We Were Soldiers
152. Bram Stoker, Eat Your Heart Out
Steve was the first to ascend into the heart of darkness, but Bucky was right on his heels. He'd be damned if he was gonna let his pal take point on such a dangerous entry into the unknown without his best friend close by to pull his spangly ass out of trouble if this ended up being a trap.
"There's a little light up here," Steve called back. "The floor's all lit up."
He was right. As Bucky took hold of the ladder that led into the submarine, his eyes adjusted. He removed his rebreather mouthpiece and took a deep breath. Air. Seemed fresh enough. It was breathable, didn't smell weird. A good sign. "See anything?" he called up.
"No. It's just a room with a bunch of equipment scattered all over. Tell the rest of the team they can come up on."
He relayed the message back down, then hoisted himself up and over the lip of the tube, whilst the ladder continued up the wall behind him and ended at the ceiling.
Steve was right. Lights had been set into the floor at regular intervals of about three metres, and they were giving off a sickly green glow. Steve pulled back the head of his wetsuit, which made his hair stand up like a dandelion's fluffy seeds. He offered a sheepish grin. "Figured out why the floor's lit up."
"Oh?"
"We're upside down. We're actually walking on the roof… ceiling… whatever… of the sub."
"Oh yeah." Now that Steve said it, it made perfect sense. The ceiling was the floor and the floor was the ceiling. He'd known all along that the sub was upside down, but his brain hadn't truly translated that into the interior of the vessel. This was gonna make accessing controls and doing anything technical a lot more difficult.
The team joined them, and they all removed their flippers. Why hadn't they thought to bring shoes? Or flashlights? Or basically anything except knives and a can-do attitude?
"At least the emergency lighting is working," said Monty, waving his hand above the green light. It was a feeble thing that didn't allow for vision more than a foot or so away from it. "Maybe we should make finding torches our first priority."
"I'm not so sure we should go lighting fires in this thing," said Morita.
Monty sighed. "I was talking about flashlights, and you know it. Really, you've been in England for almost a year now. Would it kill you to learn to speak a bit of British English every now and again?"
"Ha!" Dugan scoffed as he strode away from the group. "I'll speak British English when—" THUD. "AAAAAAAGGGH! AAAAAAAAGH!"
The big man disappeared with a bang, and the whole team raced towards the sound of his screams. Luckily, he hadn't gone far. The thud had been him falling over something.
A body.
A dead body.
Dugan quickly jumped to his feet as he scrambled away from the corpse. Bucky couldn't blame him one bit. Not for that, nor for the scream. The corpse was… it didn't look right. It was clearly a soldier, or a sailor, or a submarinist… whatever the Krauts called the people who served on U-boats. The uniform was unmistakably Nazi. But the body itself…
The skin was white. Not just pale, but white. Was that normal for a dead body? Maybe. But the lips were all cracked, as if they'd lost moisture. The hands were twisted, the fingers contorted in agony. But the most worrying part were the injuries. In several places—at the lower arms, the neck and chest, and the upper legs, the man's uniform had been torn open, and his flesh… there was only one word that Bucky could think to use. Devoured. Neck, arms and inner thighs all looked like something had eaten him, tearing through skin to chew on vein and sinew.
Dernier slapped his hand over his mouth, then dashed off somewhere to vomit. Bucky wished he could join him, but he couldn't look away. What the hell could do this to a man?
"They must've been transporting some sort of wild animal," Steve said. He, too, looked like he wanted to toss his cookies.
"Something about this isn't right," said Morita. He was made of some pretty stern stuff. He crouched down beside the body and moved the head aside with one finger, to look underneath.
"What do you see?" Monty asked.
"Nothing. And that's the problem." He gestured to the neck and the legs. "Carotid and femoral. Major arteries. You go through one of these, and unless you've got a bunch of medics close to hand, you're dead. There should be a whole lotta blood, but other than the superficial stuff, there isn't any. I'd say this guy is missing most of his pints. Also, you smell that?"
They all took a deep inhale; all except Jacques, who was still vomiting loudly somewhere. "I don't really smell anything," said Steve.
"Exactly. Guy looking like this, you'd expect to smell decomposition, right? But it doesn't smell like he's been lying here like this for days, does it?"
"You're saying this is recent?"
"Yeah. I'd guess so. Probably no more than six to twelve hours."
