Chesapeake Bay

East Coast of United States

I944

Cresting a wave, a motorboat pivoted then dropped into a trough, the bow digging into the next wave as it rose, throwing spray at the small boat’s passengers. Captain Miles Rutherford held the gunwale with both hands as the spray added to their miserable conditions. Leaning into the rise as the boat topped the wave he could once again see a single dim red light in the distance, the fog that had hidden the light and plagued the area only minutes before was thankfully gone.

This was one hell of a mess.

Rutherford pulled a hand radio from within his coat and held the bulky device to his head while still struggling to keep his balance. “Mendota, Angel One. Any word? Over,” shouting to be heard over the rush of the sea.

“Angel One, Mendota. Negative. No communications. Over.” The reply could barely be heard within the static coming from the radio.

Astern, within impenetrable darkness, only four hundred yards away, the Light Cruiser Mendota was completely darkened and at battle stations. Further beyond his ship was the eastern seaboard of the United States, at this point in the war with Hitler’s submarines operating within sight of the coast, all lights were dark to hide the entire continent. To be so close to home and in mortal danger was frustrating to the Captain.

The entire experiment was a ball’s up and the only answers lay on the ship the small boat was approaching. Rutherford had to find Professor Veldt or Captain Somers aboard the Eldritch, only they could provide answers to what had happened within the mysterious fog.

Six other men were in the boat with the Captain, the coxswain, two marines from the Mendota security detachment, Commander Beams the Mendota’s Engineering Officer, Lieutenant Paves the Mendota’s Communications Officer and Lieutenant Gusepe the ship’s doctor. Rutherford would have brought the entire ship’s compliment, this was an unknown and dangerous situation, but could only rail in his mind against the rules that limited his decisions.

The secrecy surrounding the experiment created the rules and restrictions that were at best annoying. Information was restricted to the vague title of Top Secret, Project Philadelphia. Rutherford suspected even Admiral Hayes did not know every facet of the experiment, yet it was hard to imagine the Admiral accepting Veldt’s presence without question.

Prudence required Rutherford’s ship operate with a skeleton crew to limit the number of people involved in the actual event and reduce security risks. The radar room of the Mendota held only two operators and remained locked. Lookouts were set to a select few. Everyone knew they were testing an anti-radar device but the spaces containing the exotic equipment placed aboard the Mendota, and knowledge of the Eldritch herself, locked and heavily guarded. The scientists were separated from the crews on both ships with all personnel told to keep their mouths shut.

The sound of retching came from the bow of the motorboat providing another vent for Rutherford’s anger and frustration. It sounded like Lieutenant Paves, a college boy who thought he might be a good sailor, just another damn reservist.

“Angel One, Mendota,” the walkie-talkie distracted Rutherford.

“Angel One.” He replied while watching the red light of the Eldritch riding higher above the water.

“We show you fifty yards from the target. Head fifteen degrees to port and you should arrive near the midship’s ladder. Over.”

“Correct fifteen degrees to port,” Rutherford ordered the coxswain in a loud voice to be heard over the hiss of the sea then pressed the transmit switch. “Mendota, correcting course now. Have you contacted base? Over.”

“Angel One, negative. No response. Radar confirms the disappearance on scope but no confirmation on visual...”

“Mendota, shut up! Clamp it down now.” A chill worked its way up Rutherford’s spine. “Isolate the lookouts with the radar operators in the shack. Restrict yourselves to simple transmissions, we have no idea who may be out here listening. Over.” Nervousness added to Rutherford’s anxiety. Admiral Hayes, maybe even the Germans, could be listening to the transmissions.

The red light was brighter, swinging slowly through the night sky, the base rumble of waves hitting steel vibrating the air.

“We’re close,” Rutherford shouted to the coxswain.

“Aye Captain. Slowing down,” the sailor replied. His caution was understandable. He was afraid of what they might find. The motorboat rolled heavily, water washing over the gunwale, drenching Rutherford’s feet.

“I see her,” Beams shouted from the bow of the boat, “twenty yards.”

The coxswain cut the engine power and slipped the clutch, letting the motorboat drift towards the Eldritch. In moments, a gray wall of steel materialized out of the dark. The motor noise became a low murmur all but lost in the ocean’s hiss and groans of the Eldritch.

A man cried out in pain, the sound wavering in and out of hearing as Rutherford searched for visible damage to the hull. Only a thin layer of scud marked the waterline. There was no initial sign of any damage that could have overwhelmed the ship’s crew. Above the small boat, the light cruiser’s railing was removable chain and posts instead of steel tubing; Rutherford turned to the coxswain, “We’re at the torpedo launchers, turn starboard, and head forward.”

“Sir,” came the reply, the sailor’s voice softer, as if he too felt danger.

