S
St Helens RLFC
Guest
By (seemingly) popular demand, here is the first proper chapter:
Chapter 1
The Pacific Ocean
6th August 1945
5:45am
“Only a few more weeks to go.†Lieutenant Julian Bullard was bored of the war, bored of being confined to his boat, bored of being away from his family. World War Two had been a horrendous time for Bullard â€" he had been working in a well paid job in an office in central London when war had broken out. For fear of the city being bombed, he took the decision to go home to America, from where he had moved after the Wall Street Crash of 1929. His young family were uprooted from their home not once, but twice.
And now, he was stuck in the middle of a hellish war, hundreds of miles away from home. He had been on the USS Jackson for over two years, with a few short breaks for leave. The 10,000 tonne cruiser had been prowling the dangerous Pacific waters as the Americans fought their way towards mainland Japan, and had not even picked up shell damage, let alone been destroyed like so many other American vessels.
Bullard knew that the war was coming to an end. Everybody knew. It was just a question of time before the Japanese surrendered unconditionally. But until then, battles would have to be fought, tactics applied and soldiers killed until the aggressors were defeated. With a military that was prepared to die rather than accept defeat, the end of the war felt a lot further away than it was.
Bullard took a huge drag of the cigarette he held by his side, breathing the foul smelling smoke into the air as he slowly paced up and down the deck. A tall man at over six and a half foot tall, he looked ahead of him, and the coast of the Philippines that he had spent the last three weeks patrolling. Although still under official Japanese rule, the imperial army were busy trying to repel the seemingly unavoidable invasion by the US Army in other parts of the Pacific. Sparse lights flickered in seaside villages as the morning sky began to turn a fiery orange, heralding the arrival of the beautiful sunset.
Bullard might have hated his job, but being alone on morning watch was just about the only perk. He wished he could afford a camera to take photographs to take home to his wife and two sons. He thought it was amongst the most inspiring sights he could witness. The brightness lit up his rugged face, three day old stubble adorning his face. His short blonde hair seemed to shimmer in the morning light, and his deep green eyes sparkled. He took a deep breath and sighed heavily, a big smile creeping across his face.
Being on the bridge was always the best place to get to see this sight. A low alert meant a low crew presence on deck, and Bullard used this to his full advantage. He strode through the control room, heading out to the starboard side of the bridge. A complete parallel to what he had left behind on the port side. Complete darkness, with night meeting day above his head. The crystal clear sky twinkled at him, an equally picturesque sight. Countless millions of stars all shining brightly as night came to a close. Taking the final drag of his cigarette, he tossed it into the tranquil ocean below. The engines throbbed gently, taking the cruiser slowly toward the remnants of the night. The waves gently lapped against the hull of the boat, the only noise that could be remotely heard.
It was all so peaceful and tranquil; so comfortable and quiet. Bullard ran his fingers through his fine, short hair, taking it all in. But suddenly, he spotted something that wasn’t quite right. He looked up, squinting to get a good look at the bright white light that had appeared in the night sky, seemingly getting brighter by the second.
Without taking his eyes off the strange sight, Bullard walked into the bridge and rang the bell, hoping to attract the attention of a crew member.
“What?â€
The voice sounded through from the bridge. It was the pilot. A quick rustling of ropes tying the massive wheel up later, Tony Keane was stood alongside Bullard. A stout man of Irish decent, he was well known for not beating about the bush.
“Up there. 1 o’clock.â€
Keane turned his head, directly at the brightening light.
“That’s no plane. Is it a shooting star?â€
“If it’s a shooting star it’s lasted longer than one I’ve ever seen.â€
The white shape, hurtling through the sky, was noticeably increasing in size as every second passed. It was an unearthly sight â€" the beautiful twinkling stars surrounding the menacing, bright blob in the sky. The increases continued, although it remained indistinguishable. Suddenly, it turned green, and both men gasped. An uncomfortable silence hung like a shroud over the bridge.
“Martians.†Bullard didn’t want to believe what he was saying. But he had read enough, seen enough photos, and spoken to surviving members of his family enough to know that the green streak in the sky was exactly the same that was described.
“What the hell is going on out here?†A third figure strode onto the bridge. Captain Hank Long was a no-nonsense, experienced seaman, who disliked things going wrong. At 63 years of age, there wasn’t a lot Long hadn’t seen, particularly at sea. He had served on an American warship during the Martian invasion as well as the First World War.
“It’s a Martian cylinder, Sir.†Bullard’s voice trembled a little as he relayed the news to his captain.
