Dark Currents

[YanYanGanaffi]

The calming splash of waves as they rolled against the German U-boat, gently rocking it with each clash with the bow, was overpowered by the roar of flames on the surface of the Atlantic, two hundred miles East of Portland, Maine. Creaking and the rumbling of water rushing into the breached hull of the US Naval cruiser, USS Tallahassee, the ship cut in half by two well aimed torpedoes. Less the a hundred and fifty meters away, Captain Gunther von Hass watched from the deck of U-725 through a pair of binoculars. His tall, thin form was silhouetted by the glow of the burning fuel. His face was sharply angular, and slightly obscured by three days growth of stubble. That had been how long they had been under the surface following and hunting supply ships. They had lucked up in finding the cruiser. Remarkably, it was alone without a destroyer escorting it. At first, Captain von Hass thought the ship was sub-hunting, for occasionally it would slow it's speed and drop depth charges. The charges were set very deep, for the time between the splashes on the surface and the explosions in the water would put them near or at the ocean floor, far to deep for any known sub to survive. A submarine at that depth would be crushed like a tin can being stomped on by a two hundred pound man.

 

"It's beautiful, no," a voice spoke up. It was von Hass' first mate, Lt. Jorgon, dressed in a black, slick waterproof tunic like the captain wore. He was a chunky man, though more muscle then fat. His eyes were a colder shade of blue then von Hass', though he was not nearly as controlled and steel-nerved as his senior officer. The other man accompanying them was a Nazi war correspondent, a mousy looking man busily taking pictures with a low light camera and writing down details for the propaganda factory back home in the Fatherland.

 

"Only because it's not one of ours, Kristoff," he turned toward the junior officer," Let us not forget that they are men like ourselves; just on the opposite side of a conflict. We bleed and die just like they do."

 

"At least they are the ones dying tonight," Kristoff replied cruelly with a chuckle,"Sgt. Ricther, are you getting enough photos for the papers back home?"

 

There was silence and then the clatter of a camera dropped onto the deck, it's lens cracking. Both men turned just in time to see the journalist's feet going over the rail on the other side of the boat. A splash followed. Lt. Jorgon started to call 'man overboard', but his cry was cut off as a lasso of finely wound filament like pitch black piano wire constricted around his throat. He was caught completely off-guard as he was pulled over the side of the rail and into the murky water below; the seawater enveloping him in a flash. Captain von Hass drew his Ruger officer's pistol. He saw a shadow rippling in the water on the starboard side of the ship, then a flash of white as a javelin made of whalebone shot out and hit him in

the dead-center of the chest. He looked down, grabbing the projectile that was buried deep into his chest, a good four inches of the tip jutting from his back. He feel to the deck still clutching his pistol as he was being swiftly dragged over the side. He caught a brief glance of the dark black lanyard that was tied to the end of the barbed javelin. The last image that he saw was the sea rushing up to greet him as he slipped over the side.

 

A few moments later, several strange, frog-like creatures climbed up from the water and onto the deck of the boat. They stood just under five feet tall with skin that was pale with dark stripes across the back, back of the arms, and the fronts of their legs. They had webbed hands and feet. Along their forearms they had fin-like protrusions, ridged and topped with spines that were needle sharp. One of the frog-like creatures had the blood of the journalist dipping from it's arm where it had used the spines to severe the Nazi's stomach open. They made a croaking noise briefly, then one more of their kind climbed the rail onto the deck. All the creatures turned to him. He was slightly larger with a whale skin pouch hanging from across it's shoulder by a leathery strap. In it's language of croaks and gurgles, it said," Kill all the land-walkers. Leave not one alive!" They group bowwed their heads briefly, then began descending down the conning tower and into the boat. A few shrill screams sounded from inside the U-boat, and one gunshot. Soon, it was all calm again upon the Atlantic as the Trik'ah shaman finally descended the ladder of the conning tower, closing the hatch behind him....

 

Hans Eikson cowered in the small cargo hold of the U-boat with an MG-22 light machine gun cradled in his lap. Cold sweat weeped from his brow while his teeth ached from his grinding of them; fear overriding the pain. Those demons were on the ship, killing everyone in sight. He was just leaving the forward control area when the first of the creatures leap down from above decks, not even needing to use the steel rung ladder. It was just shorter then an adult male and thickly muscled. The skin of the beast; which was a mixture of sickly yellow-white with dark stripes down it's backside. It had what appeared to be a wicked looking sword that was bone-white. Hans knew it was his imagination, but he could have

sworn that the meter long jagged blade the frog-man had glowed slightly.

