Swallowed By Time

It was the morning, clear with a light breeze and the sun was just starting to break the horizon. Rays of sunlight seemed to dance off the waters in a picture-perfect sort of way. It was postcard perfect, until they rotated their view around to the west and saw the thick plume of smoke from a ship off in the distance about eight miles to their west which was under attack. It was in serious distress, battered, on fire, and in imminent peril of sinking. “Zoom in on that boat in the distance.” instructed Lee. The ship was clearly in the process of sinking, and they could see a lifeboat that had been lowered. The water surrounding the ship was littered with men who had already jumped from the doomed ship. The seas were relatively calm allowing them to zoom in and see the water littered with debris, the colors of the waves in the sunlight revealed the fuel oil and blood. As they magnified the image, they could also see a few sharks in the distance beginning to congregate as they smelled blood in the water and searched for an easy meal. Mel turned to Lee, horrified at what was about to play out in front of them, and with a pleading tone of voice she whispered, “Lee.” She had heard about war and the atrocities it brought, but she had never witnessed it firsthand. She placed her hand over her mouth thinking that she was going to be sick. It’s one thing to read about it, or watch the sanitized scenes in movies, but to witness the carnage firsthand had a truly visceral effect on her. Lee wanted to look away but couldn’t. It was like the proverbial train wreck that, no matter how hard you try to look away, it just draws your focus back to it. Lee just stared at the dreadful scene as it unfolded on the viewer. As the name of the ship on the bow, John A Johnson, came into view and Chris shouted, “I read about that ship. It was supposed to be sunk by a Japanese submarine.” “If dats da case den where’s dat sub?” James said in a serious and somber tone of voice. “If dis just happened, we need ta find dat sub before we become target practice too.” “Lee, we have to do something. We can’t just leave them there.” Mel pleaded as tears filled her eyes and rolled down each cheek. Her voice trembled at the sight of the slaughter and bloodshed. The sea around the men filled with blood and flaming fuel oil as they tried to swim to the limited safety of their lifeboats. Mel trembled at the wanton destruction on display in front of her. She had never witnessed such violence firsthand, and it was far worse than she could ever have imagined. Steven quickly interjected, “We can’t do anything. Lee, it’s history playing out.” “History my ass!” Every once-in-a-while James felt that being Catholic made it permissible to add an explanative or two to adequately punctuate his point, and they would jump almost uncontrollably from his mouth. “There ain’t nothin right bout da way history remembers deses men. I say we ain’t leavin’ no man behind.” For James this was a code that had been driven into his mind and heart through his military experience and training. Everyone comes home. Dead or alive, leave no man behind. “There are no other surface vessels within range to make a rescue. There will be no recovery for these men in time to save most – if not all of them.” Harris called out from his tactical station. “I’m picking up several radio transmissions.” Koche called out from the com station. “There was a distress call from the doomed ship (indicating the Johnson), and there was also a following transmission from a Pan-American clipper flight reporting the sinking to naval command. They know about the attack.” Lee watched the screen. It was unfolding second by second before them, and it was unquestionably clear that these men were in serious peril. No one could get to them before the sharks, but if they stepped in, what would that mean to history? AND – if they stepped in, it would mean delaying their own return home even longer. He silently prayed “Lord what should we do? What do you want us to do? What do you want me to do?” Suddenly, the sub surfaced near the wreckage and began shooting at the survivors and then trying to ram the lifeboats and debris the men were clinging to. It was as if a voice spoke to him, he knew what needed to be done. All of their preparations for making that final jump home would have to be put on hold. Turning to Harris he called out, “Tactical prepare a recovery team with divers.” Looking at Chris, Lee asked, “Are we sure that we’re watertight? Can we sit the Station down in the water without spatial displacement without damaging the structure or weakening the composite surface?” “We’re good on both counts.” came Chris’ response. “Then sound General Quarters, and de-energize the spatial displacement field strength. Bring us down to ten feet above the water and move in as close as possible to their ship.” Lee commanded. “Com, listen for any other ships or surface contact now that we’re above water and visible. That was most likely a torpedo that sank that ship.” Lee turned to Harris, “Tactical, weapons ready and stand by.” “Got it Lee.” Harris responded. “Helm, bring us to within weapons range and alongside the sub on its starboard side. Maintain about a 1,500-meter distance between us. Tactical, when you have a shot, use the forward Gatling guns to spray the hull of that sub.” “Bringing the Station around now.” Wallace responded helm one. “Tactical, load aft port position with standard rounds and forward port position with supercavitating rounds.” barked Lee. “Fire aft port gun in 5-second bursts first.”