The Lord of the Deep
North Sea, 26th of April, 1947
"That's Bremerhaven up ahead", the lieutenant cut the engines to the midnight black torpedo motor boat as it glided through the dark sea. "The mouth of the Weser lies just to the right, if you want to make your date, you'd best be going soon"
"Doesn't seem like much", Sergeant William Farday said as he snapped a magazine of 9mm rounds into his Sten Mk IIs suppressed submachine gun. "Seems like just a bunch of rusted buildings to me".
"You expecting London on New Year's Will?" Lance Corporal Richard Winak asked as he thumbed a .303 round into a magazine for his Lee-Enfield rifle. "I doubt they're going to be rolling out the welcome wagon for us".
Farday scoffed and looked back to the inky black sea from where they came, the shape of sea indistinguishable against the inky sky. "I thought there'd be something more impressive for the self-proclaimed Lord of the Deep's home base" he said mockingly.
"Fortunately, we're not going as far up as the castle itself", reminded Captain Howard Phillips of the Commandos Unit named Delta team. "This is just the entrance to the lair, not the thing itself". Phillips looked back at Lieutenant Andrew Collin who was in command of the seventy three foot torpedo boat which had been provided for this mission by the Royal Navy.
Collin rolled his eyes and smiled. "They always this chatty? I don't think I've heard them take a breath since we left England."
Phillips smiled and turned back to his men. Clad in olive drab and faces covered in dark paint, they were shadows in the darkness. "Get ready. We're moving out in two minutes".
"Thanks for the ride" he said to Collin. In a lower voice, eyes watching his men busy themselves with preparation, "We hope to see you again, but if we miss our slotl.."
"My orders are to leave without you," the Lieutenant finished, his eyes scanning the shoreline. "I know, I'll wait for as long as I can."
Five men of Section M's commando unit busied themselves with preparations, double checking their weapons, ammo and the supplies required to complete their task. They were veterans, and they had all earned time off and reassignments to safer positions but with the increase of Black Sun magic users being seen across the battlefields of Europe it seemed their choice was made for them already. For a time, it had looked promising. The war was ending and the Nazis were being pressed back into Europe, but then came the nightmares and other monstrosities awoken by the occult forces of the Black Sun and the devastating weapons of Nachtwolfe. Phillips first deployment was on D-Day, when he and his squad of then rookies had discovered a book that a Black Sun Novice had died protecting in an abandoned farm house. After that, they were folded into the ranks of Section M.
Their next big mission came from Operation Market Garden and that had been a tough battle. With troops from the 101st Airborne, they had taken their objective at St. Oedenrode and then spent several days fighting assault after assault of Die Gefallenen, troops given a second lease of life as bloated, maggot-ridden husks of their former selves. Phillips had torn the head off a decaying soldier with his own hands during the encounter and it was an experience which he wouldn't forget. Market Garden had been less successful than hoped. The Germans still held the Rhine and their forces were being bolstered by all manner of otherworldly weaponry, but with the help of the Americans and their own leaps in technologies, the Nazis were on their heels and it was only a matter of time until the allies won the war. There were even rumours of jump missions directly into Berlin.
Then came the Bulge. Phillips had been there when Bloodborns, insect spawns brought into the world by the Black Sun from the Dreamlands, had swarmed through the Ardennes forest, chittering as they hunted. These vile monsters were accompanied by Die Draugar, shambling reanimated masses of stitched together corpses collected from the battlefields, both of which had hit them as they rushed to Bastogne. They'd been unstoppable, devouring half of the allied force until Shermans appeared out of the mist and drove off the things with a hail of .50 cal machine gun fire.
The MTB was now within fifty yards of the dark coast, the waves crashing quitely against the shore. "This is as close as I dare Captain, any closer and I risk grounding" said Collin, slowing the boat to a complete stop.
"This will do" said Phillips who looked down at the small raft the men had unfolded and the equipment packed inside.
"When this goes off, this'll be a very unhelpful flare. Get clear as soon as we're gone."
"On a moonless night with coastwatchers everywhere? Don't gotta tell me twice" Collin said with a smile. "Good luck, I'll see you at the rendezvous."
