“Excerpt from ‘The Farpool: Marauders of Seome’”

 

As of this post, I’m about 50 pages into my next science fiction novel, a continuation of The Farpool with the title indicated above.  Herewith, an excerpt from Chapter 1, of this work in progress.

Chapter 1

“The sea is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence.”

Jules Verne 

Earth

Off the coast of North Carolina

November 20, 1942

4:30 pm

 

It was the Julie Lane’s second officer, Alonzo Henry, who first spotted the funnels of the waterspouts.  They were a curious, even foreboding sight, to the fatigued crew of the old beam trawler.   Since sunup that morning, the Lane had been trawling for tuna, snapper, drum, anything they could find.  Pickings had been slim for days and Henry had blamed the Navy, the Coast Guard, German U-boats, bad weather, the moon, anything he could think of for why this trip had been such a dud.

Now it was late afternoon, the sun shining in shafts through scattered clouds and this…funnels?  Waterspouts?  What else could happen?

Captain Curt Klamath stood against a door on the forward weather deck of the Julie Lane and tried for the fifth time to light his cigarette.  Fortunately, his first mate, Gallagher, was nearby and came to the rescue, cupping his hands around Klamath’s stiff fingers. 

All three men were still shaken from what they had just witnessed.

“Never seen a spout like that, Lon…quite a sight that was.”

Alonzo Henry agreed.  He lit his own cigarette.  “Never this far north, eh?  Like something out of the tropics.  Sky split open, crack of lightning.  It’s a wonder that whole school of tuna didn’t scatter to the winds.  They got up a good frenzy but they seem to be settling down.  Shall I put the nets further out?  Otter boards are flapping like there’s not much inside the net.”

“Yeah, give the order.  She’s probably a small school but we might have some good ones in there.  Run the bobbins out as far as they’ll go, though.  This is some fierce chop.”

It was just then that first mate Gil Gallagher, of the trawler Julie Lane, out of Okracoke, North Carolina, lead ship of the Robson Line and always loaded to her gunwales with good meat after a run, saw the ghost, the apparition, the pulses of light climbing down the waterspouts like fireflies on a ladder, for that’s what he would insist on calling it in all the reports and debriefings that would follow.

“What in name of Neptune’s hair is that?” he pointed to the flickering lights.

The men studied the phenomenon for a moment.  Half a dozen waterspouts danced across the wavetops miles out to sea, like slithering ropes dropped down from heaven.  That in itself wasn’t terribly unusual; all the officers had seen stranger things than that in twenty- two years of trawling and shrimping off the Carolina coast.  But the largest of the spouts flickered like a string of Christmas lights, as pulses of reddish-white light coursed down her length, ending in the sea somewhere beyond the horizon.

The apparition ended almost as soon as it started.

Klamath tugged at a pipe and rubbed bristly stubble on his chin.  “Lightning, most likely.  Chain lightning.  Heard of it, but I ain’t never seen such.”

“St Elmo’s, maybe?’ suggested Henry.  “But climbing down that spout, now that’s a sight.  Nobody’ll believe it.  Maybe we should—‘

But Henry’s ruminations were suddenly interrupted by a shout from the first mate.  Gallagher was leaning on the railing, starboard side, gesturing at something.

“Look out!  She’s rogue wave, coming this way--!”

And that’s when the deck and forecastle of the Julie Lane was suddenly filled with shouts, curses and scurrying men, trying to lash down everything they could reach.

“Turn her into the wind, Bryan!” Klamath yelled over the roar of the building surf.  “Secure those hawsers too!  I don’t want to get broadsided!”

Henry, Gallagher, Munsey, everybody was thrashing and sliding across the wet foredeck of the Julie Lane as the chop worsened and the first waves crashed over her bow.  Something groaned, then cracked…it was the portside beam, now bent down at an impossible angle—Lane was already listing badly to port, and gear careened around the deck, slamming into knees and legs and faces as the trawler tried to answer her helm.

Henry’s voice strained over the howl of the wind as he grabbed Klamath by the arm and spun the captain around.  “We got to cut the lines, Curt!  Cod end’s still hung up thirty fathoms down, she’ll drag us right into that wave—“

Klamath shook his head, cried out, “No way, Lon!  We’re worked too hard for what we’ve got.  We’ve got to show something for all this effort—“

The waves built steadily, Himalayas of water rising up out of the troughs and slamming and hammering Lane from all sides.  The trawler had barely enough way to get herself turned bow into the waves, when the front slopes of the monster lifted them fifty feet into the air.  For a split second, Klamath, Henry and Gallagher had a glorious view beyond…mottled gray-green surf like a puckered sheet marching off to the horizon, and behind it, more waves, bigger waves and a strange swirl to the ocean, like they were caught in God’a own blender.

And that’s when they saw the lights. 

