Frigate Altdorf, 150 km from the Vampire Coast
Hans Oels scratched the scar on his lower arm, it was itching as was its wont. It was an ugly thing with lots of tissue that went down half his arm. Sigmar's grace had been with him when the corsair's cutlass hit the arm squarely and managed to miss all important nerves, blood vessels and tendons. Doktor Koch was as good a doctor as the Imperial Navy had, he had done as well as anybody could have given the circumstances. He had full command of the limb, the scar gave some bragging rights, it just itched, especially in hot, humid weather. The latter was in sufficient supply this close to the Lustrian coast.
There were a few clouds that speckled the sky, otherwise it was nearly too bright to be true. The sun shone on waves that gently rose and fell, hardly rocking the ship at all. The bridge's windows gave a view to something that looked bright and peaceful. That picture was a lie. Somewhere below the waves lurked something that had killed two ships so far, one container freighter and a tanker.
Neither Altdorf's captain nor Flottenkommando Neupapenburg had the slightest idea what that something might be. What was sure was that it was invisible to reconnaissance planes and space-borne assets, which meant that the threat had to be under water. Normally Oels would have assumed that this was some kind of aquatic monster, but the survivors of both ships were adamant they had suffered underwater explosions. And while the nastier denizens of the abyss had tentacles, teeth and suckers aplenty and some had the ability to throw magic about; underwater explosions had never been reported. Two factions on the Warhammer World were known to employ submarines, the Skaven and the Dawi. The Chaos stumpies could probably build them too if they put their minds to it, but none had ever been observed. The Dawi were very unlikely to mount such attacks, and their known subs had to surface after an hour at the very least. The Skaven outside of the Sleeneck pact certainly had the motivation, but did they have the means? The one submarine ever encountered had been very slow and its torpedoes had a short range. It was possible that one unlucky ship drove right past one of these, but two?
The DawiZharr were going out of their ways to avoid confronting the Reiksbund so far, in Hans Oels they were still the most likely suspects. In the end it did not matter, Altdorf was on a mission to eliminate a threat they knew very little of in a ship that was not built for anti-submarine warfare. Oh, they had sonar and their rocket-propelled depth charges. What they did not have was a towed-array sonar, a helicopter or guided torpedoes. Unfortunately, there were only very few such ships and a great lot of ocean to go around, so Altdorf had to play their part.
The thought of that made the scar itch even more.
"Captain, compliments of Lieutenant Brand, we approach our area of operations."
"Very well ensign. Pier, set condition one throughout the ship. Helm, turns for five knots for ten minutes, then go back to 16 for 30 more. Repeat unless ordered otherwise."
"Aye aye Captain."
Altdorf was powered by four medium-speed diesels. They had reliability, efficiency and a good price going for them, they were also easy to maintain. They were quite loud though and combined their racket with the flow noises the ship's hull produced at speed. If his sonar team had to have any chance to find whatever threat lurked in the waters Altdorf had to slow down periodically.
S-647 Minerve, 80 meters below, close to Lustrian coast
The steel box contained all manners of gears, cams and grinders which were connected by various axles and powered by a small electric motor. They performed integral calculus operations at a remarkable speed. The Germans had built the first of its kind, the French navy had copied them. The analog computer was linked to several valves and pumps which kept Minerve on an even keel and at the desired depth without using the electric motors.
The submarine had stayed in this place for a week. Mere humans would have succumbed to the buildup of noxious gasses long ago, her new and improved crew had no such concerns. They stayed at their stations for days on end, needing neither sustenance nor rest. They watched instruments, they maintained their gear, they stood in readiness and above all they listened.
Lieutenant de Vaisseau Andre Fauve had taken up a spare set of headphones and listened in to the contact his sonar operator had called in. This one was different to the others they had followed the last few weeks. This one did not have a single screw, he had two. There was no large, slow diesel in there, but several medium speed ones. Fauve had heard such ships before; the fast banana freighters were a close match. But that was in the past..somehow. Here the contact was out of place. And then, all of a sudden, the contact faded out.
This was not unusual, sound propagated strangely in the ocean. Sound waves would descend into the depths, be reflected back up against the surface and then down again, leaving concentric ring-shaped zones of quiet and noise. Minerve might just have left such a ring. On the other hand…
"Did it fade or did it power down the engines?"
"Can't say for sure skipper. I think that the engines were powered down."
"We'll see soon enough."
The answer came two minutes later when something made a sound like pebbles hitting the hull
"Active sonar skipper. I do not think he has us."
"Let's see."
Three minutes later the sonar stopped and the engine sounds could be heard again.
"I have a bearing change skipper."
"Very well. Yes, I do not think that he has us then. Helm, course 090, turns for six knots. Nav, I need a Target Motion Analysis."
