently as if she were giving marriage counseling. This was something Lesher had always loved about her.

      “Mister Bingham, arm your torpedoes manually. We may have to shoot at pointblank range.”

      “Arming torpedoes, Captain!” Bingham’s fingers tapped the weapons control keyboard desperately.

      “How’s your message going, Mister Avila?”

      “I’m good, ma’am! Just need a couple more hundred feet before I send her.”

      “What’s our depth?”

      “We’re at 1,200, Captain!”

      “Very well.”

      “All four torpedoes armed and ready to shoot, ma’am.”

      “Very well.”

      As if sensing his nervousness, Frost turned to Lesher and gave him an encouraging nod with the slightest hint of a smile. This brought him back, fueling his adrenaline with a renewed sense of courage. He nodded and mouthed “Thank you.”

      “Bogey now at 250 meters!”

      Lesher leaned back to Frost.

      “It’s going to be close, Sandy,” he whispered.

      “I know, Roy.”

      “LOOK AT THE SCREEN!” shrieked Petty Officer Lowe, sitting at another sonar position. Lesher nimbly jumped next to Evans and covered her mouth with his hand to prevent her scream. It was he who spoke, and he spoke loud enough to cause everyone to momentarily freeze.

      “Oh my God, Sandy! What is that!?”

      All heads turned up to the IMAX. The view of the ocean was still dark, but less murky as they catapulted towards the surface. The water was now a lighter shade of green and schools of fish and individual species were discernable. But in that clarity was another image in the distance.

      The nose of the other submarine emerged out of the deep blue just 150 meters away, coming towards them from a 35-degree angle on the starboard side. Its nose was not conical or traditionally bulbous, but tapered down to an opened-mouthed scoop like the maw of a gargantuan sea bass. The mouth was hinged, able to swing down. The lips of the mouth were of reinforced steel, thick and hideously scarred as if used as a battering ram.

      Within the cavernous scoop was a massive, pointed object with riffling blades like a gigantic drill bit. Rising up from the roof of the long snout, and arcing back over the spine of the vessel were four rows of dorsal arches that flared out in increasing degrees. The tips of the arches were separated by at least five feet and gradually expanded over the surface of the sub. The tops of these solid arches were serrated with iron teeth. Each arch looked like a giant table saw blade; the thickness of each saw tooth was at least six-inches. Each blade tapered down from the teeth to base which was at least two-feet thick. The peak of the blades were at least 30 feet before the arched down aft and unseen. Between the two innermost blades was a space or groove about four feet wide and opened to the sea, that ran the length and contour of the sub for some unseen distance.

      The entire forward section of the vessel was covered with armored plating that looked more like iron scales, giving the vessel a menacing reptilian look. After 50 feet of the pronounced armor, the rest of the body seemed of normal submarine plating. There didn’t appear to be a traditional center sail or conning tower. Only as the sub drew closer did anyone see a tower, equally menacing in design, in the distance.

      “Can you hear that?” someone asked. “Is that us?” The question went unanswered for it was instantly obvious that it was not them. It was the sound of a thunderous, mechanical churning by some gigantic undersea turbine. The cacophony definitely had a rhythm, a timing. The staccato sounded rotary-like, cyclic and grinding. It penetrated the hull and reverberated throughout the ship. Like a gigantic washing machine, the repetitive grind grew louder as the sub drew closer.

      “That is definitely not us,” answered Frost. “What’s our depth?”

      “One thousand feet!” yelled Christian through the din.

      “We don’t have time now. Roy, tell Mister Avila to send the message.” Lesher turned to the COMMS position.

      “Send the message!” he yelled. Avila gave a thumbs up and turned to his console. He knew that a thousand feet was still too deep for his equipment to send a strong signal; nevertheless, he pressed the SEND button and his pre-typed signal was transmitted. Just as a precaution, he hit the SEND button several times to insure that the signal transmitted as they continued to climb; hopefully, one would get through if, for obvious reasons, they stopped their ascent.

      Frost reached for Lesher and pulled him near.

      “Are we still taking pictures of this thing?”

      “Yes. The mast is set on object-search mode. Whatever it does, wherever it goes, the cameras are on it.”

      “Roy, if something happens, jettison the camera mast. It’s designed to float to the surface.” Lesher looked into her large blue eyes with complete understanding and nodded.

      “HERE IT COMES!!!” When Frost and Lesher turned their eyes to the IMAX, it was too late.

      “IT’S GOING BENEATH US!” For a moment there seemed to be a collective sigh of relief. The vessel had not shot any torpedoes and it wasn’t ramming them; at least, not directly. Suddenly a deafening sound pierced the bridge, silencing everyone. Amid the deafening grinding sound, there was now the sound of ripping, yawning iron. The bridge shook violently, knocking those who were standing to the deck.

      “IT’S CUTTING US OPEN!”

      “Roy, the IMAX view beneath us.” For the first time in the two years he’d served with her, Lesher saw Frost’s eyes reflect urgency. He manually changed the camera views using his toggle. The view was captured and it was horrifying. They watched as the vessel drove its arched, table saw blades into the belly of the Texas. It sliced through the double hull in a straight line, slowing only when the teeth got caught in the thick tangle of the wreckage ripped