In the days and weeks that followed, Curt Klamath would remember this moment as if it were branded into his brain for all time.  The puckering of the ocean in the troughs of the waves, the swirl of the water and the flicker of two lights, just below the surface, devil’s eyes, he called them to anyone who would listen, including his long-suffering wife of thirty-one years Suzanne.  The glare of Neptune’s revenge.  Sea monsters.  Dragons.  Words failed Curt Klamath at times like this, for there were no words to describe what the crew of the Julie Lane had witnessed, in those fateful seconds, before the monster wave hit.

Klamath yelled at the top of his voice.  “Belay the nets…unlash the life--!”

But his words were lost in the unearthly howl of the rogue as the full force of the wave hit them at quarter-bow.  The Julie Lane upended bow to stern, standing like an uncertain child just learning to walk, before tipping backward, slamming into the water upside down with enough force to split her hull, smash her deckhouse, splinter her gunwales and scattering men and debris like so much kindling.  The lifeboats—there were two nicknamed Abbot and Costello—were ripped from their davits and splintered in pieces, then tossed fifty yards into the foam and froth of a boiling sea.

Klamath found himself tugged down by the undertow of the wave’s back side and stroked for all he was worth to avoid the falling beams of the dragger mounts, plummeting out of the sky like broken swords.  He thought he heard cries before he ducked under, but he couldn’t be sure.  It was every man for himself now and he had no idea where Alonzo Henry, Gallagher, Munsey or any of the others were.  Chairs, tables, splintered paneling, snatches of netting and assorted gear fell like rain out of the sky and floated on the white-topped crests of the wave.

With all his breath, Curt Klamath snagged something in the water…it turned out to be a broken piece of wooden board-- and held on hard as he could, looping some kind of rope around his arms ad body so as to lash himself to the only thing floating he could reach.

Then, in the last moments before he passed out, Klamath saw the lights again.  Two glaring eyes, seemingly not connected, yet traveling in unison, dull yellow-white, coursing just below the surface, in the trough of the rogue wave and those that followed.

Klamath puzzled over the sight, as consciousness slipped away.  Lanterns torn loose from the Lane, perhaps?  Midget U-boats?  The Germans had been hunting in these waters for months now and many an unsuspecting tanker or freighter had been caught in their crosshairs and torpedoed to the bottom off the Carolina coast.  Strange phosphorescent fish, stirred up in the freak storm that had overturned them?

Klamath had no answers.  And the black tunnel quickly overcame any last thoughts.

 

A loud horn kept blaring and bleating and Klamath fought his way back to something like a dull stupor.  His chin hurt, and there was dried blood—he could taste it and feel it as he wiped his face.  He sat up, wobbling around as the waves bounced the little board back and forth.  A big wall blocked out the early evening sun, now setting to the west.  The wall had a big red stripe on it.

With a start, he realized he was staring at the gunwales of a Coast Guard cutter.  He could dimly make out the words Diamond on her sides.

Klamath bobbed in a daze while a small boat circled closer and closer.  Soon enough, hands reached in, strong hands, and hoisted him in.  Voices filled his ears, questions, comments, orders.  He understood nothing save one thing: he was safe, for the moment.  He was dimly aware as heavy cloth covered him and made him comfortable, that the rogue waves had passed and the sea was preternaturally calm.  The sun was gone but the sky was lit with a soft pearly light and the first stars were already out.

Klamath wondered briefly if he had died and this was fisherman’s heaven, but a burly, bearded face appeared in front of his and offered himself something.  He drank.  It was coffee, hot, rancid, but still it tasted good and it warmed him well.  He dozed off as the boat circled back and approached the cutter, making herself fast in Diamond’s aft well deck.

Crewmen secured the boat and helped Klamath out.  He stood wobbly on the deck for a moment, then made out a familiar face: it was Alonzo Henry, cut and bleeding, but alive.  The captain and first officer of the Julie Lane embraced.

“Jeez, Lonnie, you look like hell.”

Then, they were whisked above decks to a sick bay crammed with beds and equipment.  Corpsmen checked them out, head to toe. 

After the examinations, Klamath and Henry were escorted by two bearded yeoman to a room along a narrow passageway on the Diamond’s main deck.  It turned out to the captain’s stateroom. 

“Stay here and don’t try to leave,” one yeoman told them.  “Cap’n will be by in a few minutes.”  They shut the door.  Klamath tried the lock—it was unlocked—but he could hear movement just outside.  They were under guard.

Klamath and Henry glared ruefully at each other.  Klamath spoke up in a rattling voice, still coughing up salt water, sipping Coast Guard coffee like it was champagne.  “Lon, I seen monster waves before.  I seen spouts before.  I even seen ball lightning and St. Elmo’s before.  But those lights under the water—“

Alonzo Henry shook his head, ruffled his wet hair with towels.  “Subs, Skipper, had to be some kind of U-boats—“

That’s when they both realized the door had been opened and a face appeared.  It was Commander Wilcox.  The Diamond’s skipper came in, shutting the door behind him.  He was tall, with a buzzcut and gray temples.  A faint line of moustache arced over his lips.  The moustache twitched like a mouse.

