Remember that there are also mortals on the ships and none of them know about demigods and all that Greek mythology stuff. So when they see a sword, they see a gun. All language translations will be held at the bottom of every chapter.
A few of the bullets peppered the east end of the battleship in front of us. Everyone started shooting to the sky while artillery fired one by one. I aimed with my M1 Garand, but one of the bullets sheared it out of my hands and into the waters. Well, there goes my defense. Looks like I'm going to have to treat the wounded instead.
Another group of planes swooped in and dropped a bomb on the other side of the USS Suburbia. It made my eardrums rattle and numb, but I eventually shook it off and ran over to the nearest wounded person I could find, which wasn't far. Admiral Carthage happened to be staring at the three Undersea-boats and I could tell that he was channeling his "water powers" or summoning some aquatic beast by the looks of his face.
I knelt next to the Hephaestus guy I'd worked with in the engine room. His upper left arm was grazed with celestial shrapnel. I managed to drag him over to a safe and distant place behind the ship's antennae tower and take out a bag of ambrosia and a roll of bandages.
The Hephaestus guy moaned as I fed him a square and dabbed at his wound with a cloth. He winced in pain when I tried to acquire antibiotics to the wound. Desmond barked orders to the artillery cannons and they fired on his command. Carthage had somehow conjured up a maelstrom that rammed the U-boats together, making two of them explode and sink beneath the water.
"You're going to make it," I promised the Hephaestus guy. Apparently, my promise wasn't kept because a bullet landed right in the heart of the man. Everything I say is somehow jinxed, and I hate it. Blood stained through his shirt until I had to look away.
I caught sight of one the fighter planes was making its way for another shot at the USS Suburbia. When it flew over the ship, two missiles dropped from its underbelly and landed right in front of me. These missiles were no ordinary missiles; they were capsules by the looks of it.
I took out my bronze dagger and held it firmly in front of me as the capsules started to bellow steam and the small doors opened. What happened next was... so totally hilarious, I almost burst out laughing, but I managed to bite my lip. Two bald little men walked out of each capsule with murderous wrinkled faces.
They both wore extra small gray tuxedos with coat tails. I was beginning to think that these were gremlins or leprechauns, but they weren't real. In Greek reality, everything was real, unnatural, or just plain weird. So they must be hobbits.
The beardless dwarves cracked their meaty knuckles and said in unison, "Zeit Ihren Esel zu treten!"
Their German voices were small and sounded like they were being half-strangled, but managed to make me double over in laughter. One of them kicked me hard in the shin and I crumbled to the ground. The other midget joined in by kicking me in the side.
I couldn't find the time to lift myself up because those kicks really hurt. Out of the corner of my bruised eye, Desmond ran towards me, brutally kicking one of the dwarves and sent the midget flying over the railing and into the water.
"Get off of him!" he yelled. Des got punched in the gut and he recoiled backwards. He finally regained his strength by grabbing the shirt collar of the little man and lifting him up to his level. The dwarf, however, kept kicking wherever he could find a weakness while grabbing Desmond's hand grasped around his neck.
Just then, he punched the midget in the head and sent him hurling into the water. As for Admiral Carthage up on the command deck, he fell to his knees and started panting like he got shot in the back or just came out from gym class. I picked myself up and rubbed my bruised eye when Des grabbed out his M1 Garand from his back and aimed at one of the planes.
A loud PA-TUHH bellowed from his rifle and the plane erupted in flames and spun towards the Atlantic Ocean. I ran towards the admiral up on the command deck while crouching and dodging flying bullets. When I neared him, an explosion from behind sent me flying in front of Carthage. All sound was muffled like I'd just gotten the shock from an artillery round. My vision blurred and sound finally returned to my ears.
"Are you hurt?" I asked over the sound of gunfire and artillery. Admiral Carthage winced and grabbed his left side where blood started to ooze through his suit. I lifted myself up and carried the son of Poseidon inside the command center.