The fight in the Ardennes had been terrible. Nachtwolfe Stormtroopers had carefully picked their way through the snow covered trees, getting behind the Allied line and causing havoc. Supplies to the stranded units were completely cut off, Phillips and his men used their last magazines and then their knives. When the knives went dull, they used their hands. Rest was not yet permitted for the unit though, for then there was Brussels. The 'Screaming Eagles' of the 101st Airborne, together with the rest of the American army and Phillips Commandos had reeled backward in the face of the unyielding onslaught and had held on by the skin of their teeth outside of the Belgian capital. Brussel's refused to fall and the devastating attacks launched by Nachtwofle proved too much for the combined forces to handle. The Battle of the Bulge had been a German victory that had restored the Western Front and had Hitler claiming to be like Fredrick the Great.
Over two years later,Phillips and his men were still fighting in Europe, but there was promise that should this mission be successful, they could be re-assigned to a far less dangerous occupation within Section M.
"We've got a sub to catch and it'll be arriving any minute", Phillip said quietly to his squad. "Let's go."
"Aye Captain" the men answered in unison as they stood up and faced the starboard side of the MTB. The five men climbed into the raft and began to slowly row towards the waiting shoreline. After only a matter of minutes, they came to rest upon a small strip of beach opposite Bremerhaven on the western side of the river. At the end of a thin tidal flat were a pair of ruined forts erected on two small islands. Hurricanes from the RAF had done a number on them both. All that stood between them and the river was a lonely watchtower which provided a perfect overview of their target area. To evade detection for as long as they could, they would have to stick to the shadows and approach from the trees. Phillips still wondered where the intel for this mission had come from, but within the walls of Section M, secrets are currency. He and his men were on a suicide mission but the prize made it worth it. An infamous U-3008 was due to return to the Valentin Castle pen in Bremen for repairs. Phillips and his team were under orders to destroy this U-Boat and assassinate the skipper of the vessel, Black Sun master Ludwig Wulfmirr. It was not often that war became so personal. Wulfmirr had painted a bulls-eye upon his back, one which Section M were keen to see hit. At the age of twenty two, he took command of the U-3008, nicknamed "Sea Lord" in early 1945. He used the advanced submarine system to evade detection from Allied sub-hunters and had torn several convoys to shreds. During one of these destructives raids, he had discovered that one of the vessels he had sunk had a mysterious artefact onboard, a secret cargo hidden within the ship's lining. Upon its retrieval, Wulfmirr became obsessed with deep sea exploration and understanding the occult, earning the attention of the Black Suns. He quickly climbed the ranks and claimed that by the will of the eldar gods, he was the Lord of the Deep. He remained undetectable for years, a ghost on the sea until only three days ago. Allied Intelligence learned that Wulfmirr was to receive a Knights Cross from Hitler thanks to his destructive campaign, whilst also delivering a series of newly discovered secrets from a Black Sun black site to a laboratory on the mainland before the week's end. With confidence in the intelligence, but it's source remaining hidden, Philips was now staring at the river in which the Sea Lord would soon be arriving.
Five figures hid amongst the trees that lined the shore, each of them kneeling to make themselves as small as possible in front of the watchtower. In the darkness, Philips could hardly see them at all. "Sound off" he ordered in a hoarse whisper. "Able" he started.
"Baker.'' said Sergeant William Farday, a tough cockney boy from the borrows of London, his borrowed M1 Garand scanning their rear. Farday was the explosives expert and could make anything disappear with enough dynamite.
"Charlie." spoke Lance Corporal Richard Winak in a northern soft voice as he looked through a small pair of binoculars at the watchtower. Winak was the sharpshooter of the team and had proven to be irreplaceable amongst Philips team.
"Dog." Private Howard Walt said as he lay prone amongst the brush watching the shoreline. Howard was a quiet lad and the most recent to join Philips motley crew. Growing up in Ireland to English parents, he was no stranger to danger but always put up a good fight.
"Easy" spoke Private Roberts Jr. Walter, a welsh man, six-and-a-half feet tall with a BAR resting against his thigh. Nicknamed "Beast" by the rest of the team, Roberts was a brute of a man but also was the only one of them to have received a University level education before joining to fight.
Philips pointed to the watchtower in the stygian darkness. "That watchtower needs to go, we take it out, no guns. The Sea Lord is due before midnight, so once we take the tower, we wait there and when the time comes, blow the sub to hell'n back. Got it?" There were a few grunts in acknowledgement.
"Walt, you're up." Howard was the unit's best knifeman and had made himself a bit of a legend amongst the knife throwers of the 101st for always seeming to one up everyone he met. He laid his Sten gun gently on the dirt and pulled out a six inch blade that was hidden somewhere on his person, hurrying off in the dark gloom. A few moments later, there was a muffled cry followed by a thud, then a quick sharp gasp before another thud.
