It would take about three days for them to get to Nouméa, or so Marek had been told. The first day had passed by in somewhat of a blur, as Marek tried to get to grips with the new ship and its crew. He was rather annoyed that he hadn’t really even had a chance to do the same with the Iron Sparrow before the thing essentially sank. Jack Kennedy was the Captain of PT-109, as had been made clear from the start, but behind him were a number of new faces and names that Marek was still struggling with. There was Leonard, the executive officer (whatever that meant); John, the radioman (self-explanatory); Edman, the quartermaster and cook (another easy one); a George, a Harry, who did other things… and that was all Marek could remember so far. It was already abundantly clear to Marek that the bar for becoming a PT boat cook must be exceedingly low, as the food they had been served so far seemed like nothing more than mildly heated rations. Still, it was not too bad: beans, sausages, sliced fruits – all from cans, but still sufficiently tasty. So far, it seemed like the Navy life wasn’t so bad, all things considered.
Yet Marek was still unsure of how to act around Captain Kennedy. All the evidence pointed to this being the JFK, though the timeline was admittedly a bit different to that of Marek’s world. It should have been too early in the war for Kennedy to be sailing around in PT-109, yet here he was. Again, Marek wondered as to the impact that fact would have. His overriding image of Kennedy was that of the young President, killed all too soon – but here was just a guy not too different from him, living and laughing with his crew. He wanted to question Kennedy, or even just talk to him, but was held back by the fear that by doing so he would change something, somehow… and not even knowing whether it would be for better or worse. He wondered if Kennedy’s fate would be the same in this world, no matter what either of them did or said. Was Kennedy even now set on his long path towards those bullets? But then again, maybe everything had already been changed irreversibly, if indeed it wasn’t already different to begin with. Marek couldn’t be sure.
The outcome of Marek’s rumination was that he spent the first day on the sidelines, observing. Keresi, who Marek was sure must have been military at some point, meshed immediately with Kennedy’s crew, and wasted no time in joining the men for card games, idle chatter, and inappropriate jokes. Like Marek, Beck was aloof, as seemed to befit her nature. Although, if Marek thought about it, she didn’t really seem any more aloof than she had been on the Iron Sparrow. He didn’t know yet if she was always like this, or if his arrival had something to do with it. At least they had broken the ice a little on the island, though Marek still felt awkward around her.
The second day started positively, as Captain Horrendous pulled him aside in the morning. “I’m impressed with how you handled the battle with that scout ship, Marek. It’s obvious you’re no soldier, but you didn’t freeze immediately, and that’s no small feat.”
Marek was surprised at the compliment. He didn’t want to tell the Captain that what had seemed like initial confidence on his part was instead obliviousness, as he had failed to realise the battle would be all too real.
“I’ve decided I’m not going to turn you over to the military when we reach Nouméa,” the Captain continued. “I could use another crew member. Yes, there are things you’re clearly hiding, and I do aim to find out what they are eventually. But if you were going to cause any serious trouble, I think you would have done it already.” He had a strange demeanour about him – a friendliness and lightness, but with an undercurrent of stern perception that made Marek question just who he was and what he knew.
With all the chaos of recent events, Marek had forgotten he was going to be turned over at the end of their journey, but he was glad to find out he now wouldn’t be. “Thank you,” he said quietly, not sure what else to say.
The Captain nodded back amiably. “Now, Marek, it’s easy enough to wave a Browning around and hit something,” he said, “but you’ll need to become more accurate with small arms if you’re to remain useful in my crew and survive for long. Later this afternoon, I’ll get Keresi to do some rifle training with you.”
Marek nodded, and the Captain gave him a small smile as he dismissed him. “As you were.”
The day drifted on a crisp breeze through a cool morning and into a temperate comfort as the sun rose overhead. Sure enough, when the afternoon arrived Marek found himself standing with Keresi at the back of the ship in front of a rifle – an M1 Garand, as Keresi soon told him. “Chambered in .30-06 Springfield, with an eight-round clip. It’s a little on the heavier side – I’ll try source an M1 Carbine for you at some point – but it’ll do well for some training.”
Marek only understood about half of what Keresi was talking about, as the particularities and impact of the rifle’s calibre sailed over his head.
“Go on,” Keresi said insistently, excitedly. “Pick it up.”
Marek picked up the rifle. The dark steel and polished wood of the weapon was cold and heavy in his grip. Even inert, it radiated a strange force, a killing power.
Keresi nodded slowly, giving him a sidelong look. “A soldier’s weapon. Forged in fire to spit metal and take life.” Marek was definitely noticing somewhat of a dramatic streak in Keresi, although it did seem rather fitting given their circumstances.
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Marek nodded back slowly. He didn’t particularly enjoy holding the rifle, and he had no urge to use it for any more killing, but he also knew he had little choice but to adapt to this new world if he wanted to survive for long. “Let’s go,” he said.
Keresi smiled roguishly, his rusty hair flickering across his forehead in the ocean breeze.
A little target range had been jerry-rigged at the back of the boat, by way of a variety of small metal cut-outs fastened to the railing on the ship’s port side, using thin metal rods. Each cut-out was probably about as wide as his hand. Marek was instructed to stand against the starboard railing, which afforded the ship’s width between him and the targets. It was only about six metres, but Marek guessed the targets had been made particularly small in order to compensate for the inadequacy of space. Keresi quickly ran him through the basics of the Garand – how to load it, unload it, fire it, aim it, clear a stuck cartridge – and then Marek was given free rein to practice against the makeshift targets.