To Rutherford, the results of the experiment seemed inconceivable. How could an entire ship disappear? If it vanished, then where did eight thousand tons of steel, men and machinery go? Damn the stupidity that had allowed the professor to stay aboard the test ship and not aboard the Mendota. If Veldt were here, he could have made an educated guess of what to expect aboard the Eldritch.

A Jacob’s ladder came into view, swaying away from the ship in time with the slow roll of the Eldritch. The coxswain eased the motorboat to the ladder.

Without a word, Rutherford grasped a rung, then began the climb to the main deck of the Eldritch. At the top of the Jacob’s ladder, he used the steel railing to pull himself onto the deck, the feel of a large ship under his feet comforting despite the uncertainty of the situation. He gazed fore and aft, the worried expression plain on his face for the brief time he was alone.

The easy movement of the Eldritch told Rutherford the ship’s hull was still intact, removing one item from a long list of potential problems.

The smell of oil exhaust wafted to the deck. The boilers were still operating. He looked up; number one funnel was lost in the dark, becoming the suggestion of a shadow in the night. The bitter smell of salt water cloaked the smoke; the weather was working up to a good-sized storm, forcing Rutherford to hasten. If they waited too long to get the ship under steam, the Eldritch might founder or worse, the Germans might find the ship and all the experimental equipment.

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Doc Gusepe reached the top of the Jacob’s ladder. Rutherford extended a hand and helped the doctor to the main deck. The darkness helped Rutherford keep his temper in check. If he saw the doctor clearly, he might see vomit on the man’s uniform and be forced to comment. They remained quiet while waiting for the rest of the boarding party to arrive. In short order, the engineer, communications officer and security personal were standing in a tight circle with the captain.

They stared at the darkened ship and its confusion of shadows. Rutherford broke the silence. “There’s no fighting it. Use your lanterns. Beams take one guard and go to the engine room. See if there is a usable head of steam. The rest of you come with me to the bridge.”

“Aye Captain,” Beams replied then hooked a finger on the lifejacket of a guard and hurried aft, the marine following close behind. The Engineer was a regular Navy man who did not need a firm hand. Beams would know what to do without being ordered chapter and verse.

With a frown, Rutherford turned on his own lantern, a heavy yellow boxlike affair with a large hoop handle designed to endure the hazards of battle. Before they had moved five paces, Commander Beams was shouting from the aft deck.

“Captain. Jesus Christ! Captain, come here!”

The Mendota had survived Japanese suicide planes plummeting out of the sky and a torpedo rupturing her hull. Not once had Rutherford heard Beams shout in terror. A shiver of fear touched the Captain when he remembered the voice crying out in pain prior to their arrival at the Jacob’s ladder.

Rutherford ran aft, his lantern illuminating the gray painted deck in a weaving pattern. He jumped over the load rails of the amidships torpedo launcher, ducked under the barrels of a five-inch gun, and saw a wash of light coming from around the next corner. The hollow thumps of footfalls on steel followed Rutherford as he turned the corner and halted, his mind unable to understand what he saw.

Beams kneeled on the deck holding a sailor’s head, but the perspective was wrong; how could Beams be holding the man’s head when the sailor was sitting?

“Sweet Jesus! Out of the way.” Doc Gusepe shoved past Rutherford and kneeled next to the sailor.

“Kill me,” the boy keened softly in a voice that trembled weakly. “Please kill me.”

The combined lanterns illuminated the boy clearly, the men in a wide-eyed circle as the Doc and engineer tried to help the sailor. The boy’s body had merged with the steel deck, his torso stopping abruptly at the navel with one arm ending at the elbow. It was as if the boy had fallen and was sitting up when the deck swallowed him. Rutherford was shaken by a grim certainty the sailor’s limbs would be seen in the compartment below.

Doc Gusepe opened his medical satchel and prepared a morphine injection, his seasickness forgotten.

“For the love of God, kill me,” the sailor repeated, his face wet with perspiration.

Fighting revulsion, Rutherford took Beams place and held the sailor’s head. “Go below Beams.”

The engineer looked uncertainly at his captain. “What if there are more?”

Rutherford opened his mouth to reply, then stopped, his gaze returning to a sailor little more than a boy with blond hair. Doc Gusepe ripped away the sleeve of the sailor’s shirt and injected the morphine.

“Can you move, son?” Rutherford asked, the deep lines of his tanned face holding shadows that etched his skin.

“No,” the sailor moaned while looking into the captain’s eyes with a plea that wrenched Rutherford’s heart.

Gusepe tore open the sailor’s shirt where his waist joined the desk and gently probed with a finger. It was a clean join, the soft flesh hardening and gaining a blue hue close to the cold steel. He tugged the trapped arm; it was immobile; the skin ripping at the tension of his action. The Doc leaned back and gave Rutherford a look that spoke volumes.

The morphine claimed the sailor, his body relaxing in Rutherford’s arms. He looked down at the boy and decided, knowing this action would haunt him for the rest of his life. He looked at Beams. “If the men you find can be saved by amputation leave them alone. If any of them are like this boy, put them out of their misery.”

