Crew:
Captain Wright (Snow Serpent / Hydro-Viper / Secto-Vipers)
Engineer/Navigator Sgt Paul (Lamprey / Tele-Viper / Secto-Vipers)
Comm/Tech Maintenance Sgt Cruze (Snow Serpent / Techno-Viper / Secto-Vipers)
Gear Maintenance Sgt EEL Ganson (Hydro-Viper / Secto-Vipers)
EEL Sgt Mack (Medi-Viper / Secto-Vipers)
EEL Sgt O'Leary (Snow Serpent / Secto-Vipers)
Deep under the cold waters of the Pacific, a submersible is being pushed to its limits. Its specially designed tires churn up the ocean floor. At the beginning of the battle for Cobra Island the elite team stood their ground and worked to defend their post, successfully sinking several hijacked Moray's crewed by Storm Troopers and traitors. As the battle raged and it became obvious that defeat was inevitable they reluctantly followed the order to Survive, Escape, Resist, and Evade. They were able to escape the onslaught of the good General Eisenkopf. The third of four units formerly assigned to patrol the waters and beaches of Cobra Island the Hammerhead and its crew now aimlessly travel the Pacific while following Cobra protocols to the letter.
The quarters are cramped. The air is stale. The schedule is tight. The men are forced to "hotbed" to grab any downtime. The few movies downloaded have been watched to the point that each man can recite the films from beginning to end. The only thing keeping the submariners from mutiny is their unwavering loyalty to Cobra and the unsurpassed discipline that comes from being some of the best, Cobra EEL.
Each man has been drilled and conditioned for extended underwater survival. All are qualified Secto-Vipers trained in the use of the various submersible offerings in Cobra's Navy. But first and foremost they are EELs. The original Special Forces group of Cobra. Trained in the manner of Navy SEALs the EELs pride themselves on their ability to fight all comers in any environment. Cobra invested heavily in its defense forces cross training each member to ensure proficiency in all positions necessary for the multi-million dollar defense platform to perform its duties uninterrupted in times of strife. Further, each member of a Hammerhead unit has undergone further training with Snow Serpents, Lampreys, Hydro-Vipers, Medi-Vipers, or a combination of them.
The loss of the other three units was a blow to morale, yet this unit, Poseidon's Trident, perseveres. They have spent many long months in the pressurized compartments of the underwater behemoth, their only respite the rotating opportunity to go topside in one of the small one-man sentry subs. "Damn man, when is Mack gonna get back? I need to go topside." Looking out the small viewport behind the main pilot station the anxious EEL has little more to do than sit and wait.
"Relax yourself, Ganson. You'll get your chance we all do." The Captain of the vessel sits taking his turn at the helm of the juggernaut.
"Sorry sir. It's just…" The frustrated EEL points through the small hatch to the rear compartment. "I know we have air scrubbers and oxygen recyclers but they don't do anything about the smell."
"He's right sir it smells like stale boxers and dirty socks in this tin can." The response comes from EEL Paul who is in the navigator's position.
"There's not much we can do about that right now. We're 150 meters down. There isn't a place for us to roll topside and crack the hatches for miles. It is what it is gentlemen."
"I know." Ganson turns his eyes fixed into the dark depths. Mumbling, "When is Mack gonna get back?"
The ship falls into silence. The silence is only known to those who travel under the sea. Fans and filters the white noise of the deep. The calm is broken as a sonar screen comes alive with movement. "Sir we have incoming."
"How many?"
"Can't be sure. From the sonar sig, looks like 40-50."
"Time till intercept?"
"At the current rate of speed with currents 10 minutes."
The Captain brings the Hammerhead to a full stop, cranes his neck, and shouts back into the ship, "Alright you fish, suit up and get in the water."
The response is immediate. Despite the limited space, the men work like a well-oiled machine Ganson and two other EELs gear up; wetsuits, helmets, rebreathers, fins, and weapons donned. "Ready Captain."
"Get out there. Use extreme prejudice."
The three EELs; Ganson, Cruze, and O'Leary exit one at a time through the single-person airlock. First out is Ganson. As he clears the Hammerhead he peers into the inky dark. The ship had long extinguished its exterior lights in favor of high-tech optics. His comrades exit in turn. Each takes a pre-assigned position and waits to eradicate the enemy. --"Ten meters and closing."--
- "Roger." -
- "Let's do this." -
At their current depth their underwater armory; ADS, APS, and ASM-DT amphibious rifles are of no use. They are left with spearguns, tridents, and knives. Which each wields with deadly intent. Seconds turn into what feels like hours as the three men wait for an enemy they can not see.
