After the last of the German airplanes were shot down and all the midget people were dead, I transmitted the rest of the distress signal and slumped down on the shotgun seat.
"So what'd we do now, huh?" I asked glumly. Desmond sat down beside me and started to watch the conflagration growing on the ships. The USS Suburbia was almost under the surface along with the rest of them.
"I'm going to try and scavenge," Carthage said, "I'll come back with a few supplies to last us a few days until rescue comes."
And with that, he leaped into the water without taking his clothes off. I could see him dive deeper than I would've thought possible until he faded in the darkness. I don't know the powers of a son of Poseidon, but I hope he comes back alive and breathing.
The summer heat was beating down on us and I already broke into a sweat-fest. A few minutes later, Des started a conversation only a son of Hades would start.
"I wonder if Admiral Carthage would bring back all the dead corpses," he said.
"Oh, so you want to smell rotten bodies for days on end?" I asked incredulously.
"No, because the marines leave no men behind."
"You're starting to act like Hades," I hung my head down and shifted my feet.
"They never brought back the dead during the last few wars."
"Maybe we don't have the time to. Maybe we have to bail out when there's a huge threat ready to blow us to Tartarus!" I started getting angry with him. It's so easy to get mad when you're arguing with a son of Ares.
"Oh, so you'd rather be a coward and flee for your life than to help a fellow soldier get back home? Fuck you!"
"Screw you!" I backfired, "I meant that command on war have much more problems than saving one man!"
Desmond slowly stood with a murderous expression on his face, "Don't make me drown you, Alex."
"We would lose about one-third of our military if we waste time saving one stupid hostage!"
"You're asking for it," he warned me.
"It's true, don't blame me. The gods don't care, so why should I care?"
In about three seconds, he viciously grabbed a hold of my head and pulled it over the boat's edge. He plunged my face into the water before I could take a breath. Bubbles rose to the surface and I started choking when I heard a yell.
Des pulled me out of the water and literally flew me across the motor boat. I coughed and wiped the dirty-blond hair out of my eyes to find the admiral standing with an agitated look on his face. His clothes weren't even wet, not even the army green sack that was sitting beside him.
"What's the meaning of this?" Carthage irritatingly asked. Desmond ran his hand through his pompadour hair and sighed.
"He was getting on my last nerve, sir," he said.
"Because all other nerves popped?" I coughed.
The admiral rummaged through his green sack and pulled out an old portable radio and another bag full of food and drinks. He turned the dial on the radio and static filled the air until a song faded in. I sat in the gunner seat of the motor boat and stared at the broken propellers and large shrapnel floating in the water. Parched, I asked Carthage if he could hand me a glass bottle of Coca-Cola and I immediately sipped until it was half empty. A flock of seagulls flew overhead when I couldn't contain my ADHD and started mumbling to myself about random stuff that comes into my head. The radio blurred Happy Days Are Here.
Des broke the silence and asked, "Did you see the Battle of Midway, admiral?"
"Of course," he replied.
"Probably enclosed in a submarine," I blurted, "Typical son of Poseidon."
"I was assigned as a captain of a destroyer, actually."
I crossed my arms and leaned back in the gunner seat, "Whatever."
"Any weird monsters?" Desmond asked while scanning the horizon.
The admiral propped his feet up on the bench, "Laistrygonians, Scythian dracaenae, killer munchkins, Cyclopes, basilisks, and even cockatrices."
Des widened his eyes, "Cockatrices? You mean those giant poisonous roosters?"
"Yeah, there was a rumor that they could kill whatever stared at them. That's definitely a misrepresentation. They kill when cockatrices breathe on their victims, as far as research at Camp Half-Blood goes."
"I miss that place," I sadly said. I remember memories I had when I was a kid, even when I wasn't granted one quest from the Oracle.
"Heh," Des scoffed, "Can't go back now. We don't have enough gasoline to make past the Sea of Monsters, not even the firepower."