“You can’t do that.” Gusepe protested.

“Can you get this boy out of the deck?” Rutherford demanded.

“You can’t kill them if there is a chance of getting them out of...here.” Gusepe stared at the sailor again, momentarily at a loss for words. “How can something like this happen?” he asked softly.

Rutherford slipped his arm from under the boy and pulled his pistol from the holster at his side. He snapped the safety off and commanded the men to stand back in a stern voice, his face an impassive stone with glaring blue eyes. Doc Gusepe was the last to move away, unable to reconcile with the killing.

Tenderly brushing the sailor’s hair from his brow, Rutherford gazed at the peaceful face. May God forgive me; he held up the gun to the sailor’s temple and squeezed the trigger.

The report of the gun was strangely muffled. Rutherford stayed near the boy for few moments, then stood. “Go below,” he said to Beams. “The rest of you follow me.”

Wishing to place that particular horror behind him, Rutherford spared no further glance at the body.

The men hurried forward with a growing sense of urgency. The Captain passed number one funnel at a run, ducking under a five-inch gun as he momentarily faltered. A sailor was grotesquely entwined in a quad antiaircraft mount, one of the gun barrels protruding from his forehead.

Someone ran in the darkness ahead of the captain out of sight but near enough for him to notice the sound of passage. Rutherford continued to run correctly, suspecting there were many men past the boundary of sanity on the ship.

A junior officer lay at the base of the bridge ladder. Gusepe paused long enough to determine the man was uninjured, only unconscious. Rutherford climbed the ladder and ran aft a short distance, trying to ignore the incapacitated men that littered the deck. He climbed a second ladder to the signal deck, then a final ladder to the bridge, the marine guard close on his heels.

The marine caught Rutherford’s arm before the Captain could open the bridge hatch. “I’m first, Captain,” he opened the aft bridge hatch and disappeared inside with his pistol held high.

“Gusepe. Paves. Get up here now.” Rutherford shouted at the men below. He turned and entered the bridge, parting the blackout curtain and stepping into the red lit confines. He ignored the men lying on the deck and walked quickly to Captain Somers.

“Miles? I can’t reach the radio...” Somers’s voice quavered. His normally immaculate uniform was stained by vomit and his eyes wild with dementia. The captain of the Eldritch was pulling against something to reach a microphone a few feet beyond his grasp. “I can’t answer...”

Rutherford grabbed Somers’s shoulders and pushed him back, reducing the strain on the trapped arm. “Steady Bob. Steady.”

“My hand won’t let go...”

Looking down, Rutherford saw Somers hand had melded into the side of the chart table. Somers pulled against his trap so hard that the flesh of his wrist split. Blood flowed to stain the side of the chart table black in the red light. Too much blood to think the man would survive. “We’re here Bob. Relax,” the captain struggled against Rutherford. “What happened?” he said in the man’s ear.

“I can’t...” Somers relaxed suddenly, letting Rutherford support his weight. “I don’t know. Everything changed.” Somers gasped for breath. “We were someplace else, then everything went... loose.”

Rutherford saw Doc Gusepe reflected in the bridge window. “Get over here, Doc,” he growled. “Where did you go, Bob? Where is Veldt?”

“...don’t know...Veldt...” Somers responded vaguely.

Gusepe claimed Somers from Rutherford, who stepped back with a look of distaste as the captain of the Eldritch slumped in the doctor’s arms.

Grasping Somers head, Rutherford lifted until he made eye contact. “Where is Veldt?” he demanded slowly, desperate for some kind of answer.

“Over there.” Somers rasped. Gusepe lowered Somers to a sitting position, the captain’s arm hanging from the chart table.

The communication box squawked, diverting Rutherford’s attention. He pressed the receiver button. “Bridge.”

“Captain,” Beams voice was hoarse. I’ve got steam, but I can’t do a damn thing with it. One of the engine room crew is half in the turbine. He’s... he’s...”

“Keep the steam up and get control of yourself,” Rutherford replied strongly. “Get this ship moving.” He had to keep his head; he could not let this affect him. Rutherford left the bridge communication box and moved to the rear of the bridge.

He stared at the men, ignored when entering the bridge. A man lay in the corner wearing a civilian suit. Rutherford crossed to the man, kneeled and turned the man’s face to the light.

It was Veldt in body, but the man’s mind was gone for the moment. He stared blankly past Rutherford, a young man lost in the horror of his making.

“Damn it.” Rutherford dropped the man in disgust and walked back to the chart table.

A chart lay atop the operational test chart depicting Chesapeake Bay. Rutherford recognized the hastily spread chart; the approaches to Norfolk, Virginia.

It was too much for belief when Rutherford saw the penciled marks on the chart.

The frustration overflowed. “What the hell happened?” he shouted, ripping the chart from the table.