An hour later Lieutenant de Vaisseau Andre Fauve knew that his contact was roughly 25 kilometers away and that he was slowing and speeding at intervals. No civilian ship Fauve knew would do that, this was a warship. And it was obviously looking for him.
Minerve's captain knew there were two kinds of ships: submarines and targets. He would gladly demonstrate this to the skipper presuming to hunt him. The part of him which watched helplessly his body and knowledge being used to slaughter innocents found a measure of hope. This nightmare might indeed end.
Blimp Little Altdorf
If Little Altdorf's gondola would have been a boat it would have been a flimsy one, barely fit crossing a millpond. Plywood, aluminum and fiberglass formed an open-topped hull that might float for a few minutes if the waves were not too high. The seats had been selected for economy and weight, the crew tried to make them suitable with cushions. The gondola vibrated with the exertions of two diesel engines that should still be in a Golf, but had found another employment. The crew of three was used to their noise, the cold wind that blew past them and the dangers posed by the pure hydrogen balloon that stretched above them.
All of that was overshadowed by the excitement and the bragging rights of crewing the first airship constructed with minimal German aid in Nuln. The small, Claw Sea class airship had replaced the griffon and its rider who had served Altdorf with distinction during the Kaman Sala campaign. As useful as the magnificent beast had been taking care of the slavers, Parzifal of Nuln knew the small airship would do so much better. The blimp had far better endurance, better radio, could carry larger loads and sensors better than a Mark I eyeball.
If Parzifal had any idea what they were looking for it would be so much better, currently his orders were to report "anything unusual".
"Franz, take us to 30 meters and come to a complete stop. Hermann, lower sonar when ready."
The airship took its time coming to a stop. It might not be very fast, but once it got going it took forever to stop. When it finally did an electric winch lowered a mass of pipes and tubes down into the black waters below.
"Make it 50 meters Hermann."
Neither Little Altdorf's sensor operator nor its commander was able to hear anything besides sealife for a few moments.
"Nothing to be seen that way. Crank her up Hermann."
"Aye aye sir."
A switch was pushed and seconds thereafter a powerful sound wave raced through the ocean. It was reflected by the ocean's floor, by some biologicals which were barely big enough to provide sufficient reflection and a whole lot of nothing.
"Too bad. Hermann, reel her in. Franz, when the sonar is up take us 10 klicks east, there we repeat."
S-647 Minerve, 40 meters below, close to Lustrian coast
Lieutenant de Vaisseau Andre Fauve saw his sonar operator wince and knew that Murphy had dropped by for a surprise visit.
"Skipper, I have an active sonar at 124 degree. One second nothing, next second active pinging. No screw noise, no engine, nothing. This one has a higher frequency, might not be a ship at all."
"Merde. Henri, depth of the thermocline?"
"100 meters mon capitaine"
"Very well. Helm, take us to 110, turns for four knots."
Minerve's hull popped and creaked as she drove deeper into the depths, pulling the darkness around her like a black cape to hide her from those who thought themselves hunting her. When the submarine passed a hundred meters the external thermometers showed a marked drop in temperature within a few meters. Sound waves tended to reflect from such temperature gradients , keeping Minerve's sound from prying sensors and pushing sonar pulses away.
Submarines are a patient bunch and Fauve could wait with the best. His sonar operator could still hear the muted active pings and register their bearing changes. After an hour the captain was sure enough that his hunters were far enough away to risk a peek.
"Helm, take us to periscope depth, turns for four knots."
Again, the hull made noises, again the floor pushed gently against the crew from below.
Fauvre stepped to the pedestal.
"Raise ESM mast"
There was a faint whine while hydraulics and motors which should not work in a rational universe hoisted a mast from Minerve's sail. The ARUR radar detector barely broke the surface.
"Skipper, several radio sources at 274, all same bearing. One D-band, one S-band, I say this is navigational and surveillance radar. Can't make any type, so I cannot say if we are above detection threshold. Pulse rate is steady though and signal is weak, it is unlikely they have us."
"Very well. Raise periscope."
Fauve bent down so his eyes met the rising ocular. He started with a fast 360 degree view to spot any dangers so far not detected. He then put his periscope to the bearings sonar and ECM had given him. One was a ship, close to 3000 tons. She was a warship, her guns said so, but he had never seen her likes before. A bit stubby and bigger than the DEs he knew. The surprise was the sonar target, there was a bloody blimp. Even the Americans had grounded theirs quite a while ago, who operated these? No matter, this thing complicated matters considerably. That blimp was surely faster than his boat and could drop his sonar right on top of Minerve if things went wrong. Bad, bad, bad.
Or was it? Both the periscope picture and the sonar showed a weakness he could exploit. Maybe.
"Down scope. Helm, take us to 100, turns for seven knots, course 280. This guy thinks he is clever, let's show him the error of his ways."