“What about the rest of my crew?” Klamath asked.  He rubbed a hot thermos of coffee against the stubble of his cheeks, then took a few sips.  Something about Coast Guard coffee—

Wilcox scanned both men with suspicion.  “We only found the two of you.  How large was your crew?”

Klamath mentally ticked off names in his mind.  “Seven in all.”  The realization that four of them had been lost in a freak storm weighed heavily on his mind.  And it wouldn’t go down well at Robson Line offices in Wilmington either…there would be hours of questions, investigations, paperwork. 

Wilcox shrugged.  “We did what we could.  Corpsman said you two will be okay…mind telling me what you were doing out in such rough seas?  There were all kinds of weather warnings this afternoon.”

“Well, we are fishermen, Commander.  Julie Lane was out trawling for drum and snapper.  And the fishin’s none too good around here anymore what with you and your ships carving up the waters day and night.”

Wilcox forced a thin smile.  “There’s been U-boats sighted around here, you know that.  Tanker went down just twenty miles north, off Nags Head…day before yesterday.  Fifteen men too.  The Coast Guard can’t keep you out of these waters but you’d best watch yourself.  Stay inside the ten-mile line.  We and the Navy are pretty busy further out…U-boat pickets and the like.”

Alonzo Henry shook his head.  “She was a freak storm all right, Commander.  But it wasn’t the waves or the spouts that spooked us.”

Wilcox snickered.  Fishermen were all alike, superstitious as all get out.  “Ghosts, I assume?”

“Lights,” Henry said.  “Weird lights.  And it wasn’t no lightning either.”

That made Wilcox’ face harden.  “What kind of lights?”

Henry glanced over at Klamath, who nodded silently.  Tell him, his eyes said. 

“First the big spout had lights, like Christmas lights.  They came down out of the clouds…little blobs of lights, at least two of them, kind of slow, like a bomb maybe, but I didn’t see an explosion.”

Klamath took up the story.  “Then when Julie Lane capsized and we were in the water, we saw ‘em again, under the water.  Below the surface.”

“How many?” Wilcox asked, now more concerned.  “How far away, what bearing?”

Henry took a deep breath and shrugged, pulling long on the thermos of coffee.  It tasted like bilge water.  “Hard to say.  I only saw two.  Steady yellow white lights, maybe a few feet below the surface.  They passed between us and the Lane, then circled us for a few minutes.  Thought they might be shark, but we don’t get shark up here very often.”

“You think they might be U-boats?” Klamath asked.  The prospect made his heart race.  “German midget subs, maybe?”

Wilcox backed out into the corridor and conferred with someone else for a second, then stuck his head back in the cabin.  “I don’t know, fellas, but the Navy needs to know about this.  We’re putting in at Fort Macon in an hour.  I want you guys to speak with the Navy boys when we dock.  Tell ‘em everything you saw or heard about those lights.”

Henry made a fist.  “It’s the Germans, ain’t it?  They got some kind of weird U-boat and you need to investigate, don’t you?  Sure thing, Commander, we can tell ‘em what we saw.”

Wilcox started to withdraw.  “Get dried off, men.  And don’t say a word of this to anyone. “ He backed out of the cabin and shut the door.  Both survivors heard the lock click.

Klamath shivered, tested his own coffee.  “Guess were stuck here, Lonnie. 

The Diamond put in at her dock at Ft. Macon Coast Guard Station forty minutes later.  Escorted down the gangway, Klamath and Henry spotted Coast Guard beach patrols on horseback gathering at the end of the wharf.  The ship’s executive officer was a jolly, barrel-chested nearly bald officer whose name plate read Dennison.  Lieutenant Dennison was mainly interested in food, from his description of what awaited them.

“Oh, you’ll love it,” he told them, as they headed across the dock area to the stationhouse.  “This time of night…wow…doughnuts, bagels, sandwiches, Coast Guard coffee, that’ll grow hair on your chest…just follow me—“

They wound up at the Security shack, a small cabin just inside the main gate off Spencer Road.  Lieutenant Melvin Betters was the base Security Officer.  Just as Dennison had said, a table full of sodas, coffee and cookies and sandwiches occupied one corner of the conference room.  Klamath wondered if everybody rescued got the same treatment.

That’s when they saw the Navy commander in the corner, flanked by men with M-1 carbines.

 

Thirty miles northeast of the Ft. Macon Coast Guard station, two Ponkti lifeships settled to the sandy bottom of the ocean in strong currents.  A large underwater vessel was coming.  They had sounded it from miles away, then circled the splintered wreckage of the eekoti ship that had just sunk to observe this strange vessel of the Umans.

 

 

So that’s the excerpt.  Let me know what you think.  Farpool: Marauders should be essentially done this fall and be ready to be downloaded by the end of the year.

 

The next post to The Word Shed will come on June 26.

 

See you then.

 

Phil B.