"What the hell could do this to a man?" Dugan asked. "I mean, ripping him open, sure, that's any number of apex predators. But draining all the blood from him? Several pints' worth?"
"Mes amis, I have found several flashlights," said Jacques. He tottered over with a half-dozen in his arms. "They were inside a cabinet that I was very sick next to. Luckily for us that I was, non?"
"Gimme one of those," said Morita. He grabbed a flashlight and pressed its on button, then held it beneath his chin to light up his face in an eerie way. "I'll tell you what could do this. Back home, my father often employed migrants to help fix up the cars he sold. One of them was a Mexican man named Juan. And Juan, he used to tell us stories, me and my little sister. I remember this one story he told of a monster, that is known in Spanish as El chupacabras. El chupacabras is a monster that attacks goats, ripping open their necks and draining their bodies entirely of blood. Juan said before he left home, there was a killing in his village. A pair of young lovers found with their throats ripped out and their bodies drained of all blood. The locals believed el chupacabras has moved on from killing goats to killing people."
"Bull-fuckin'-shit," said Dugan. He took a flashlight from Jacques then grabbed his knife from his belt and waved it at Morita. "First, what would the Nazis be doing with some Mexican monster? They might be Nazis but they're not idiots, they're not gonna lock themselves in a tin can with a blood-drinking killer, are they? Second, even if el-chupachups was real, why would they want it? You think they wanna unleash it on Europe's goats? I bet one half-trained Kraut with a rifle could do more damage than your bed time monster story."
"I only know what I know," Morita said with a shrug.
"Guys, focus please," said Steve. "I'm all for exploring… theories… but we have to work with the facts. And at presents, the facts are as follows: The U-boat has an air supply, so we know it has a crew. This body is evidence that the crew exists. Now, we need to find the rest of the crew and try to determine what happened here. I mean…" he waved his hand at the body, "maybe he was sick."
"Yeah, sneezed and blew his veins out," Morita scoffed. But he did so quietly, because he respected Steve.
"Still wanna split up?" Bucky asked. "Y'know, go with the original plan?"
Steve considered the body for a moment. "No. Until we know what's happened here, we go as a team. I mean, for all we know, maybe this is something as simple as a mutiny gone wrong. No monster turned this sub upside down. Perhaps we even have a secret ally aboard."
"Secret blood-drinking ally," Morita muttered.
"I'll take point," Steve said. He ran his hand across his brow, ridding it of the sweat that was beading there. Sure was stuffy, walking around in these rubber wet suits. Bucky was glad he wasn't the only one feelin' it. "Bucky, you watch our six. Everyone else, look for anything useful as we move throughout the ship. Intel. Supplies. Weapons. See it and call it out; nobody steps more than a foot away from the group or touches anything without someone else to watch his back as he does it. Understood?"
A round of 'yes' and nods followed, and they moved out. There wasn't much known about the layout of U-boats, so what info they'd been given was a mixture of hearsay and supposition based on how the Allies had created their own subs. Where the control room might be. The most likely location of the engine room. How they might access the torpedo bay. Potential areas for the galley and bunk rooms. It was all pretty vague.
Bucky shook his head as they entered another room, and tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. This was some sort of office, and in true nautical fashion, the heavier stuff like the desk and filing cabinets had been fixed to the floor and walls with metal brackets. But not everything had, so the chair and a lamp and a smaller set of drawers had dropped down. The chaos of the broken furniture was strangely juxtaposed with the furnishings fixed overhead. Were they upside down, or was he? Looking at it made him feel queasy.
"Does someone fancy giving me a boost up?" Monty asked, pointing at the filing cabinet above. "I'll see if I can access any of the drawers. There might be something of interest inside."
"I'll help ya up," Dugan offered.
"Jones, how about you watch my six as I check out this set of drawers over here?" Morita said.
"Sure thing, Little Jim. Don't worry, I won't let el-cocopops get you while your back's turned."
"I must be out of sorts," said Jacques. He slid a finger into the collar of his wet suit and loosened it around his neck a little "Maybe all that vomiting. I am feeling quite hot."
"It's not just you," Monty called down. "I'm hot too. There must be something wrong with the temperature controls. Damn it, every drawer is locked. Perhaps we'll be lucky enough to run into the fellow with the key."
