The Russian cargo ship rolled in the waves, as the biggest Typhoon in years smashed the Sea of Japan. The Captain chain-smoked an endless supply of cigarettes as the cargo ship pitched violently from one side to the other.
The expressionless man who’d stood on the bridge next to the Captain the entire way from the Strait of Tartary emerged again from the rest room, wiping his mouth. He looked as green as the sea waters, pouring over the ship.
“Where are we?” The GRU man asked him, struggling to maintain footing in the storm, and to maintain his stomach from emptying itself again. He was having dry heaves that this point, long ago running out of anything in his stomach to void.
“I think we are on the surface of the ocean, but I’m not sure.” The Captain said. He began turning the wheel, feeling the ship fight him.
“Where on the map?” The GRU agent asked again.
“Below Hokkaido, in Japan.” The Captain said around a mouthful of cigarette. The inch of ash at the end of the cigarette bounced up and down without breaking. The ship’s bow went under a massive wave, and came back up again. The ship shuddered as the water smashed into the superstructure of the cargo ship.
“We have to turn into the Tsugaru Strait.” The Captain said. He puffed out smoke.
The GRU agent struggled to the chart table only a couple of feet behind the Captain. He ran a finger across the map.
“This will take us miles off course!” The GRU agent protested. He would shout, but the seasickness had made him too weak for that.
“Do you have your life preserver on?” The Captain asked.
“No.” The GRU agent said.
“Go put it on.” The Captain finally dropped the ash from his cigarette.
“Why?” The agent asked.
“I’m not worried about finding Pyonyang.” The Captain puffed on the cigarette. “I’m worried about putting us close to a port where when we sink, you can be rescued.”
“You think we will sink?” Terror stole over the GRU agent.
“I don’t think, I am positive.” The Captain said. “If we sink on our present course, you will die in the waters before you can swim to a port. If I turn, then we will be only a short distance from Tokyo. There are many places on the coast you can safely get to.” He dropped the spent cigarette and patted his pockets for a pack. “You’d better take care of our large friend down below. And get that vest on. Hurry below decks. Get your men on the deck.”
“How long do we have?” The GRU man asked.
The Captain shrugged. “Perhaps five minutes. Perhaps the next roll in the waves.”
“How deep is the ocean here?” He asked. It was important for what he had to do next.
“Two thousand meters.”
The GRU agent grabbed his life jacket, strapping it on in a hurry. Fear drove his feet across the deck, slipping in the water. The shock of the cold ocean water flooding across the deck convinced him of the truth… they were going to sink soon. The GRU agent waded in freezing thigh deep water on the deck, already draining out the portholes. He grabbed the door leading into the cargo hold. The screaming wind and rain threatened to tear him loose and send him over the side, but he forced himself into the hold.
Down the stairs, the shockingly cold water pouring on him from above as he made his way down. He lit his way with his lighter, making his way to the monstrosity crouching in the bowels of the ship. He found the panel. Hands shaking, he put in the combination, popping it open. He realized he was bending over the device, holding a flame near it. But he had no other way.
He put in the information, trying to remember how to do this. It was a long time ago in Kiev when he’d sat in a room, being taught how to do this, and he hoped he was setting it correctly. The display changed, and he saw 2000 display on it. He swallowed in fear as water came pouring down from the yawing opening above him. The water slowed and stopped, and he began to breathe easier. Russia had no ships that could retrieve something at a depth of two thousand meters.
But America did. He pressed the last button and watched the display anxiously. The numbers were not changing, so he hoped he’d done it correctly. He ascended out of the hold, agonizingly cold sea water pouring down onto him. His fingers were numb, and he looked at his blue hands as he got on deck. He’d lost the lighter below. The GRU agent opened the door of the superstructure, and bellowed inside. “Get on the deck! Have your vests on!”
His men poured outside, shivering and complaining as the freezing water rose to knee deep.
An alarm began to sound. The ship rolled, and they all slid on the deck.
The door opened above, and the Captain emerged, making his way on the deck.
The GRU’s second in command grabbed him as they hurried to the rail, the water now thigh deep. He shouted something and the GRU agent couldn’t make it out. He put his mouth against the GRU agent’s ear and shouted.
“The bomb! What about the bomb?”
“I have set it to detonate at two thousand meters!” He shouted back.
“You fool! We will be over it when it sinks that low!” The second in command screamed.
“Swim quickly!” The agent shouted back.
The ship rolled, the railing disappearing under the water.