Setting him against the wall, I ripped open his suit and started treating his bullet wound. Screams of terror echoed and more of those capsules were dropped on all the ships of the fleet and more of those beardless dwarves sprang out to attack people. They can be vicious when underestimated.
Just when I was finished bandaging the admiral's bullet wound, another one of those midgets was standing in the doorway, cracking his knuckles. I started rummaging through my suit for a dagger but it must've been knocked out of my hands the last time I got kicked by one of those things.
Admiral Carthage went for his suit pocket and pulled out a small leather sheath with a knife. The midget guy was walking closer to us by the second so I grabbed the pocket and ripped off the leather top. In about a half a second, it grew to a three-foot long double-bladed sword and the grip expanded into a leather hilt with bronze tips.
The dwarf stopped and flinched backwards, but he didn't loose his murderous look he was giving me. I stepped forward and raised the sword. Suddenly, another explosion flew me across the room and Carthage's sword was out of my reach.
"Kein Schwert, kein Gewehr," hissed the little man, "Sieht aus, wie Sie draußen, Junge verrottet worden sind."
The admiral struggled to reach the sword a few feet away from him as the little man walked towards me. My eye sight was blurry so I didn't know whether the guy was taking a lollipop out of his sleeve or maybe it was a knife. Pray to the gods that it isn't a knife, or I'm done for. Unfortunately, it is.
I was backing against the wall, trying to get away from the midget dude, when Carthage grabbed the bronze sword and quickly slashed right through the man and he burst into a cloud of yellow powder.
"That was a close call," the admiral coughed. An explosion sent the wooden flooring to literally rattle. The sound of gunfire echoed outside along with horrifying screams.
He grabbed my hand and led me outside, "C'mon! The ship's sinking!"
I didn't argue with him along the way. When we were finally outside, two of the ships of the fleet had been sunken by the Heinkel He 50's. Our ship was tilted sideways as if a torpedo just took out the starboard side. Some of the sailors jumped over the railing with their clothes on fire or with scorched and cut faces. I never had seen so much fighting since the past month, but I've seen worse.
We rushed to the lower deck and spotted a small boat with a large machine gun attached to the top. Carthage slashed through dozens of those midget people with his magic sword. He jumped in the life boat and the engine automatically started without requiring the key.
"Find Major Lance!" he barked before I could leap in, "He would know how to fire that machine gun!"
"Yes sir!" I saluted. Storming off into the other direction, I already caught sight of Des fighting off those gray-suited dwarves behind one of the ship's artillery cannons. His M1 Garand was knocked into the water but he kicked the little man in return and sending him over the railing.
"Des!" I called. He looked up with a scraped up face. His shirt had scorch holes in it and his skin was grazed by shrapnel.
"C'mon!" I desperately grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the boat. We dodged several flying bullets and when we finally arrived back at the boat; Des immediately mounted the machine gun. As for me, I ducked down into the corner while Carthage steered the boat away from the USS Suburbia and Des clicked the gun into place and aimed into the air where the rest of the planes were. Chik-Choo, Chik-Choo, Chik-Choo!
"Lieutenant!" Carthage called over the chaos, "Get a hold of that radio! Send a distress signal to Portsmouth, England! Tell them, the reinforcements weren't able to make it! Were all that's left!"
"Aye aye, sir!" I replied. Grabbing the transmitter off the radio, I dialed the coordinates to the right station and sent the Morse code:
... --- ... ..-. .-.. . . - ..- -. .- -... .-.. . - --- .- .-. .-. .. ...- . - .. -- . .-.. -.-- ..- ... ... ... ..- -... ..- .-. -... .. .- .. ... -.. --- .-- -. ... --- ...
German Translation 1: Time to kick your ass!
German Translation 2: No sword, no gun. Looks like you've been rotted out, boy.
Morse Code Translation: SOS! Fleet unable to arrive timely! USS Suburbia is down! SOS!