"Bingo," said Morita. The smaller drawers opened easily, and he rifled through the files contained inside. "It is, unsurprisingly, all in German."
"Hey Cap, look at this," said Dugan. He'd deposited Monty on the floor… or ceiling… whatever… and found a small box with several buttons attached to the wall near the doorway. "I reckon we got us some sort of intercom system here."
"Let me see," said Steve. He joined Dugan and began randomly pressing buttons until a small speaker in one corner of the room squeaked noisily. "Guess that's the talk button. Let's see if there's anybody left alive down here." He cleared his throat and pressed the button again, then spoke clearly into the intercom. "Attention all crew. This is Captain Rogers of the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Your submarine has entered British waters, and we have boarded your vessel to determine whether you require any aid." That and to steal all their juicy Kriegsmarine secrets. Not that Steve could tell them that. They probably knew it anyway. "We've found a body near the surface hatch, and are aware you may have injured personnel. If there is anybody alive and able to speak for you, please respond to this message." He gestured to Jones. "Gabe, please repeat what I just said, in German."
As Jones set about translating the message, Bucky sidled up to his best friend. "Just so you know, we've almost used up our first hour." Steve nodded. "Also, I think we should find the armoury. The Krauts are bound to have guns stored somewhere, in the event they need to defend the boat."
The nod turned into a head-shake. "We can't use guns, pal. One stray bullet could drown us all."
"I don't miss."
"Not usually," Steve agreed. "But I can't take the risk of something going wrong. We'll have to make do with our knives."
"Alright. It's your call."
When Gabe had finished repeating his message, Steve had him give a quick look-over of some of the documents Morita pulled from the drawers. "Sea charts," Jones said, gesturing to one pile. He picked up a smaller pile of papers. "Crew manifest." He pointed towards the rest of the papers, still in the drawers. "Operational logs. Nothing exciting, just sign-offs from daily checks and inspection routines."
"Bring the crew manifest," Steve told him. "It's time to move on. We need to get to the control room and figure out our next step."
The U-boat's galley was the next place of note that they found, and the place was a mess. It reminded Bucky of the time he and the rest of the 107th had gone for breakfast at NYPOE and found the end results of Biggs having tried to bake a cake in his sleep. Here and there, food littered the floor. Plastic serving trays were strewn around the room, their plastic cutlery equally as discarded. Whatever had caused the ship to roll over, it must have happened while some of the crew was eating. That was the only explanation for the amount of food that had been used to redecorate the walls.
"Look," said Dugan, staring in disgust at a pile of food. "The bastards have sausages. No wonder our supplies are running out; the Krauts are hoarding them all."
Other than sausages, there was nothing of relevance in the mess, so Steve pushed them further into the sub. As they walked, Bucky unzipped the collar of his wet suit, trying to allow a little air to flow around his skin. Why was it so damn hot? One thing was for certain; they had to get this sub righted. If he had to go back into that frigid water after spending hours in this sauna-like tub, he would probably die.
Somehow, they got lucky. Steve found a ladder leading up—technically down—to the next deck of the U-boat, and when he climbed it, he found himself directly in the control room. He quickly called the rest of the team up—or down, whatever you preferred—so they could start safely poking around.
Bucky decided to play it safe. No telling what pushing the wrong button might do, so he picked up a few papers that had redecorated the floor—ceiling—when the sub turned over, and leafed through them. He only spoke a little German, and he read even less, so after a moment of being puzzled he called Jones over. "Anything useful here?" he asked.
"Hmm. A lot of it seems to be technical jargon. Look at this." He held up a piece of paper that showed some sort of graph, and another that was similar but had its graph lines in different shapes. "This one is a sort of sonagraphic map of the ocean floor. I think they were mapping it. And this other one is determining something called thermocline. It has to do with temperature, but the chart doesn't say what they were doing with it."
"Best guess?"
"I'd say they were doing recon. Making maps of the terrain and conditions down here. Maybe for laying pipes, maybe for planning an aquatic invasion."
"Is there any indication where this mapping took place?" Steve asked. "We don't know whether they came here under their own steam, or whether they drifted here after whatever difficulties they encountered caused the sub to roll."
"Yeah, looks like we got co-ordinates down here at the bottom. Probably for a grid."
As luck would have it, Jacques found a paper map still attached to a wall, and when Steve retrieved it and turned it the right away up, they managed to find the coordinates easily enough.