"That's our signal" spoke Philips, grabbing Walts gear "Follow me".
The four troops scurried through the treeline, across the marshy riverside and reached the foot of the watchtower. Philips and Farday climbed up the ladder whilst the others remained hidden. A familiar voice greeted them.
"Ah shit captain, if I knew you were comin' I would've cleaned up!" whisper Walt with a smile on his face as he gestured behind him. Philips eyed the first copse of a German sentry on the floor, a slick of dark blood was expanding around him. The second corpse was slumped against the other wall, a knife sticking out of the sentry's head like a horn.
"Good work Walt, next time I'll send a maid first. Seen anything?" inquired Philips as he unraveled his binos.
"Took a quick gander. Zeiss binoculars are good but I can't see anything through this darkness" Walt said as he retrieved his knife. "I hope we haven't missed our dance"
Farday picked up the sentry's binoculars from the desk and scanned from left to right in unison with Philips. It was dark enough that it was near impossible to tell where the sea ended and the horizon began. It was a clear night however, with the stars littering the sky. Suddenly, Farday stopped scanning and focused in on a single point to the northwest, Philips doing the same.
"Well well Mr Wulfmirr, I believe your metal is showing" mocked Farday. Philips squinted to get a better view. "Damn, he's almost past us." hissed Farday.
"He's not getting anyway, not on my watch" Philips promised as he moved towards the ladder. "Time to dance".
A sleek metallic shape emerged from the inky waters of the north sea. It was the Sea Lord, right on time. There were a handful of men visible on the sail of the charcoal grey boat, barely moving when the vessel entered the mouth of the Weser river. Everything else the Allies had tried, failed. Low-level Catalina strikes proved useless against the hull, Liberators and Destroyers equipped with the latest of detection equipment proved useless and massed assaults by Avenger torpedo bombers did nothing - none had succeeded in nabbing Wulfmirr and his ghostly U-boat.
In the past few days, the Royal Navy crack sub hunting team had been chasing Wulfmirr across the North Atlantic and around Scotland, mercilessly depth charging him all the way. They never lost contact for long, managing to score a few hits against the Sea Lords skin, but Wulfmirr managed to skulk away hidden below the waves for six days before finally surfacing and unleashing some unknown force which caused the sailors upon the Royal Navy ships to turn into flesh craving monsters. Publicly, the ship was sunk by Wulfmirr , but unofficially, it was sunk by another team from Section M to stop the risk of infection. Philips shook his head in disbelief, a normal U-boat's crew would die of asphyxiation after a single day below the waves, but somehow the Sea lord managed to survive six and still have the strength to unleash some otherworldly power. He started to question if Ludwig Wulfmirr was even human at all. Pushing his thoughts away he focused back on the mission.
Despite the darkness, there was visible crumpling of the U-boat's starboard hull forward of the sail. A long gash ran through the flow holes on the upper hull and the upper bow plane had been torn away, mangled metal left in its place.
"It's like the damage has hardly slowed him down" spoke Farday.
"The Sea Lord is a fast ship and if his legacy is to be believed, Wulfmirr is the best sub skipper they've got" Philips said.
"But to get away from the Navy with that much damage?" Philips nodded in agreement with his sergeant. The sailors of the Venturer sub-hunter kept the crew underwater for days, with no recharge or a chance for fresh air. Yet here it was calmly sailing through the mouth of the river as if returning from a peacetime exercise.
Philip's stomach began to turn. What is onboard that vessel which could allow them to do that? Had the Nachtwolfe scientists developed some form of new tech? Or was it something entirely from another world? Britain was always vulnerable to starvation if the supply lines from North America were cut. The thought made his blood boil. It was precisely that possibility that had caused this mission to be organised on such a short notice. He thought of his wife and unborn child starving to death, the Black Sun flag rising from the ocean. He promised himself that he would not let that happen and that after this, he and his men would transfer to safer jobs within Section M. Philip had his eye on an instructor's position with the new recruits, teaching them ways to better survive and hope that his experience would bring a few of them back without him having to be there to drag them himself. The shooting war would be over for them, but not yet.
"Winak, Roberts, you seeing this?" he called down to the men below as he climbed down.
"I'm on it Captain," said Winak with a smile on his face as he disappeared into the forest to retrieve the stashed explosives bag. Farday slipped past Phillips and went down the ladder.
"Farday, make it count" Philips commanded as he returned his gaze back to his target.