Snatching a pair of binoculars from around Keane’s neck, Long donned them, and stared skyward. “Holy mother of God.†He took them away from his eyes and rubbed them, before putting them back to his eyes. “You’re both right. This is exactly what happened last time. Those ******** have waited until the human race started destroying each other. Their tripods will be out in an hour unless we destroy them! Action stations!â€
Long ran onto the bridge, and pulled a cord. A loud alarm wailed throughout the ship, rousing the sleeping sailors. “Keane, get back in here!†Keane scrambled back to the helm, casting the rope away. “I want full steam ahead! That cylinder is going to land on that island in the next few minutes and we must try and intercept it. If we can destroy them before they land then we can send the message to the world.â€
On the port bridge wing, Bullard wasn’t convinced by his captain’s quick actions. Judging by the height and path of the cylinder, which looked like it would be on terra firma in the next minute or so, it looked like it would come down in the shallow waters right in front of the boat. The peaceful, tranquil night had been shattered by the piercing whoop of the alarm, and the clattering in the bowels of the ship of people readying themselves for battle.
Long appeared back on the wing, staring at the green streak that seemed to be heading for the cruiser through his binoculars.
“Captain, I don’t believe that the cylinder is heading for shore.â€
“Of course it is! It must be! Unless they are aiming to drown themselves!â€
“They’ve miscalculated before, why can’t they again? Look at the angle its coming down at sir.â€
Taking a long look at the approaching object, Long had to admit that it looked unlikely to make land. It seemed set to crash into the sea about five hundred yards in front of the bow. Reaching the horrible realisation that is ship was about to be sucked into ocean, Long screamed at the top of his voice: “Full astern, hard a starboard!â€
Keane left the wheel for a second, and yanked the telegraph as quickly as he could, all the way to “Full Astern.†The cylinder was now clear to all, streaking in the direction of the ship at phenomenal speed. Long lowered his binoculars, a pale shade of white. “For the love of God,†he muttered to himself, “back up.†Twenty agonising seconds passed before the ship began to slow and reverse. “Quicker you *******, quicker.†Bullard began to feel panicked â€" a beautiful and clear morning had suddenly become a life or death situation.
Long abandoned the helm, heading back onto the wing. He wanted a good view of the cylinder â€" he had done everything he could, as far as he was concerned, the rest was up to God. The three men stood staring at the ghostly cylinder skimmed above the waves, whipping up white froth. In a few seconds, unless it was being piloted, the cylinder would make contact with the dark, calm water.
Chapter 1
The Pacific Ocean
6th August 1945
5:45am
“Only a few more weeks to go.†Lieutenant Julian Bullard was bored of the war, bored of being confined to his boat, bored of being away from his family. World War Two had been a horrendous time for Bullard â€" he had been working in a well paid job in an office in central London when war had broken out. For fear of the city being bombed, he took the decision to go home to America, from where he had moved after the Wall Street Crash of 1929. His young family were uprooted from their home not once, but twice.
And now, he was stuck in the middle of a hellish war, hundreds of miles away from home. He had been on the USS Jackson for over two years, with a few short breaks for leave. The 10,000 tonne cruiser had been prowling the dangerous Pacific waters as the Americans fought their way towards mainland Japan, and had not even picked up shell damage, let alone been destroyed like so many other American vessels.
Bullard knew that the war was coming to an end. Everybody knew. It was just a question of time before the Japanese surrendered unconditionally. But until then, battles would have to be fought, tactics applied and soldiers killed until the aggressors were defeated. With a military that was prepared to die rather than accept defeat, the end of the war felt a lot further away than it was.
Bullard took a huge drag of the cigarette he held by his side, breathing the foul smelling smoke into the air as he slowly paced up and down the deck. A tall man at over six and a half foot tall, he looked ahead of him, and the coast of the Philippines that he had spent the last three weeks patrolling. Although still under official Japanese rule, the imperial army were busy trying to repel the seemingly unavoidable invasion by the US Army in other parts of the Pacific. Sparse lights flickered in seaside villages as the morning sky began to turn a fiery orange, heralding the arrival of the beautiful sunset.
Bullard might have hated his job, but being alone on morning watch was just about the only perk. He wished he could afford a camera to take photographs to take home to his wife and two sons. He thought it was amongst the most inspiring sights he could witness. The brightness lit up his rugged face, three day old stubble adorning his face. His short blonde hair seemed to shimmer in the morning light, and his deep green eyes sparkled. He took a deep breath and sighed heavily, a big smile creeping across his face.