"Just south of Norway," said Dugan. "Huh. What do you reckon they were doing there?"
"Look," Morita said. "You can draw a straight line between Norway and Germany. Maybe they were planning a way to get oil from Norway to their construction facilities."
"Well, whatever they were doing, it's not important right now," Steve said. "We need to figure out if this thing will move. We'll take one more hour to try and figure that out, then I'll send somebody back up to report our findings. The rest of us will see if we can figure out what happened to the crew. Maybe they're just holed up somewhere with food and water." He glanced at the intercom box on the wall. "Now that we have a way of communicating, I want to go on with the original plan. Bucky, Morita, Jacques, you three see if you can find the engine room and take a look around it. Jones, Dugan, go with them, and once you find it, you two have a wider look around, see what you can find. Monty and I will try to make some sense out of these controls," he said, pointing up at the consoles on the ceiling. Floor. Whatever the hell it was. "I don't have to tell you to be careful. Something killed that crewman, and until we are able to capture or kill it, we'll probably be in danger. Watch each other's backs."
: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :
"Well well, lookie here," said Dugan. He'd taken upon himself to take point, as if he felt he had to prove something following his girlish scream earlier. "One engine room."
Their flashlight beams roved over what looked like casings for several large turbines, but they didn't enter fully until they'd shone a light into every dark corner. Nobody wanted to come face to face with el chupacabras, even if it was just a load of BS. Maybe it would've been different if they were armed with guns, but a knife required close quarters.
Dugan gave Bucky a clap on the shoulder. "Have at it, fellas. Jones and I are gonna go explore the rest of the ship."
"Okay. Be careful out there," he replied.
Once the two of them were gone, he, Morita and Jacques took a good look at the engines. They were upside down, for a start, which was not massively helpful. A couple of what looked like diagnostic consoles stood between two of the turbines, and one of the consoles had a light on it. That was good, right? The sub clearly had power, otherwise that console and the emergency lights wouldn't be working. So if it had power, maybe they could get impulsion. Move the sub under its own steam to somewhere less watery. Somewhere that it wouldn't matter if a stray bullet went through the hull.
"Mon ami," said Jacques. "Perhaps if you boost me up there, I can see if the console will work."
"Yeah, sure. Morita, will you keep watch while I be a step ladder for Jacques?"
"You got it." He took his knife and his flashlight and went to stand guard at the closest door to the room.
"Okay Jacques, let's do this."
He locked his fingers together to make a step for the shorter man's foot, then helped him up onto his shoulders. He'd seen cheerleaders doing this back home, and they made it look so easy. In truth, he felt wobbily as hell, but Jacques didn't complain as he slowly manoeuvred him closer to the console. Once there, he grabbed hold of it with free hand to steady himself.
"I feel like I could use a dozen more hands," he said. With one hand on the console and one gripping his flashlight, it didn't leave him much room for working.
"You and me both, pal. Do you see anything useful?"
"I think it is a start-stop console. Start the engine with one button, stop the engine with another. This one seems to be working, but I don't want to start the engine in case it moves the U-boat. The other console seems dead. Step to your left and I will take a look at it."
So he stepped, trying to balance his friend as he went. Jacques grabbed hold of the next console, and tutted.
"Yes, it is dead. But there is a panel on it, I will remove it and see what is beneath." He slipped his flashlight into the hand that was gripping the console and took his knife from its sheath, using the blade to pry off a small panel. "Can you lift me just a little higher, Bucky?"
"A little higher, but not for very long," he agreed. He took a breath and then tensed his legs, standing up onto his tiptoes. It gave Jacques a tiny boost, but his calves quickly began complaining.
"That is enough," Jacques said. "I can already see that the wires are black and several fused. There must have been a power overload in this console. But I don't see how it may have contributed towards the sub rolling over. If I am right, these only stop and start the engines, not control their direction."
"Hmm," Morita said. He stood by the doorway with his head tilted. "Someone's coming." He grinned. "I bet it's Dugan, gettin' all scared and lookin' for his mommy." He cupped his hand and shouted down the corridor, "Hey Dugan, so much for your adventurous spirit."
"RAAAARGH!" A Nazi leapt out of the shadows of the corridor, arms outstretched as his hands groped for Morita's neck.