- "Where the fuck are they?" - Just then a hand reaches up, a grip of steel takes hold of Ganson's ankle, and begins to pull him down. As he gets pulled closer the small light from his helmet unveils the horrific sight before him. From its current state, it looks to be one of the first of THEM to be taken to the bottom. Its grey skin hangs loose all over its naked body, clothing having been lost to the water long ago. Its eyes empty sockets of darkness a sign that the few remaining natural denizens of the deep couldn't pass up making a meal of the hunter. Its mouth is full of blackened and broken teeth. He sees its hand stripped of flesh, yellowed bone held together by tendon alone. Were they topside it would have been the first moan of a swarm, down here there is only the silence of the undead. Instinct takes over and the diver swings his speargun around and places it directly between the sinker's eyes. Releasing its load the speargun sends a bolt straight through its skull. It passes through the waterlogged flesh and bone of a second target before lodging into the skull of a third.
- "Contact." -
- "No shit Cruze." -
Cruze swims just above the ghoul its arms stretching upward as it tries to grab him. With a burst of speed, he drops behind the creature grabs its head, and punches his dive knife through the base of its skull. The impact makes the head burst like an overripe melon sending forth a cloud of infected material into the already murky water. - "Damn man I'll never get used to how they disintegrate." -
- "Don't think you're supposed to." -
And just like that the battle begins. The underwater swarm is upon them. The EELs always stay above the creatures using their spearguns to skewer the heads of the infected.
- "I'm out." -
- "Me too." -
- "This is about to get even uglier." -
The mindless beasts climb on Hammerhead looking for any way to peal back the pressurized armor so they can sink their teeth into the tasty morsels inside like sardines in a can. Inside, "Captain. I think you better take a look at this."
"What is it?"
"I'm sending it to your screen now."
The Captain looks at the sonar picture in disbelief. "Alright, this is going to be a long night. Tell 'em."
"Yes sir. - Guys we have more inbound. - "
- "Yeah we're dealing with that." -
" - Negative. This is a new threat. Sonar is picking up a horde. Too many for a true count but it looks like… it covers the sonar screen completely.
"Holy shit."
"You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin'."
Hearing the reaction of his men the Captain attempts to reassure them, "- Sorry gentlemen this is no joke that is one massive horde heading our way. I'm suiting up now to join you. We're gonna be here a while. -"
- "Why don't we just bug out Captain?" -
"- No can do. They'd most likely follow us. We have to eliminate the threat to proceed with orders. -"
- "Shit." -
- "I double that." -
- "Where the fuck is Mack?" -
The Captain leaves the ship to join his men. The fight wages on till finally, - "Initial kill count 43 sunken, waterlogged, exploded zombies sent to Davy Jones locker." -
- "Don't get cocky yet. We still have more coming." - The vibrations hit them. - "Fuck was that?" - As if terrified the waters tremor with the movement of the Horde. As one they march ever forward. Seeking out life to extinguish. The ground beneath their feet rumbles. The water immediately fills with the detritus and decay of the undead. - "Zero visibility sir. I can't see shit." - Were they able to see it even these highly trained Special Forces troops would retreat. THEY cover the stationary Hammerhead in moments. More arriving each second. Like ancient warriors of Atlantis, the EELs fight on. Tridents plunging into the skulls of the unearthly things.
The bodies of the zombies accumulate tripping up their flesh-craving comrades. Time drags on, each man rising above THEM only to dive down and attack. Each lunge increases the risk of being caught by one of THEM.
- "Damn it. Get it off me!" - An unlucky grab by a fiend carries EEL O'Leary to the bottom. THEY cover his body as he fights to escape. - "Get the fuck off me!" - He fights twisting and turning as the creatures try to strip the protection of the dive suit from his body.
- "Hold on man. We're coming for ya." - His teammates respond with haste, knives sinking into temples, tridents thrust into skulls they work furiously to rescue their mate before the teeth of one of THEM finds its mark. The battle intensifies as each diver finds himself in the grips of monsters. They tear at the wetsuits of the men unable to penetrate the thick kevlar-lined material. Their helms provide extra protection from the wretched things as the exposed bones of fingers scrape and pry like deranged claws in futile attempts to extract the grey matter of the men. Were the men wearing civilian SCUBA gear they would certainly join the ranks of the sinkers.