150 meters below the surface, close to the Lustrian coast
There was next to no light at this depth, the many meters of water, of small marine life and dirt absorbed it all. There was a crushing pressure, with 150 tons of it on each and every square meter. There was cold, not merely in the low temperature , but also the water's ability to leech warms from anything in its embrace. There were creatures in the depths that would swallow a man's upper body in one bite.
All of that should have been enough to keep Palena's final resting place undisturbed and offered peace to the crew-members who had not made it off the ship.
Should have.
The Undead perceived their surroundings in several ways, photos striking retinas was not among them. The needed no air and the great pressure equaled itself when the waters entered the bones that made up their bodies. And so the Undead had gone to the German freighter, had woken up what remained of her crew from their eternal slumber and looted the ship. It had such a treasure to offer. The trinkets that were inside the huge metal boxes were of no interest, the foodstuff in others long spoiled by the sea water.
But the ship held another treasure, the greatest that Luthor Harkon had ever seen. Steel. Good, well forged steel in amounts he could hardly imagine. Iron and steel were hard to come by at the Vampire coast. It had to be captured from others or it had to be dig up laboriously, melted with charcoal and then pounded on for many hours. Even so the effort was worth it, given that iron was used for so many things, from the ship's fittings to the armor and weapons carried by the pirates. Ten pounds of good steel were worth one pound of silver, and here thousands of tons waited to be salvaged.
Luthor Harkon had found the treasure he needed to rebuild his fortunes and to make weapons with the lore Kemmler had taken from the German dead. He would build such ships as the pirates of the Vampire Coast had never seen, he would unite the pirate bands and crews. And when he was done with all of that he would make the Germans and the Slann rue the day they had heard to Luthor Harkon, yes he would.
Site Alpha, Kislev
Herr Meier, the head of Project Non-Habbakuk as far as Jakub General knew, had the right of it. On the weekend the site was an exercise in boredom. There was no nearby town, there was a distinct lack of scenery and there were no exotic animals. It was the antithesis of what Jakub had envisioned, of seeing strange places, experiencing miracles and not following routine. He could have used the low-bandwidth internet that was offered via satellite, but that would be the ersatz version of what his weekend in Germany would have been.
Instead he had strolled out from the German barracks, had looked at the enormous hole and the scaffolding that was the construction site of the ice fortress to be. It was grand, but at present nearly deserted. He walked over to the shanty town that kept the Kislevite workers. It was a study in hasty construction from materials at hand, it had no dwelling that Jakub thought looked nice and none seemed fit to stand the Kislevite winter.
Walking down the perimeter he became aware of the many looks he received, from the men who watched him, to the women who stole a glance and the kids who stared openly. No, reading newsgroups was preferable to this. He turned back when he collided with the bear.
Well, he collided with something huge, clad in fur, smelling of lots of things. The bear theory took a hit when Jakub saw the belt that held bags and a long knife and disappeared when the being opened his mouth hidden behind a shaggy beard.
"Can I help you, Boyar?"
An hour later Jakub had experienced his first exotic sensations, that of food he had never heard of before. Any fears that the foreign food might bring the runs were quenched by the high-proof alcohol that accompanied it. Any bacteria which survived that was entitled to his guts. The alcohol also drowned most of the guilty feelings from the invitation. It was obvious that these people did not have much, but what they had was on the table between him and the others.
"Ok Oleg, I get it that your village was in the way of that mine and that the operation poisoned the fields. But I know for a fact that Reiksbund companies have to pay restitution to people who are displaced by mines and things like that. In the Empire everybody who has to move because his hut is on a vein of something valuable is considered a made man. So what happened?"
"Ah Jacub Stephanovich, this Kali AG paid the money to the Tzarina, like they all have to. And the Tzarina says the money is needed for all Kislevites, not just us, so she takes part of that money. And then she sends that money to the boyar. Boyar also needs part of that money. Then he pays us, it is not very much money any more. So, we get together and ask Boyar for some more of that money. When he does not want to give us, we go and block the road to the mine, just sit down on it. The Germans do nothing, just tell boyar. Boyar comes and brings his household troops with them, with horses, hounds and knouts. They also bring the Cheka with them, very scary.
They beat us all, men, women, children. They drive us from our home and tell us we can never go back into Oblast. So, we have to go. Next to no money, no home and everybody knows that Cheka has noticed us. All kinds of bad, and we have to make living. So we are pretty miserable. Then I hear of this company who needs workers here. Good workers, not many questions, we can do. Move here, do what is needed, finish the works in time. We get paid and fed, we receive some materials to make our homes. And when we are done we will receive this land. No bojar and Tzarina is far away. We all want to make that happen. How about you?"
"Oh, I am new to this. I will do what I am told and hope that will be enough."
"Ah, Jacub Stephanovich is like Kislevite. I like, Nastrovje."