"Argh! What the fuck?!" Morita dropped his flashlight in surprise, and it came to a stop beside the wall. Bucky caught glimpses of combat, Morita's knife flashing as he slashed at one of the Nazi's hands, partially severing two fingers, but the assailant barely even noticed. Even in the dim green emergency lighting, his bloodshot eyes were wide and wild as an animal's and he growled just like a beast. On Bucky's shoulders, Jacques frantically scrambled down, while Bucky let go with one hand and fumbled at his belt for his own knife.
"Ow! Nazi bastard!" The crewman had Morita's hand in his teeth, but Morita quickly transferred the knife to his other hand and rammed the handle against the Nazi's cheek. Once. Twice. Three times. "Let. Go. You. Bastard," he grunted as he continued hittin' the guy in the face.
The Nazi must've been on some sorta drugs, to not feel the pain of the hilt as it shattered his cheekbone. As soon as Jacques was on the ground, Bucky ran forward, ducked behind the struggling pair, and used his knife at the back of the Nazi's neck, severing the spinal cord with a satisfying crunch. The attacker dropped, and his feverish moans fell to silence.
Panting, Morita leaned back against the doorway. He dropped his knife and held the wrist of his injured hand. It was bleeding a little, and might leave an interesting crescent-shaped scar, but it wasn't a life-threatening injury.
"What a bastard! My hand's throbbing like hell. Have you ever seen anything like that before?"
Bucky shook his head as Jacques retrieved Morita's flashlight and shone it on the still-twitching corpse.
"He looks just like the other one," he offered.
Jacques was right. As Bucky took a closer look, he began to see similarities. Pale skin. Cracked lips. This one also had lesions around his eyes, and blood smeared around his lips. More blood than he could've got from the bite he'd given Morita.
"I think I know what killed that crewman," he said. An unpleasant, light-headed feeling stole over him. The crew had done this to each other. One, or maybe more than one, had ripped a guy apart, drank all the blood out of him. But why? Brutal as Nazis were, they weren't animals.
"Oh man, I really wish we were somewhere else right now," said Morita.
"We should find the armoury," Jacques said. "I know what Steve said, but Jim stabbed that Kraut many times, and nearly caved his face in, and even that did not stop him. Clearly the crew is sick and no longer listening to reason."
Bucky was torn. Jacques was right. But Steve was their CO. "It might come to that," he agreed. "But first, we better report this. Let the rest of the team know what we've discovered, and that they might be in danger too." Steve could make the decision once he had all the info. At the engine room's internal communications control panel, Bucky pressed the transmit button, and spoke into it. "Steve, we got a problem. We were just attacked by one of the crew. He looked pretty much like that dead guy, sans the blood loss. I think the crew got sick. They're definitely not actin' like reasonable human beings. They're not even actin' like unreasonable Nazis. The guy who attacked us bit Morita."
The speaker in the corner of the room crackled. "Come again, did you say bit him?"
"Yeah, on the hand. It's bleeding a little, but doesn't look too serious. He might struggle to hold a knife, though."
"Oh trust me, I will hold a knife," Morita assured him, his face sweaty with a mixture of pain and heat. "Two, if you give me a second."
"Okay, here's what we'll do. Dugan, Jones, see if you can find a medical station. Bring saline and bandages if you can. Bucky, you and your team return to us in the control room. I think from now on, we need to—" CRK.
Steve's voice cut off in a small burst of static, and the speaker went quiet. Bucky looked to Jacques.
"Did that sound like the communications being cut off?"
"Oui. This intercom, it transmits to every part of the U-boat that has a speaker, non?"
"In other words, Steve just gave away his position, and told the enemy where to look for Dugan and Jones." His heart sank. "I've got a really bad feelin' about this. Come on, we need to get back to that control room ASAP. Morita, can you run?"
"Don't worry, I'll keep up,"
: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :
A drop of sweat that had been clinging to Bucky's forehead finally succumbed to gravity, rolling off the edge of his eyebrow and dripping down his cheek. He acknowledged it, but ignored it, just as he ignored the sweat beading along his hairline and making his wet suit chafe uncomfortably in several place. Every sense he possessed was strained to the point that he felt thin and frayed, as if he was actually reaching outside of his body with his senses, trying to gain that slight edge.
"I don't suppose Dugan mentioned which way they were gonna go?" Steve asked, as the five of them crept down the upside-down corridor. This wasn't a rabbit-hole, it was a hell-hole, filled with walking nightmares.