"Ah please, I've been doing this since '44 Cap. I'll make sure it rings the fight bell." Farday took the modified M1A1 Bazooka from Winak whilst Roberts loaded a modified rocket into the rear of the slender tube. He tapped Farday on the shoulder once to indicate that the rocket was ready. This bazooka had been issued to the team specially for this mission and used blue crystal technology to add an extra layer of punch to the rocket. Nothing it could fire would destroy the sub, but it would make it come to a stop and give the commandos time to use the explosives that would sink the sub for good.
"Stand back Beast, this is gonna be loud" jested Farday before he pulled the firing mechanism. A high-pitched whoosh fled from the tube, accompanied by a bright flash as the rocket detonated against the mangled portion of the submarine's hull. Within a second, the Sea Lord was engulfed in an expanding cloud of white phosphorus that crackled with blue lighting, creating small files to break out all along the front section. The U-boat quickly slowed, coming to a halt just inside the Weser's mouth. The crewman on the sail peered off the side of the flaming hull and where met with a spray of automatic fire from Robert's BAR, the big .30-60 rounds fired tearing the submariners apart in a spray of red mist and body parts.
"Gammon Cracklers, now!" Ordered Philips. Every man in the squad grabbed a modified Gammon Bomb from the bag. It was a simple and freakishly powerful explosive that was once more enhanced with the addition of blue lighting that would jump to anything flammable and spend it up in an inferno of blue fire. Philips, Farday and Walt ran down the river side and hurled their bombs at the torpedoes tubes at the bow of the vessel. Each of the weapons detonated as soon as it struck the side of the U-3008. A terrible firestorm of blue flame ignited along the submarine as it quaked and groaned against the explosions.
"The batteries are cooking off!" shouted Farday over the crackling fire. "We're not gonna wanna be here when they go off"!
"Not until that thing sits on the bottom of this river Sargeant!" answered Philips. "Beast! Throw it!" he commanded. Robert stopped firing and threw three sticks of C-3 wrapped in duct tape at the immobilized burning U-boat. A titanic explosion followed, knocking the commandos on to their back and forcing the watchtower's wooden supports to splinter as it came down with a thunderous crash into the trees behind them. The Sea Lord began to slowly sink beneath the water, the fire hissing as it connected with the inky depths but then it sank no further.
"Damn it! The river was supposed to be deeper here!" shouted Farday as he slowly got back to his feet, grabbing his rifle and aiming it towards the wreck, watching for any survivors.
"Doesn't matter" spoke Philips, already aiming his weapon and eyes watching the hull of the submarine as it began to roll over on its starboard side, slipping along the river bottom until its sail was submerged under the Weser. A lone figure popped out from behind the sub like a cork, bobbling along until he grabbed hold of the hull and crawled on top of it. His black coat was covered in burn marks and blood. His face was illuminated by the blue fire of his blazing submarine. He was soaked to the skin, his wet blonde hair clung to his face and eyes boiling with crimson rage. Philips had studied Wulfmirrs' photo before embarking on this mission and there was no mistaking this was the man. Something about the way he stood there, surrounded by fire and with hissing in the air of fire and water, gave Phillips the chills and reinforced the question of Wulfmirrs humanity. Eager not to give the Black Sun Master a chance to retaliate, he ordered Winak to take the shot.
Winak nodded and brought up his Lee-Enfield rifle, aiming until the crosshairs came to rest on Ludwig Wulfmirrs face. Time seemed to slow as a flat crack echoed in the air and Wulfmirr sprawled across the hull, missing half of his head. Mission Accomplished.
The Germans had gone far to turn the tables on the Allies since they had halted the advance on the Rhine in 44'. Long-ranged Me264 bombers were flying weekly raids deep into Allied territories. Faceless monstrous humanoid figures with wings were rumoured to be ripping American and British heavy bomber formations to shreds, and if not the beasts then the Me262 and Ta183 Jet fighters ruled the Axis occupied skies. The Luftwaffe had grown so formidable that it would have been too dangerous for the commandos to be dropped in, so they had to take an MTB to get within striking distance on a moonless night. With surprise on their side, they had done their mission. Philips allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at having taken down the biggest naval threat the Allies had yet faced. He thought back to his pregnant wife sitting on the sofa, a smile on her face, welcoming him home with open arms. He could almost feel her warm touch.
Then came the high-pitched screech of an MG42. The sound was unmistakable and terrifying, like a zipper being yanked up fast. The Black Sun forces within the area had woken up, and they were not happy. Search lights began to prowl the riverside, hunting the raiders.