Overall, Marek felt like he picked it up fairly quickly. Throughout his practicing, the small metal targets resonated loudly as they were penetrated by the red-hot points of metal. With each successful hit, Marek’s smile broadened. It was exceedingly satisfying to aim true and hear the rounds connect. Which was not to say that it was also easy – even by the end of the hour or so he spent practicing, he was only succeeding just over half the time. He knew that against stationary targets that was nothing to brag about, even if there was also the added difficulty of the boat’s gentle movements. Still, even the best marksman had to start somewhere. Shooting his final round for the day, Marek heard the target sound off while the empty clip rapidly ejected itself from the top of the rifle with a characteristic ping. A thin trail of smoke rose from the end of the gun’s barrel as Keresi watched on approvingly, the air thick with the smell of burned gunpowder.
Marek smiled. It was a good day.
----------------------
Herabee clicked on the tape recorder. He was seated in a small concrete room deep underground in Naval Station Pearl Harbour, bare except for a single door and a metal table with two chairs on either side.
“The date is June 1st, 1942.” Herabee announced, for the tape’s benefit. “The time is,” he paused to check his watch quickly, “ten forty-two. In the evening.” He shuffled in his seat, trying to get comfortable on the cold steel chair. “With me is subject 14, designation ‘Augur’. This is our fifth session.”
The diminutive man across from him was slumped, face drawn and apprehensive. Herabee had been working with the Augur for a few months now, and while the Augur himself was personally a void, he had proven to be a useful source of indispensable information, and possessed of a valuable gift.
“As previously,” Herabee continued, “we will continue with our attempts to understand this phenomenon – of which we had heard warning now from several reliable subjects – of the fog, which is soon to descend over the western Pacific.”
He turned his attention to the Augur. “Are you happy for us to proceed?”
The other man nodded, slowly but determinedly.
“Wonderful. Let’s have some darkness.” Herabee said. “Harris?”
There was no return signal, or anything else to say that Herabee had been heard, but a moment later the room’s lights went off, plunging the two men into an oppressive and total blackness. As always, Herabee struggled to notice any difference between having his eyes open or closed. If anything, the darkness somehow seemed lighter with them closed.
“As before.” Herabee said softly. “In your own time, please focus and try to connect with… with whatever it is that you can. Try and see anything that you can tell us about the fog, or anything related to it.”
The Augur was silent. Herabee said nothing, letting him focus. In the disorienting darkness, it was difficult to know how much time passed before the Augur eventually spoke. When he did, he sounded distant, not entirely present.
“I can see it.” The Augur’s voice was soft, almost raspy.
“What do you see?” Herabee’s voice was similarly subdued.
“The fog.”
Two simple words, but a shiver crept up Herabee’s spine. “Good. Tell me what you see.”
“It’s fog… a thick fog. Nothing moves inside. Until they arrive.” The Augur’s cadence was stunted, his voice emanating as an echo from far off.
“Until what arrives?” Herabee pressed.
“Those within the fog. I don’t want to look at them, they will see me.”
Herabee wanted information, but was wary of pushing the Augur too far. “Alright. That’s alright. Can you see anything else?”
A few moments passed. “I can see… waves. Through the air. Electric waves, or a radiation. Clearing paths through the fog.”
“Alright, very good.” Herabee hoped the people in the next room were taking notes – this might just be the silver bullet they had been looking for.
“Yes, the world turns,” the Augur murmured. “A black sun casts a bright shadow.”
Again, a shiver snaked its way up Herabee’s spine. “What does that mean?”
A pause. “I don’t know.” The Augur sounded completely impassive.
Herabee had just begun to mull over the strange phrase when the Augur spoke again.
“Oh,” he said in a whisper, tinged with surprise. “There’s something in the corner of the room.”
Herabee’s jaw clenched in some kind of primal response. “What is it?” he asked, leaning forward. “A person?”
“No, just a…” The Augur paused, and Herabee could visualise his face scrunching slightly. “I don’t know, exactly. It’s just crouching over there, with long thin hands clenched around its knees. It has large pale eyes, staring at me.”
Herabee was entirely blind in the thick darkness, but the thought of something watching them from a corner, unable to be seen, made his hair stand on end.
“What does it want? Does it want to hurt us?”
“No, it’s just watching for now. It’s like an animal, maybe. Calm enough, but if I tried to approach it-”
“Don’t do that,” Herabee said quickly.
Herabee heard the Augur shake his head. “Oh, no, I won’t.”
“And if I were to turn on the light, would it still be there?”
The Augur shook his head again. “No. It needs the darkness to… for it to be there. I don’t know why.”
Herabee nodded, entirely unsettled. “Alright.” He nodded again, collecting himself. “Alright, very good. I think that will do for today. End session five.” He clicked off the tape recorder and the lights flickered back on. The Augur looked bewildered, as though waking from a dream.
“Thank you…” Herabee looked at the man and raised an eyebrow. “You still don’t remember your name?”
The Augur shook his head. Herabee nodded sympathetically. He wondered if he ever would.
“Well… thank you,” Herabee said, before he stood up and strode out of the small room, leaving the Augur alone once again. It had been a most productive session indeed.