He shook his head. "Sorry."
"Guys, can we stop for a minute?" Morita asked. He sank down without waiting for an answer, gasping for air. He wasn't lookin' too good. His normally tanned skin had gone a few shades paler, and tiny red thread veins had popped up in the whites of his eyes. Despite the heat of the sub, and the sweat slicking his skin, he'd complained repeatedly that he was cold. Said he could barely feel his fingers and toes anymore. It was not a good sign.
"We'll rest for a moment," Steve said. "But then we have to keep moving."
Morita nodded and leant back against the wall. "So thirsty."
"Here, take a sip of this," Monty said. They'd found water canisters in the galley, and brought along all they could carry. Monty opened one and held it to Morita's lips. The shorter man took a couple of gulps, then turned his head and spat it out with a sound of disgust.
"Ugh, that's awful! What's wrong with it?"
Monty sniffed it and shrugged. "It smells okay."
"Let me try," Steve said. He took the canister and had a very hesitant sip. Then he took a couple more. "It's fine, Morita. Not what I'd call fresh, but it doesn't taste bad."
Bucky took a sip as well. He'd drank worse. Much worse. "Try a different canister, Morita," he said.
So he did, with the same result. "How do you expect me to drink such foul tasting shit? I'm dyin' of thirst here." He scratched at his hand, which caught Bucky's eye.
"How long has your hand looked like that?" he asked, grabbing Morita's arm and holding his hand up. What had been a regular bite mark now looked raised and lumpy, like it was infected."
"Since that jerk bit me."
Bucky met Steve's eyes, and shook his head. It hadn't been that bad before. But before he could speak, Steve cocked his head to one side and frowned. "Someone's coming."
"Dugan and Jones?" he asked hopefully.
"No. I know what they sound like."
"That's not weird at all."
Steve drew his knife, and everyone who wasn't already holding theirs followed suit. Except Morita. He couldn't summon the energy to move, so merely lay sweating and panting against the wall.
A few seconds after they'd armed themselves, Bucky heard it too. The shuffle of booted feet moving closer. And worse, the sound was coming from two different directions. As he was trying to pinpoint it, two Nazis appeared in the corridor ahead, their eyes feverish, skin a deathly white. And from behind, one more. The bastards had them surrounded.
"Bucky," Steve said quietly. "Can you handle the one behind us?" He had good ears; hadn't even looked backwards.
"Leave it to me."
"Monty, you and I will deal with these two. Jacques, make sure Morita's well out of the way."
"Oui. I will keep him safe."
"Can keep myself safe," Morita mumbled, waving his hand weakly. Not damn likely.
Bucky stepped into the centre of the corridor, blocking his opponent's way. The Nazi snarled, his eyes fixed on Bucky's face. The guy didn't even give the knife so much as a glance as he rushed forward with arms outstretched.
"Go for killing strikes," he called quickly. "They don't seem to feel pain."
"Lucky bastards," Morita said.
Recalling their last attacker's singular focus on trying to grab and bite Morita, Bucky dropped to one knee as the Kraut dashed forward, grabbed hold of the guy's sleeve, and threw him over his shoulder. The hard metal landing should've knocked the wind right out of him, but he pushed himself to his feet as if it was nothing. Lips pulled back in a feral snarl, the Nazi let out a blood-curdling scream and rushed towards him again. Bucky used his arm to sweep his assailant's to one side, then pinned him against the wall and stuck his knife into the guy's neck. He hit the jugular. He knew he did. But when he pulled his knife out, only a little blood sprayed from the wound. It spattered against Bucky's cheek, and once more the Nazi roared and turned, his teeth bared.
A knife flashed out from down below. Jacques had made a quick, decisive cut to the back of the Nazi's leg, slicing through muscle and tendon. The Kraut sank to one knee, his other leg ruined, and Bucky drove his knife home into the spinal cord, severing it like he had the last one. This time when the Kraut hit the floor, he didn't get up again.
The other two were still struggling; Monty was being overpowered by his opponent, while Steve hadn't practised with a knife enough to be comfortable killing easily with it. Bucky stepped forward, knife at the ready.
BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM.
The two Krauts dropped, their heads a mangled mess of bullets and brain matter. Steve had to wipe some of the grey stuff off his own forehead, while Monty had considerably more blood painting his face than Bucky had. Even Jacques hadn't escaped unscathed. The smell of gunpowder wafted through the air.
