Kraken, Rookie Burwick [most motivational books txt] 📗

KRAKEN

      By

Rookie Burwick

Dedication

To my loving family.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people and organizations for answering all my calls and emails, and for helping me in writing this novel. First, I would like to thank the Central Marine Research Facility for helping me in my research on the animal species of the ocean. I would like to thank George Fleece of Ocean Survival Research and Rescue Facility for helping me with my research in survival out in the open water. And finally, I would like to thank Tony Plinz for helping me in my research on illegal drug transplants and deals. I would also like to thank my family for always being there for me, and brining me endless joy.

 

PROLOUGE

Lightning flashed brightly over the open sea like a flashlight in the dark. The rain thundered down as hard as hail and hit the salty ocean water with loud plunks. It was the perfect storm, the largest storm the area had experienced for over nineteen years.

Thunder rumbled through the dark clouds as more lightning flashed. The ship was headed for the harbor and was only twenty-three miles away. The storm was in its worst rage, and was only to get worse. The boat slowly swayed through the rough waves, rising higher and higher, and then sinking back down. Many of the passengers shut their eyes tight as they stood at the head of the boat, the bow tipping down into the water, the suspending back up.

The captain, Fred L. Lanch, waited impatiently for the lighthouse to come into view, but kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the blurry water that had splashed onto the glass windshield, but saw nothing. He steered the ship from left a little, but then to the right. More water washed up onto the windshield. He glanced up at the roof to see a small drop of water leaking through, and looked back to the ocean. He picked up his white yacht cap and flopped it onto his head, preparing to feel the water drop onto his head.

He flipped the switch to his right, and turned on a large spotlight on the top of the boat, allowing him to see slightly better. As he looked up, a look a terror swept across his face. The men standing behind him heard a loud scraping sound on the bottom of the boat, and the ship began to tip over to the side. . .

ONE

Alton Briche stood against the control panel of the US Navy Combat Ship 26, glaring wearily down at the main deck, and watched the process. His eyes were bloodshot red from the lack of sleep the previous night, and he fought to keep them open. The Command and Control room was empty all except for the younger man un-doubtfully ranked much lower than him, who sat in a black leather chair just two spaces down from him, and watched the process with interest, and tried the controls.

The ship was basically the largest Littoral Combat Ships that the Navy had. It wasn't moving anywhere, and its deck was empty, too empty for Briche's liking. He preferred a full deck, with plenty of trainees and commanding officers. But, today, the deck was just next to empty. Only three commanding officers standing in place, and two rows of trainees preforming their training.

Briche was captain of the whole deal, which made him proud. A rank down from him was Gregg Starch, a younger, odder man than him, and was so blonde his hair almost looked white. Two ranks below him was a middle-aged man named Bill Thortman, who was Chief Officer, and also the main ship engineer, who had taken a liking to Briche, and the same way reversed. They were both good friends, and had been for many years. However, Thortman was the only man on board that Briche really liked. All the others were too young and inexperienced for him.

The odd silence in the room was disturbing to Briche, and he had to find some way of breaking it. He turned to the man seated near-by.

"Young man, what's your name?" he asked sternly.

The man turned to him slowly, keeping a slight eye on the trainees below. He finally met Briche's gaze, and smiled nervously.

"Uh, Roger Clod, sir," he replied.

"I see. Anything going on?"

"Nothing at all sir." Clod smiled, with Briche returning it.

"Then, are you supposed to be up here?"

"Yes, sir."

Briche thought for a moment. You had to be careful with these younger men.

"Who sent you here?"

"My commanding officer."

"Why, might I ask?"

"He said I needed to learn about controls, sir."

Briche turned and peered out the window again, and stared. He looked down at the three commanding officers, and watched them as they yelled out their daily training commands. The trainees obeyed in an instant, which impressed him, just a bit. He glanced back at the man from time to time, keeping his distance all the while.

"Tell me," he said at last. "What's your commanding officer's name?"

The man stammered for a moment. "I think it's Drake. . . Hooper." Briche raised an eyebrow.

"Drake Hooper, aye?"

"Yes, sir."

He turned and faced the window again. "Everything all right, sir?"

"Yes, I suppose. I'm just a little bored is all."

"Bored, sir?"

"Yes, young man, bored."

"Why's that?"

"Well, mainly because I was expecting a little more action out there on deck."

The man stood up and watched for a moment. "Well, I have to agree, sir."

Briche only sighed lightly as the man took his seat again. He could tell already the morning was going to be wasted away with the trainees by simply having them walk here and there, do some funky salute, or maybe even just march around the deck. Either way, he didn't like it.

The door opened behind him, and he quickly spun around to face the Head of Controls, Dave Trikeson, who smiled endlessly as he entered.

"Morning sir, hope I'm not disturbing nothing," he said cheerfully.

"Oh, no, nothing was really happening. Just watching a few trainees do their daily goofball dances."

The smile vanished from Dave's broad and thin face. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure I like the exercises that they're doing out there, Dave."

"Well, that won't do."

Briche sighed. "No, it won't." He lifted his cap and ran his fingers through his neatly combed, greying brown hair, and smoothed it out.

Dave looked him over. He was wearing his usual black uniform with shiny, golden buttons down the front, and of course his well-fit white peaked cap, and grey trousers. He had been in the navy nearly forty years now, and was quite old-school.

"How are you, Dave?" he tried his best to smile.

"I'm fine, and yourself, sir?"

"I'm doing just as well as I can."

"Good. Excellent." Dave turned to leave, but Briche stopped him.

"Dave, before you go, can you get this young man seated behind me a proper commanding officer?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Oh, and what have we got today?"

Dave pulled out a small notebook from his back pocket.

"We have about five injured trainees, and seven sick ones."

"Good lord, that's a lot of trainees. That must be why there's so few out there this morning."

"Yes sir. We also have some new graduates from the US Navy Academy."

"How many?"

"Sixteen sir."

"We can only hold thirteen more. Send the rest of too Number twenty-eight."

"Right away, sir."

They both paused. "Is that it?"

"Yes. . . except for that distress call we received. . ."

"Distress call?"

"Yes sir. We received it last night."

"Why wasn't I alerted of this?"

"I don't know, sir."

Briche sighed again. "You responded, right?"

"Uh. . . actually. . . no, sir, we. . . didn't. . ."

"Why not?"

"Because, the storm last night was just too strong, and the signal couldn't quite make it. . ."

"Then why did their call make it?"

Dave said nothing.

"Get down to Headquarters and make sure that call is answered to."

Dave gulped, and nodded frantically. "We may be too late."

 

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Jasper shivered. The sound was so nerve-racking, it seemed like it was some electrical shock from an unknown and unseen source. It echoed off the walls, and finally echoed right into the room where he sat, shivering and trembling. Sweat trickled from his black hair, and streamed down his face from the one ray of sunlight that burst into the room. His began looking back at the events of the previous night, reminding him of the terrible incident. Images of flashing lightening and thundering clouds rolled through his thoughts, sinking in deep.

The noise sounded off again, repeating the process of echoing through the walls, then finally reaching him. It was the sound of metal creaking while in motion . . . the ship was moving. Jasper looked over at the small port window that centered itself on the wall to the right, and stared. He scooted closer, narrowing his eyes just to see out. The ship hadn't