The head and face of the monster was shaped like that of a toad; a wide, toothless mouth, two small divots that served as nostril, a pair of dark colored eyes that sat on each side of the top of it's skull. A thin milky membrane blinked over the eyes; those cold, black eyes.

 

The frog-man swung it's blade in an arcing slice, that swept in a complete circle. Blood sprayed from the stump of the sonar operator's neck, coating a panel of gages. The second casualty was one of the senior enlisted, who's hand lay on the deck, twitching slightly from the instant amputation by the blade. Screams of panic sounded within the boat. Pulling out a Ruger pistol, one of the engineers fired several times at the frog-man, hitting it only once in the back. the other three shots had missed their targets; the second shot finding it's way into Hans' upper right thigh. It looked worse then it was, Hans had observed. Nothing but a flesh wound. A second creature had dropped down from the conning tower, armed with a javelin of similar color to the first creature's sword. In a flash, the second frog-man had hurled the javelin into the engineer, piercing the man's heart. He let out a blood curling scream before toppling over a control panel and rolling off of that to the floor. Hans saw one more of the creatures drop down from the conning tower before he dashed through the open hatch that lead to the armory.

 

As he made his way, he shouted," We have been boarded! Arm yourselves!" The storage area that the boat's weapons were located in was open; the ship's mess man (cook) handed out a couple of weapons; the MG-22. Hans slapped in a magazine of ammo and chambered the first round. One of the officers that had made it to the armory first passed Hans on his way out to fight the creatures. The young man prepared to duck through the hatch leading out. Hans saw the lasso of black filament gently drape about the man's head and shoulders before it was drawn taunt, the officer was lefted off the ground by the neck. Hans head automatic gun fire and watched the officer drop to the deck followed by one of the

frog-men that had somehow managed to attach itself to the overhead of the boat to lay it's sinister trap. It struggled next to the man it tried to kill, as though the monster was trying to fight off Death himself.

 

I moment later, the German officer was lying next to the frog-man as a curved two bladed dagger imbedded itself deep into his neck. A croaking sound arose on the other side of the hatchway just outside of Hans' eyesight. The mess man lowered his weapon at the opening. Hans froze briefly before bolting for the cargo bay door. The mess man cursed him for a coward, then fired as more of croaking sounded. Hans didn't see what had happened as he closed the hatch behind him. He heard gunfire and swearing in German. The gunfire ceased, replaced by an unholy scream that was quickly silence in a quick and lethal slicing sound. Then the quiet thud of a body dropping to the ground.

 

Hans shivered alone in the dark. His only company the machine gun in his hands that he clung to, but had not the nerve to use earlier. His breathing was about to slow a little when he heard a sound he had dreaded to he.

 

Croak

 

The door to the hatchway slowly opened a crack.

 

Croak

 

Hans thought back on everything he was trained to do while in the Navy. He had scored nearly perfect in the use of the MG-22...

 

Croak

 

The door opened more. Hans sprung from his hiding place and fired into the doorway while yelling a battle cry that would have made any warrior proud. Shells tinkled as the hit the steel floor, rounds screamed and pinged off of the metal walls of the ship. That's when Hans heard the fateful 'click' of an empty magazine. He realized in the excitement of the battle to get more ammunition for his weapon. His heart thumped coldly in his chest. It was hard for him to swallow as the dark forms of the frog-men peered into the door. The smell of sea water filled Hans' nostrils. That infernal croaking sounded infinitely louder as the closest monster flexed it's forearms, causing a pair of ridged fins to unfurl into natural

blades. Hans didn't even feel the slice made by the monster's fin sliced across his throat. He tried to swallow, but it was as though he were choking on a bit of food. Mercifully, the quick loss of blood made him light headed. He fell slowly to the ground and closed his eyes for one final sleep. His mind eased as did the rest of his body. He didn't even mind the sound that had frightened him so much earlier....

 

 

 

"So that is were it is," Marc Taylor, a young man dressed in a dark overcoat tied at the waist to protect against the bite of the Maine sea air. His short cut red hair was covered by a pork pie hat of a shade of brown that matched his overcoat. He inhaled on a Pall Mall, the smoke warming his lungs. The cherry from the cigarette shown brightly in contrast to his leather gloved hand. His companion, older then him by twelve years, knelt on the ground. Simply known as 'Doctor Simon", the willowy man with thin blond hair and fair complexion dressed on the attire of a professor; tweed vest and jacket complimented with dark dress slacks looked over a map of the Atlantic Ocean just off the Maine coast that was weighed down on each corner with a small rock. A thin stone tile in the shape of a pentagram with several holes in the design rested in the area near Jewel Island, where the men were standing.