"Sorry Cap," said Dugan. He and Jones held the corridor behind where the two Nazis had stood, and they were armed with pistols. "I know you said no guns, but we just happened to be passing by a weapons locker when the comms went down. Figured the mission had taken its usual crab-like approach, and that fore-armed is fore-armed. That is how the saying is really supposed to go, right?"
"I think I can overlook you disobeying instructions this one time," Steve said. He hadn't realised there was still a little chunk of something horrible in his hair. "Thanks, you saved our bacon."
"I can honestly say that I've never been so glad to see you in my life," said Monty. He was pale, though it seemed a healthy almost had my face eaten by zombies pale, not a sick sort of pale.
"I want a gun," Morita croaked. He tried to push himself to his feet. Eventually managed it, but not without considerable help from the wall.
"There's no way I'm putting a gun in your hands, Private," said Steve, "You can barely stand. Too much of a risk."
"Need to defend myself."
"We'll defend you for you. Dugan, pass those around to everyone else. I'd prefer if we could use knives where possible. But where it isn't possible, use the guns but aim carefully."
"Will do," Dugan said, handing guns out. "By the way, you've got a little Nazi in your hair." Steve quickly ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it to shake loose any stray Nazi-bits. "No offence, Cap," Dugan continued, once everyone was armed, "but I think Jimmy here is gonna need more than a bit of saline solution and a bandage."
"I agree," Steve said. "Did you find the medical station?"
"Yeah. Follow me."
"What's the point?" Morita asked. "I know what it is. We all know what it is, right? What those Nazis have. The disease. There's no coming back from it. Give me a gun and leave me here. I promise I won't shoot the sub."
"I don't understand," said Monty. "What do you think is wrong?"
"S'pose you don't get it in England, too civilised." He took a deep breath. "It's rabies. Isn't it? Isn't it?" he demanded of Steve.
"We don't know that," Steve replied.
"Well I do. My dad used to take me camping in the Sierra Nevada when I was a kid. One time, we saw a coyote in the distance, actin' all strange. Like it was drunk, attacking things in the air that weren't there, snarling at nothing then biting itself raw. Dad took me away real fast, said the coyote was rabid, that a single bite could infect a person and it always leads to death." Morita held up his hand, showing off the bite mark. "What do you think this is? I'm infected now. You gotta get off this sub and set those depth charges. Sink everything on it into the sea."
"I don't know enough about rabies to make that call," Steve said. "And we don't know that you have it. Your dad was a mechanic, not a doctor. No offence, but I'm getting a second opinion. Now, I want you to focus on staying strong. We're going to the medical bay. Once we're there, you can rest."
The pistol in Bucky's hands felt like a familiar friend, even though it was German-made. He could kill with a knife. Much more easily than Steve could. But guns were easier. Less personal. In a way, less dangerous. But he'd much rather be facing hordes of zombie Nazis with a gun than a knife.
As luck would have it, the medical bay was close. Like the rest of the sub, most of its contents had been tipped onto the floor—ceiling—when the boat rolled upside down. A few broken vials had scattered glass across the room, but everything else seemed to be in fairly decent shape. The two medical beds were still on the floor above them, because they'd sensibly been bolted down, but the pillows hadn't, so Steve had them gather a few to make a bed for Morita to lie on.
"I'm not lying on that," Morita objected. "I'm not lying anywhere while there are creepy Krauts creepin' around."
"You aren't well, Jim," said Monty. "Please let us take care of you."
"If you wanna take care of me, find me something to drink. I'm about to die of thirst."
Bucky could believe it, judging by the amount of sweat coming out of him. Jacques approached him with a bottle of saline solution, and said, "Here, try this. You didn't like normal water. Maybe you will like salt water."
Morita obligingly took a sip then immediately spit it back out. "Are you trying to kill me? You are, aren't you? You're trying to kill me!"
Something inside him seemed to snap. He snarled angrily and lunged for Jacques, wrapping his hands around the Frenchman's neck, teeth bared in a starving grimace. Jacques tried to push him away, and Bucky was there in a heartbeat. He grabbed Morita by the collar and took hold of one of his wrists, squeezing until the force made him let go. As soon as one hand was free, he yanked Morita back and spun him down, planting him chest first on the floor. And still, Morita struggled. He flailed so hard that Bucky almost entirely lost his grip. Almost got knocked over. For someone who looked like he was about to drop dead from dehydration, he was strong!
