KRONOS RISING: KRAKEN (volume 2 of 3): If you can't beat 'em, eat 'em. by Hawthorne Max

Author:Hawthorne, Max [Hawthorne, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Far From The Tree Press, LLC
Published: 2018-06-21T16:00:00+00:00

Their enemy had found them.

A hundred yards from Gryphon ’s bow, the colossal octopus loomed over the rust-tinged wreck of U-420 like some impossibly large tarantula, its eight legs straddling its prey. The skin covering its pulsating body was the color and texture of a black oak tree, and its golden eyes shone like torches in the near-darkness.

Garm exhaled through bowed lips, then leaned forward in his captain’s chair as he sized up his adversary. The octopus was larger than he’d expected, its mantle alone the size a two-car garage, and each of its sprawling tentacles stretched at least twenty-five yards in length.

For some reason, the huge predator hadn’t rushed in to attack them yet – probably because it hadn’t caught them in the act. That, or it was trying to figure out why the biggest blue whale it had ever seen was staying so close to its nest, instead of running for its life.

“Captain, shall I drop our cloak?” Ramirez asked. The bridge was a beehive bustle, as everyone readied themselves for the inevitable. A warning claxon sounded, followed by flashing overheads and a harp-like series of loud pings, as both OMNI ADCAP and ANCILE went live. The anti-biologic sub’s bow sphere and external arrays were blanketing their target with a barrage of active search-and-attack and obstacle avoidance sonar pings.

“Not yet,” Garm said, still eyeing what he realized would be his deadliest adversary to date. He figured they had about twenty seconds before the damn thing realized its offspring were gone, and the gates of hell got knocked clean off their hinges.

“She’s not sure what to make of us yet,” he remarked, then turned to Ensign Rush, “Communications, I need intel. Get me everything you can on normal-sized versions of this thing: strengths, weaknesses. Find me its vulnerable spots.”

“On it, sir.”

“Sonar, what do your readings say?”

Ramirez’s eyes dropped from the live feed on Gryphon ’s bow window, back down to his station. “Bio mass is . . . mierda ! 130-plus tons, sir. She’s as heavy as a big Gen-1 cow, and considerably longer.”

Finally, a worthy adversary; something worth killing.

“Rush, put me on shipwide.”

“Done, sir.”

“Attention, crew,” Garm announced. “This is the captain. Battle stations, repeat, full-secure for battle stations. This is not a drill . ”

He signaled for her to cut the feed, then licked his lips as he and the rest of the bridge crew clicked into their crisscrossed padded restraining harnesses. Unlike most naval vessels, on Gryphon , the term “full-secure for battle stations” had a special meaning. The ORION-class subs had beefier hulls, and were faster and far more maneuverable than standard military boats.

They had to be – they hunted surprisingly agile sea dragons for a living.

As a result, during combat, there were often sudden and unexpected directional shifts and drops that could slam an unprepared crewmember against a steel bulkhead, or launch them straight up, to smash into lethal protrusions from the ceiling above. Secured battle stations meant not only reporting to one’s station, but also strapping in, in anticipation of risky maneuvers to come.

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