“JUMP! SWIM!” The Captain screamed. He shoved the GRU agent into the water, jumping in after him. All of the Russians dove into the water as fast as they could. The Russian ship began to right itself, but it was groaning, groaning. The ship was low in the water, and getting lower. The lights in the cabin went out, and the ship seemed to disappear in the storm.
They swam for their lives, taking off like Olympic athletes. They could hear creaking metal behind them, and a groan. Metal stressed.
There was popping sounds, and more groans. Glass broke.
“It is sinking!” The Captain shouted. “Swim for your lives!”
A large swell of water seemed to lift them up and drive them forward. The Captain lifted up the small device strapped to his vest. The light on it was on. He swam as quickly as he could.
The noise behind them sounded like the scream of a tortured metal beast. The Captain was not emotional, but it sounded like the dying scream of a faithful ship. They swam. Fingers and toes were losing feeling, legs feeling heavy. The Captain could hear the panting and sobbing as men splashed forwards. The Typhoon was sending waves over them, strong winds. A massive wave swept over them.
The Captain broke the surface. He saw the terrified GRU man and some of his sailors. “We’re being driven apart by the storm!” The Captain shouted. “Stay close!”
The storm was getting worse. This was a furious typhoon, the likes of which he had never seen. The Captain resolved to change his career to being a taxi driver in Moscow if he made it home after this. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and couldn’t see the ship. There was a fading glow off in the distance under the water, marking the burial spot of his ship.
He swam. The movement of his arms slowed. He felt heavy. Tired. His mouth was full of salty brine taste, and he spat the sea water out. The ship would go part way down, and doubtless break in two.
The behemoth inside the ship would slide free, and fall clear. It would reach the bottom before the ship did, as it was rounded. It might even roll. The seas were pulling eastward, which meant it would slide possibly into the abyssal trench before detonating.
How long did it take for a ship designed for buoyancy to sink? He didn’t know. There would be trapped pockets of air inside the ship, holding it up.
He could hear a boom under the water, and for a second he almost lost control of his bladder. The Captain realized he’d just heard the bulkheads of the ship collapse. The water was getting choppy. He heard something, and something splashed in the water. He grabbed it, wrapping his arms around it. He kept a death grip on it as something dragged him up. He was laid on something hard, and hands grabbed him, carrying him inside something. He saw words. “NANKAI” was stenciled on the wall. He couldn’t understand it, trying to translate it from Cyrillic into western letters. Heat and light covered him, and excited voices were talking to him.
“Hey, Joe… you okay?” He heard. “You all right?”
“Ya Nepudnyemaya.” He answered in Russian. There was more talking, and soon he heard squawking from a radio. “Kak Dela?” He heard squawk from the radio. He grasped the mouthpiece, and dragged it close.
“Translate this quickly.” The Captain said “We are in danger from a nuclear explosion. There is a hydrogen bomb sinking. It will explode at a depth of two thousand meters. We are only a half mile away from it.”
He handed the microphone back as he heard the voice repeat his message in Japanese. The men on the ship began shouting, and footsteps began to run. After a minute, the engines of the boat roared into high gear.
The Captain looked around him, and saw only one other of his crew, laying on the deck. He closed his eyes as they wrapped him in a blanket.
“Devyatnadsat.” He said. “Vocemnadsat. Semnadsat. Shestnadsat. Pyatnadsat. Chetirnadsat. Trinadsat. Dvenadsat. Odinnadsat.” He brought his arm up, pulling a small chain and medallion out of his tunic, shivering. He kissed the medallion and let it drop. “Decyat. Devyat. Vocem. Sem. Shest.”
Nobody needed to translate to Japanese. The sailors around him were in a state of panic listening. The Captain crossed himself fervently, remembering his youth of attending secret church services, and how the priest had taught him to cross himself. “Pyat. Chetire. Tri. Dva.” His hand dropped and his eyes closed. A tear slowly ran down his cheek. “Odin.”
“Nul.”
There was a sound in the distance. The sailors stopped talking. They stared at each other, fear in their faces. The ship creaked slightly. Then it shook.
The ship felt as if a hand had lifted it up and shoved it. There was shouting as the sailors ran for the deck. Some made it out onto the deck in the midst of the storm. A massive wave lifted, lifted, bubbling, rising. White sea water raced underneath them, and suddenly the sea lifted. Waves rolled along, crashing down on the men on the deck.
The ship continued, as the men picked themselves up from the deck.
One of the Japanese sailors touched his face. He felt like heat was crawling across his face, prickly heat. He stood, and walked towards the hatchway. He dropped onto the deck, tired. The heat in his skin was burning.
Burning.
He closed his eyes. Breath escaped his mouth, impossibly long.
He never rose again.