"Let's get the hell out of here!" Philips shouted as he grabbed the bag of explosives and made towards the ruin of the watchtower. "Back the way we came!"
Winak nodded in agreement and then seemed to come apart, his head and arms falling from his body and landing with a thud in the wet mud. Walt groaned and fell slack as blood-slicked talons emerged from his chest, lifting Walt's twitching body into the air. They drew back within a blink of an eye. Behind the fallen commando stood a bellowing horror, something that had the shape of a man, but the faceless head of a devil. Philips had heard rumour that the Black Sun were performing all manner of magical and unholy experiments. He had encountered something similar whilst running for his life in the Bastogne forests, but that was much smaller, had a face and was more ghoulish in appearance. Black Sun sorcerors had made this unholy fusion of man, bat and demon in a laboratory from Hell. This monster was seven-feet tall with leather bat wings, razor talons, sharpened fangs and horns set with a demonic visage. Philips shot in fear, spraying the beastman with a full magazine. It stumbled backwards, clutching at several steaming holes that glowed an eerie green on its blackened chest. With a foul swing, the creature backhanded Philips, sending him flying backwards into the trees. He hit the ground hard and rolled.
Roberts hurried over, his BAR gun aiming towards the darkness that the monster had retreated too. "Captain are you.." he said until he disintegrated in a storm of gunfire. Out of the darkness emerged a hulking mass of writhing flesh shaped in the form of a man. It was covered in grey metal armour, all apart from its head which seemed to be more like that of a distorted skull than an actual head of a man. In it's large hands it held two MG42's that seemed to be physically woven into the hands of this creature. Farday scrambled to the Bazooka and hastily slammed a rocket into the back of the pipe. Crawling away from the carnage of his dead friends and flying bullets, Farday knelt in the dirt, aimed level with this hulking creature and squeezed the trigger, the rocket sped from the barrel. It struck the creature just below its armoured chest in an exposed section of writhing flesh, erupting in fire that crackled with blue energy. The creature let out a scream which sounded like a hundred voices all crying out in anguish at once and stumbled backwards, dropping to one knee.
Farday, got to his feet alongside Philips, the pair of them breaking into a sprint deeper into the forest towards where they had arrived. The pair briefly stopped, hiding against a tree as the roar of the creature died down. Philips knelt down and drew in a deep breath. The mission itself had been a success, but now they were fighting to escape and that had gone horribly wrong. Three of his men, his brothers, lay dead, dismembered and disintegrated on the riverside next to the burning wreckage of their target. He had fought with them, he knew death was a part of the job, but when it happened to one of your own, it always hit differently, regardless of how many times it had happened. In Philip's case, he had only lost three from his squad before this mission, but now it was just him and Farday fleeing to a boat he hoped would still be there.
He was brought back to the moment by the shaking of Farday. His face was drained and he was shouting but for a second Philip didn't hear him as his eyes locked on something over Farday's shoulder. Standing amongst the dark trees stood a bloody-handed, grey-skinned corpse with eyes that were glowing blue, a rictus grin plastered on its dead face. There were others alongside him, and more on the way, their silhouettes clear against the burning wreck of the submarine through the trees. What kind of crew could have stayed submerged for days without the need to breathe? One that was already dead. Philips pulled Farday aside and unloaded a fresh magazine of his Sten gun into the walking corpses, splattering necrotic flesh and blood against the trees. The two remaining commandos retreated back to the raft, never letting up on the approaching undead horde. Farday pushed the boat out to sea and jumped in, covering Philips as he joined him. Farday began to row as fast as he could, fear fueling his exhausted body whilst Philips continued to shoot at the horde. The undead crewman did not stop when they reached the sea, but instead continued to wade towards the boat. The large creature which Farday had injured before burst from the trees with a hail of MG fire accompanied by a thunderous roar. The boat shook as it became riddled with holes and water began rushing in. Philips felt a kick in his chest and lost his breath, collapsing back into the sinking boat. He felt his chest, warm and sticky in his hands. Farday stood back up and continued to fire as the searchlight of a boat washed over the raft. Philips heard the shouting of Collins and forced himself to roll over and see where it had come from. The MTB had managed to position next to the raft and was unloading into the enemy with a barrage of machine gun fire. Philips felt Farday lift him out of the now nearly submerged raft and rest hard upon the steel deck. He rolled over and saw Farday's face full of fear and panic. Philips rolled back and felt the pain in his chest fade. He thought of home, his wife and the child he may never see. Then he closed his eyes.