 

Jewel Island was the foremost part of the Sixth Fleet of the United States Navy in Portland, Maine. Several soldiers looked on as well as two men in black trench coats and dark glasses. These two were Marc and Doctor Simon's escorts from the OSS, the US branch of intellegence gathering.

 

It had happened quite by accident, really. The Navy was in the middle of constructing several bunkers on the island when one of the teams found a small buried room. There had been rumors of buried treasure on Jewel Island; which is where it received it's name. what had been discovered was the tome of a strange creature. The burial chamber was sparsely furnished. In the middle of the room was a raised dais with a black stone slab two feet high. Resting on top of that was the skeleton of some abnormal and strange being. As though it were the unholy merging of fish and man. The skeleton was wearing three necklaces, each with a different colored pendent; black, red, and one that was opal-like with a soft, inner

glow. Along the walls of the musty smelling crypt were strange glyphs, resembling cuneiform characters. On the far opposite wall was a picture carved into the stone of a octopus like being with rays of light coming down from the creature to a small circle below. In the center of the ball rested the tile Doctor Simon was now applying to the map.

 

"Yes, I believe so," answered to enigmatic Doctor Simon. "I believe that the sunken city of the Trik'ah. According to the data we managed to translate so far, this is the most likely spot for the city to be at." Doctor Simon pointed to a spot the map roughly 200 miles from where they were. One of the OSS officers stepped forward and wrote down the coordinates.

 

"This is the same area as you stated yesterday," Mr. Taylor commented.

 

Doctor Simon nodded," Yes. Have you heard any word from the USS Tallahassee, Commander Stevens?"

 

The other OSS officer took a step closer to the Doctor," Last word we got was they were making a depth charge run on the area indicated by you two days ago. W haven't heard any word from them since last night."

 

Taylor turned toward the OSS man," You mean not even a radio check?"

 

"Nothing," Commander Stevens answered," The last message we received was that they had completed a pass over the area."

 

"We need to know what happened to them, Commander," Doctor Simon stated," I'm fairly sure that the Twik'ah wouldn't be able to overtake a vessel of that size, but you can't be too careful. "

Edited July 4, 2005 by YanYanGanaffi

[YanYanGanaffi]

Early morning fog drifted above the gentle waves as two destroyers and a cruiser slowly made their way across the ocean's surface. Twilight still clung on with it's feeble hold against the approaching dawn. The lookouts scanned the ever brightening horizon for any sign of the USS Tallahassee. Below, many aquatic eyes, nothing but pale, irridecent orbs of green. They watched as the ships traveled to the scene of last night's carnage. Slowly, they swam as they followed them. A group of about two dozen of the creatures swam closer to one of the destroyers; the USS Dakota. Using their ability to cling like a frog due to the pads on their fingertips, they began to board the destroyer. As this was transpiring, the captain of the USS Dakota felt a sudden rush of panic. His thoughts, which he relied on all his life, were telling him of some impending danger. He had read of people with a 'sixth sense', scoffing at such notions with his fellows, though secretly knowing it to be true for he had such abilities. Looking over at his radar operator, he asked if there was anything out of the ordenary.

 

"No, sir," the young sailor answered," Everything seems normal." The captain wasn't satisfied with the answer. He ordered his sonarman to do an active ping for u-boats. The sonarman acknowledged the order and sent an active ping. The soundwave caught the would-be raiding party unaware. Their eardrums, which were sensitive to sounds underwater, ruptured. The silently, all the Trik'ah raiders floated down into the bowels of the sea, dead...

 

 

The sun had broken the twilight when the three ships came upon the remains of the Tallahassee and U-725. Water was littered with bodies, flotsom and jettsom. As the boarding party readied itself to investigate the u-boat, the recovery teams that were sent to get the remains of the sailors. Most of the bodies in the water were missing members, some headless, or missing arms and legs. One of the sailors retched into the briney water as he saw a head floating with an expression of fear holding his face forever in an eturnal scream. The smell was like something out of the furnaces of hell itself.