The rest of us didn't say anything afterwards. A few minutes went by and I felt like I was working on my tan or being roasted by Apollo, since he's with Zeus and not Poseidon. It's a good thing that Artemis and her Hunters argued with Apollo and is now sided with us.
This war really sucks. I've been on coast guard duty for a year and now I'm officially promoted from a private to a lieutenant for hacking into the system and changing my statistics, just because I needed to assist in the war. Blame Chiron for making me; that old horseman.
I went over to mess with the communication next to the wheel of the motor boat. Turning the dial and strapping on headphones, I was immediately transferred a signal through short and long beeps; Morse code.
..- ... ... ... ..- -... ..- .-. -... .. .- --..-- -.. --- -.-- --- ..- -.-. --- .--. -.-- ..--.. - .... .. ... .. ... - .... . .... -- ... .- -. -. .. .... .. .-.. .- - --- .-. --- ..-. - .... . .-. --- -.-- .- .-.. -. .- ...- -.-- .-. . --.- ..- . ... - .. -. --. .-. . .--. . - .. - .. --- -. --- ..-. -.-. --- --- .-. -.. .. -. .- - . ... .-.-.-
"Guys?" I asked over the loop of the message.
Carthage immediately came over, "What's it saying?"
"The HMS Annihilation wants coordinates. So, Mr. Human-GPS, where are we?"
He told me the coordinates and I transferred them back to the station via vibroplex, a small semiautomatic instrument that sends Morse code.
"I have an idea," Carthage stated, "ask them where they are. It'll be much faster if we get to them as they get to us."
"Right on," I said, tapping the vibroplex's peddle. After the message was sent, it was replied by a series of screeches. That wasn't Morse code at all. Suddenly, it was replaced by static.
"Holy Hermes…" I astonishingly said, "Their station just cut out on me."
"Try another station," the admiral softly ordered. I turned the dial on the radio and before I could get a clear station, Desmond scoffed like we did something totally neurotic. He was too busy staring at debris to even talk to us. I didn't care. He'd dunked my head in the water for talking too much about a "sensitive" subject.
For some strange reason, all the stations on the radio were full of static like an electromagnetic shockwave just busted all of the electronic stuff.
"I can't get anything," I said, "If only there were other demigods stationed in Portsmouth, we could Iris-message them."
"So much for Old Seaweed's ideas," Des muttered.
Admiral Carthage glared at him and turned back to me, "I'll try to channel the water."
He rummaged through his suit pockets and cursed under his breath. As for me, I set the radio's headphones on top of the headboard and leaned back in my leather seat.
"Ah-ha!" the admiral pulled out a golden coin the size of a large pebble and started to make the water of the Atlantic rise and spray diagonally. A faint rainbow faded in.
"O Goddess accept my offering," he flicked the coin with his thumb and disappeared into the invisible spectrum, "Colonel Tavington at Portsmouth, England."
An image appeared. It seemed to be in the men's room by the looks of it. Then I heard a FLUSH from one of the stalls and a man in deep green commissioner suit walked out, straightening his black tie underneath.
"Is he mortal?" I whispered to Admiral Carthage.
"Son of Athena, actually," he replied, "We were friends back at Camp Half-Blood."
"No Styx."
Then Tavington caught his breath for a second and turned to us, "Stop sending people into cardiac arrests! You could kill someone!"
"My bad," Carthage sarcastically stated, "What's up with the HMS Annihilator?"
"I heard they were halfway to your position but then we lost contact with them. When they tried to reply, all we got out was screeches."
"Same with us. Except all our stations were cut out."
Colonel Tavington adjusted his black military cap, "Possibly rogue harpies."
"Dude," Desmond spoke up, "they also could be cockatrices."
"If you sent your coordinates to them, they'll probably come towards you. Beware, though, nothing says a ghost ship can be hostile," the colonel wiped his hand through the Iris-message. The spraying water dropped into the sea again. Heck, I'm up for another fight. But a ghost ship? Ghosts scare the Styx out of me, man.
Morse Code Translation:USS Suburbia, do you copy? This is the HMS Annihilator of the Royal Navy requesting repetition of coordinates.