Being on the bridge was always the best place to get to see this sight. A low alert meant a low crew presence on deck, and Bullard used this to his full advantage. He strode through the control room, heading out to the starboard side of the bridge. A complete parallel to what he had left behind on the port side. Complete darkness, with night meeting day above his head. The crystal clear sky twinkled at him, an equally picturesque sight. Countless millions of stars all shining brightly as night came to a close. Taking the final drag of his cigarette, he tossed it into the tranquil ocean below. The engines throbbed gently, taking the cruiser slowly toward the remnants of the night. The waves gently lapped against the hull of the boat, the only noise that could be remotely heard.
It was all so peaceful and tranquil; so comfortable and quiet. Bullard ran his fingers through his fine, short hair, taking it all in. But suddenly, he spotted something that wasn’t quite right. He looked up, squinting to get a good look at the bright white light that had appeared in the night sky, seemingly getting brighter by the second.
Without taking his eyes off the strange sight, Bullard walked into the bridge and rang the bell, hoping to attract the attention of a crew member.
“What?â€
The voice sounded through from the bridge. It was the pilot. A quick rustling of ropes tying the massive wheel up later, Tony Keane was stood alongside Bullard. A stout man of Irish decent, he was well known for not beating about the bush.
“Up there. 1 o’clock.â€
Keane turned his head, directly at the brightening light.
“That’s no plane. Is it a shooting star?â€
“If it’s a shooting star it’s lasted longer than one I’ve ever seen.â€
The white shape, hurtling through the sky, was noticeably increasing in size as every second passed. It was an unearthly sight â€" the beautiful twinkling stars surrounding the menacing, bright blob in the sky. The increases continued, although it remained indistinguishable. Suddenly, it turned green, and both men gasped. An uncomfortable silence hung like a shroud over the bridge.
“Martians.†Bullard didn’t want to believe what he was saying. But he had read enough, seen enough photos, and spoken to surviving members of his family enough to know that the green streak in the sky was exactly the same that was described.
“What the hell is going on out here?†A third figure strode onto the bridge. Captain Hank Long was a no-nonsense, experienced seaman, who disliked things going wrong. At 63 years of age, there wasn’t a lot Long hadn’t seen, particularly at sea. He had served on an American warship during the Martian invasion as well as the First World War.
“It’s a Martian cylinder, Sir.†Bullard’s voice trembled a little as he relayed the news to his captain.
Snatching a pair of binoculars from around Keane’s neck, Long donned them, and stared skyward. “Holy mother of God.†He took them away from his eyes and rubbed them, before putting them back to his eyes. “You’re both right. This is exactly what happened last time. Those ******** have waited until the human race started destroying each other. Their tripods will be out in an hour unless we destroy them! Action stations!â€
Long ran onto the bridge, and pulled a cord. A loud alarm wailed throughout the ship, rousing the sleeping sailors. “Keane, get back in here!†Keane scrambled back to the helm, casting the rope away. “I want full steam ahead! That cylinder is going to land on that island in the next few minutes and we must try and intercept it. If we can destroy them before they land then we can send the message to the world.â€
On the port bridge wing, Bullard wasn’t convinced by his captain’s quick actions. Judging by the height and path of the cylinder, which looked like it would be on terra firma in the next minute or so, it looked like it would come down in the shallow waters right in front of the boat. The peaceful, tranquil night had been shattered by the piercing whoop of the alarm, and the clattering in the bowels of the ship of people readying themselves for battle.
Long appeared back on the wing, staring at the green streak that seemed to be heading for the cruiser through his binoculars.
“Captain, I don’t believe that the cylinder is heading for shore.â€
“Of course it is! It must be! Unless they are aiming to drown themselves!â€
“They’ve miscalculated before, why can’t they again? Look at the angle its coming down at sir.â€
Taking a long look at the approaching object, Long had to admit that it looked unlikely to make land. It seemed set to crash into the sea about five hundred yards in front of the bow. Reaching the horrible realisation that is ship was about to be sucked into ocean, Long screamed at the top of his voice: “Full astern, hard a starboard!â€
Keane left the wheel for a second, and yanked the telegraph as quickly as he could, all the way to “Full Astern.†The cylinder was now clear to all, streaking in the direction of the ship at phenomenal speed. Long lowered his binoculars, a pale shade of white. “For the love of God,†he muttered to himself, “back up.†Twenty agonising seconds passed before the ship began to slow and reverse. “Quicker you *******, quicker.†Bullard began to feel panicked â€" a beautiful and clear morning had suddenly become a life or death situation.
Long abandoned the helm, heading back onto the wing. He wanted a good view of the cylinder â€" he had done everything he could, as far as he was concerned, the rest was up to God. The three men stood staring at the ghostly cylinder skimmed above the waves, whipping up white froth. In a few seconds, unless it was being piloted, the cylinder would make contact with the dark, calm water.
and could you tell me a captain who did like things going wrong!?