 

The bording party faired little better. The bording party consisted of both sailors and marines armed with M-1 Grands. Slashes of crimson and puddles of blood served as macabre decorations on the bulkheads and deck. The lights eirely dimmed briefly as power from the batteries ebbed. A hand lay on the deck near the sonar station of the boat, it's owner no where in sight. In fact, all the crew of the German vessel were missing. Petty Officer Lucas, one of the few black sailors on the USS Andrew Jackson looked at a large slash across a panal that seemed to cut glass and metal as if it were a butcher knife through soft cheese. Ensign Matthews, the bording party's leader, took in the horror silently. "What manner of....people could have done this?" He hadn't directed his question to anyone.

 

"Ensign Matthews, sir," One of the marines, a burly sargent called," I found something." The group headed to where the marine was. Ensign Matthews pushed his way up to the area, calling for those in the way to move. His jaw went slack as he gazed upon the sight of a Trik'ah, it's pale belly riddled with bullet holes. Black ooze lazily poured like molasses from the monster, whom layed there like a limp, broken doll. A pearl-white javalin sat across it's right leg.

 

"What is it, sir," one of the sailors asked.

 

"I wish I knew," their leader replied,' I wish I knew."

[YanYanGanaffi]

Tobias Hunter sat in a full lotus position listening to the trickle of a nearby water fountian. The large spartanly furnished room had only a military canvas cot with a single blanket, both olive drab green. A katana stand with an old samurai sword and a large white paper tapestry with Buddhist sutras were the only other furnishings in the room. The only light that shown down on the skinny shaven-headed man was moonlite that had filtered it's way though the slitted blinds, bathing the room in a pale blue. Tobias, dressed in a brown monk's robe and Buddhist prayer beads draped around his neck, let his mind draw in the flow of the universe into his mind; letting it see a thousand places at once.

 

Scars crisscrossed his wrists. They were reminders of his time spend with Aliester Crowley on his dreaded island abode. The scars were a form of punishment for using "I" in reference to oneself. It was supposed to foster the enrichment of the collective mind. Tobias saw it as development of a hive mentality. That coupled with Crowley's sexual advances (as the 'wickedest man in the world' was openly bisexual) caused him to leave the island and Crowley behind for Tibet.

 

Tobias sensed the presence of footsteps walking up to his loft in the Old Port section of Portland, Maine. He had been in contact with a small secret society in the area that was interested in information Tobias had collected regarding the Askasha Records ( a legendary collection of all the universe's knowledge in an astral library of sorts). Unfortuantely, the rumor of such as place was just that; a rumor. As he focused on his visitors, he noted the heavy sound of boots and military dress shoes. He opened his eyes as the door opened. Two military police officers walked in armed with pistols in holsters at their sides. They took their place at either side of the doorway. Soon, several men walked into te room. One of them was Doctor Simon. The other two Tobias had never seen. He guess they were with the naval intellegence unit that had 'recruited' (in Tobias' eyes, kidnapped) him as he was making a spiritual journey across America. One of them was holding an object wrapped in a pice of grey canvas. Tobias Hunter was one of the great 'unknown mystics' that one occasionally ran into in one's travels. Unlike the sidewalk preachers or the mindless 'astetics' that parroted cliche says from supposid spiritual leaders, he was the geniune article. He was just shy of forty, but had amassed more occult and spiritual knowledge then most could begin to understand. doctor Simon was the one who had informed the OSS of Tobias' existance. The mystic smiled, "So, how may I be of service to you gentleman this night?"

 

Without a word, the OSS officer unwrapped the object, revealing a pearl white javalin. He handed it to Tobias, who waited for a moment, as if debating on touching some unclean thing. The weapon was cool to the touch. Closing his eyes, he used psychomancy, the ability to tell an object's history through snesing the psychic imprints on the object.

 

He saw a huge undersea realm, dark and musky with swarmed of pale eyes that barely lit the briney city. Stone pillars littered the breezeways of the place. A coat of sea algae had limed over much of the undersea city, save for the few areas that were of use still to the Trik'ah that lived tere. He saw a Trik'ah with a shaman's bag. He focused more on the shaman, trying to determine if he could enter the creature's mind, for the being had a strange magical 'draw' to him. The creature quickly became aware of the probing and shut it's mind like a steel door. the monster waved his webbed hand and Tobias' vision ended abruptly.

 

He tossed the javalin back to the OSS officer. "It's of a species of Trik'ah. They are amphibious humaniods that have a city near here somewhere. I assume you found it?"

 

Doctor Simon spoke up," We believe we have. However, this isn't the only artifact that we have located." Doctor Simon withdrew an envelope from his jacket. He handed the parcel over to Tobias. The mystic opened the envelope, looking into it's contents.

 

"Well," Tobias commented," I can see why the military has a sudden interest in me after all.'