As they fight each man breaks free from one assailant only to fall prey to another. The rescue of O'Leary is all but forgotten as they become locked in a life-or-death struggle on the ocean bottom. There is no com chatter only the occasional grunt as each man knows that he is not alone in the battle for survival. The horde is full upon them. The men were forced to the ground trying in vain to defend themselves. - "Paul get that thing started get out of here." -
- "I can't Captain." -
- "That's an order, Sergeant." -
- "No sir, I can't. The intakes are clogged. There's just too many of them." -
The piles of ghouls grow larger as they climb atop one another driven by the never-ending need to feed. A crackling comes over the headsets of each man. - Bzzt crr bzt - It grows louder till - "Why wasn't I invited to the party?" - A small tactical sub modeled after the great hunting fish the barracuda shoots across the top layer of the piles flooding the depths with disintegrated remains. -"There you are you bastard. What the hell took you so long?" - The agile craft swings around for another pass destroying a dozen more creatures as it crashes through them.
- "Well you know. I went topside found a cruise ship, danced, drank, ate, and had a good ol' time." - He continues using the sub as a weapon of retribution striking the undead.
- "Fuck you man." - A renewed vigor passes through the EELs as salvation seems to be at hand. Still, the men fight in silence each taking down attackers until able to kick above them.
- "Welcome back Mack. 'Bout damn time." - the massive horde keeps coming. - "Men I think we need to call it. We've gotta clear the intakes of the Poseidon and get the hell outta dodge." -
Mack puts his small sub in suspension mode, small computer-controlled water jets ensure its precise location through small corrections against the current. Armed with a speargun in one hand and trident in the other he enters the fray. The EELs attempt to clear the never-ending army of undead. For each one they remove, two more take its place. - "It's no use, Captain." -
From inside all Paul can see is the decayed flesh of the horde as bodies press and smear against the ports. - "Sir I think I have an idea that can save Poseidon." -
- "What is it, son?" -
- "I can purge the ballasts. She'll shoot topside like a cork. They're sure to come off as we climb." -
- "No can do sailor. Broaching at that speed you'd die of decompression sickness. We need every man we have." -
From outside, - "Sir we may have bigger fish to fry." -
- "What is that Ganson." -
- "Sir we've got ten minutes of air left. We didn't want to say anything but now…" -
The Captain falls silent while continuing to dive down and eradicate the threat to the men under his command. After several minutes he swims up to them, - "These things just keep coming. We're low on air. The Hammerhead is dead in the water. I don't see how we can get out of this." - He dives down dealing a death blow to another of the undead sinkers. As he comes up he calls out, - "Mack." -
- "Yes sir." -
- "How much air is left in that Barracuda you brought back?" -
- "She's at 90% capacity sir." - Putting two and two together the EELs swim over to the waiting Barracuda. - "Hook up and fill up." - Each man hooks his rebreather into one of the sub's air tanks. - "Men shit looks bad I'll give you that. But we aren't gonna be chum tonight." -
The night drags on. Hands reach out of the watery abyss to be met by the swift thrust of finely wrought steel. Teeth fall to the bottom as they fall from destroyed remains. The only respite for the men was short breaks at the Barracuda. Hours slip by. The men no longer know if it's day or night as the sun is unable to penetrate the depths. Inside the Hammerhead Paul continually updates the Captain and crew on the sonar readouts wishing he too was out there fighting beside his comrades. They cut the Horde down drastically. - "Okay men get back inside, first out first in. Will just run the rest of these bitches down." - The men reenter the sub, a long process whereby the dive chamber fills to equalize pressure, opens, the diver enters, the chamber drains, the diver removes his gear carefully to prevent contamination from any gore that may linger on the suit. All the while the rest of the team remains outside fighting the monsters. The Captain is last to come aboard.
"Everyone checked?"
"Yes sir. No injuries" replies Mack.
"The dive suits are beat to shit though. Don't think they'd last another trip out never mind an engagement like that."
"How many do we have left?"
"We have one full set for each of us. After that, it's skivvies and flippers."
"Understood. Toss the suits. Paul find us a damn atoll or island we gotta go topside it fuckin' reeks in here."