"Get something to restrain him," he said through gritted teeth. From the corner of his eye he saw Monty and Jones use their knives to tear bedsheets into strips, while Dugan and Steve rushed forward to help him keep Morita down. Jacques probed tenderly around his own neck with his fingers. He'd gotten a lucky escape.
By the time the makeshift restraints were ready, Bucky's arms were groaning in complaint. Morita didn't let up for even an instant, and even with his arms and legs bound behind his back, he thrashed wildly to try and free himself. If he spoke any words, they were lost in the snarls and groans that issued from his lips with every attempt to break free. Wiping the sweat off his face, Bucky joined the rest of the team on the other side of the room.
"I've seen rabies," Dugan said quietly, once they were all clustered together. "In dogs, mind, not people. Takes days for symptoms to show. Sometimes longer. It starts quiet and then picks up pace. Morita was bit all of an hour ago. If this is rabies, it's in one hell of a rush to get somewhere."
"I have heard of it," Monty said. "It's been a very long time since we had any cases in Britain, but isn't it usually transmitted by an animal?"
"Yeah," said Jones. "Unless there's maybe rat stowaway aboard, I don't see how it can be that."
"Regardless," Steve said, "Morita needs help. But until we know what's makin' him sick, I can't risk taking him back up to the surface. Can't risk righting the U-boat, either. Not until we either put down or cure the rest of the crew."
"So what's the plan?" Bucky asked.
Steve gave him a tight smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You got some blood spray from that Nazi you killed."
"Yeah, well you got some brain-spray," he countered. This was not gonna turn into everyone thinkin' he was mad. Not again. "And Monty got some blood on him too."
"I feel fine," said Monty quickly. "Hot. Thirsty. Tired. But fine."
"Me too," Bucky agreed. Both Dugan and Jones nodded as well. "Really wish someone would fix the temperature in here."
"Morita complained he was cold," Steve pointed out. "If the rest of the crew had his symptoms, maybe they turned the temperature right up, to try and stay warm. Regardless, we're stuck with it for the moment. But we need to report back. Jones, I want you to go. We'll take a blood sample from Morita for you to take with you. Tell them that analysing it and sending you back down with a cure is top priority. As far as a sitrep goes, we haven't yet been able to determine whether the sub can move under its own power and be righted, but we're not willing to try until we know what this illness is."
"Uh, are you sure you don't wanna send somebody more senior?" Jones asked. "And less… you know… black? They'll probably listen better to Monty."
Steve shook his head. "Until we know what this illness is, or how it's transmitted, I won't risk anyone who may have been infected through fluids going up to the surface. You and Dugan are the only clean ones here, and I need him to stay down here and keep an eye on things in case the rest of us start complaining of the cold. You can do this, Jones. You're not just a member of the team; you're speaking on my behalf in this matter. Make them understand how bad the situation is down here."
"And if they decide it's bad enough to warrant dropping those depth charges right here and now?"
Bucky held his breath. He wasn't ready to die. Not here. Not like this. Once he had embraced death, and been denied it. Now he wanted to live. He wanted all of them to live.
"If that's their decision, then there's nothing we can do about it," Steve replied. "Except be thankful that this sickness will never be spread to our friends and families. Small comfort is the only comfort we have right now."
Jones saluted. "Yes sir."
"Monty, take Dugan and escort Jones to the hatch where we came in, then come straight back here. No detours, not for anything."
"Yes, Captain. We'll make sure he makes it out safely."
Once the trio had gone, Jacques sank down against the wall and watched Morita continue to thrash and squirm, mindless growls issuing from his throat. Bucky joined his best friend, perching on the edge of a medical cabinet that had dropped down from above.
"Y'know," he said, "with all the chaos of… well, everything that's happened over the past couple of days, I realised I forgot to ask how your dancing lesson with Monty's cousin went."
"Oh. Well. I stepped on her feet a few times, but I didn't break anything. She said I'm not entirely hopeless, which I thought was very generous of her. I've got another lesson next week."
"I hope you get to make it. I hope you finally get that dance with Carter."
"So do I, pal." Steve laid a hand on his shoulder. "So do I."