Tales from the Sea Vixen

Chapter 1Standing behind a stack of crates, his back hard against a wall, Frank could not escape the irony of the situation. Of all the missions he’d undertaken during his time aboard the submarine Sea Vixen, the one that could prove his last didn’t involve preternaturals, or even the fight between the forces of light and dark. Just plain everyday smugglers. Glancing across to where his crewmate Nathan Cortez was pinned by gunfire, Frank cursed silently and imaginatively. This was his own fault. He’d been careless when scouting the area and got them trapped. Shots pinged off the crates again, and Frank flattened himself closer to the wall. But he was more concerned about the slivers of chipped brick flying dangerously close to Nathan. There was nowhere for his friend to hide except where he was: hunkered down behind a small collection of boxes several metres away. To make things worse, Nathan’s gun had malfunctioned, leaving him unable to protect himself or fight back. I hope the rest of the team are on their way, and will arrive in time to help. Although the Sea Vixen was state-of-the-art, she couldn’t perform miracles—even if some of her crew could. Unfortunately, the Vixen being a privately owned submarine, it was unlikely help would come from any other direction either. We need to get ourselves out of this mess. Somehow. “Nathan, when I fire, make a dash for it over that way.” Frank indicated with a jerk of his chin, the large pile of crates he wanted Nathan to take shelter behind. They offered more protection than his current hiding place and were farther away from the shooters. His face pale, Nathan gave a curt nod and crouched, ready to sprint on Frank’s signal. Sweat plastered the younger man’s hair to his forehead and blood ran from a scratch on his cheek. I probably look just as bad. f**k it to bloody hell. This is all my fault. Ducking out from behind his cover, Frank fired several rounds in the direction of the heavy machinery the smugglers were hiding behind before again taking shelter against the wall. Glancing back to make sure Nathan had reached safety, Frank’s heart stopped. Instead of being behind the crates, Nathan lay sprawled on the ground, blood flowing from his brow. Never in his life had Frank felt such pain. He and Nathan had only been friends for six months, so why did Frank feel as if his heart had been crushed? Anger welled up inside him, burning away the pain and igniting every cell in his body, demanding an outlet before he spontaneously combusted. No longer caring about self-preservation, he charged recklessly from behind his temporary shelter, a bull-like bellow of enraged pain tearing loose from Frank’s throat. Moving swiftly, he fired his pistol repeatedly, intent on taking down the men who’d killed Nathan. Time meant nothing. Frank neither saw nor felt anything but his targets as he kept the pair who’d shot Nathan pinned down with his relentless advance. Were there any other smugglers left? He didn’t know, or care. Only these two mattered. The coppery smell of blood barely registered. Everything blurred. Suddenly lucid for the first time since charging Nathan’s shooters, Frank wondered at wooden planks and metal sheets in front of him. They seemed out of place. Confused, he blinked. Why am I looking at the ceiling of the warehouse? There’s something odd about the angle. Cold seeped into his back from the hard surface pressing against it. Am I lying on the concrete floor? What the…? How did I get here? Something blocked his sight of the rafters. Slowly, Frank managed to focus on the face of the man peering down at him. “Thank heavens you’re back with us, Frank.” Professor Armand’s normally jovial face was drawn with worry. “We arrived on the scene just in time to see you become a one-man army of destruction. What in the world came over you?” “Nathan. The bastards killed Nathan.” Frank tried to sit up; stabbing pain suggested it wasn’t a good idea. By the feel of it he had been shot, and more than once. Not that he remembered it happening. Resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be moving under his own power anytime soon, Frank settled back against the floor. If the professor was relaxed, the immediate danger was over anyway. Unable to stop himself, Frank glanced around the warehouse, searching for Nathan’s body. Armand patted Frank’s good shoulder gently. “Nathan’s alive, Frank. Phil’s with him. It looks like a bullet grazed that hard skull of his, knocking him unconscious.” The professor shook his head, a strange smile playing around his lips. “I’m pretty confident that apart from that he’s fine. He’ll be up and about a damn sight faster than you, my friend. You’ll be out of action a while, but that suicidal charge of yours did put one of the smugglers out of action permanently, and wounded another. The third’s being dealt with as we speak.” Trying to focus on something other than the pain, Frank licked his dry lips then asked, “What made you turn up rather than waiting for us to report back?” His smile widening, Armand tapped his temple. “I had a feeling you needed the help. Let’s be honest, what’s the point in possessing a vessel like my Vixen if I can’t use her to help a friend in need.” “I’m sorry.” Frank ground out. He hated making mistakes. “I messed up, and the other smugglers escaped.” “Oh, no need to fret about that. Someone dropped a nice little dossier in their eagerness to escape. We’ll get the rest of the ring now that we know when the next shipment’s due. We can intercept their craft with the Vixen. They’ll have no chance. But your part in this job is over. We need to get you and Nathan back aboard the Vixen where you can both be treated properly.” “You’re sure about Nathan?” Frank asked through gritted teeth as Armand helped him stand. Frank knew the professor wouldn’t have said Nathan was okay if it wasn’t true, but right now he needed the extra reassurance. “Quite sure.” Armand’s already bushy eyebrows seemed to bristle at Frank’s implication that he could be wrong. As Frank took a wobbly step away from Armand, Phil Prince—the Vixen’s skipper and a good friend—strode over, a deep frown on his face. “What the f**k, Frank, don’t even think of trying to walk on your own. Here, let me help.” Without waiting for an answer, the burly man pulled Frank’s good arm across his shoulders. “Jeez, way to give a man heart failure. When I saw Nathan down and you behaving like a berserker, I thought I was going to lose not one friend but two.” With Phil’s assistance, Frank took a couple of faltering steps. “I thought you were helping Nathan, Skipper.” The world tilted alarmingly. Frank groaned softly, not wanting the rest of the crew to hear him if possible. The last thing he needed, or wanted, was anyone trying to mother-hen him. There were a couple of people who’d be only too happy for the excuse. “One of the other men is carrying Nathan back.” After a few more steps, Frank and Phil developed a gait that wasn’t too painful. Or fast. “Armand, the guys over there need a bit of your advice. I can manage Superman here. Frank, it’s a shame you aren’t as skinny as Nathan, but you’re far too solid for me to carry, so lean on me a bit more and we’ll get you to one of the cars that way instead. It’s not far to the Vixen. Thankfully we didn’t need to come after you in the mini-sub. The Cub isn’t designed to carry injured men.” Saving his breath for the walk ahead, Frank didn’t bother to reply. One careful step after the other, Phil’s help the only reason he stayed upright, Frank followed Armand. The sooner he got back to the Vixen, the sooner he could check on Nathan. Once again, Frank was glad of the Vixen’s advanced engineering. It meant that, unlike other subs, the Vixen had a fully functional sick bay, and crew were treated in one spot rather than in their individual bunks. He’d know how badly injured his friend was as soon as Frank got there himself. Is Nathan just a friend, though? After today, Frank wasn’t so sure. Nathan Cortez might have joined the Sea Vixen only six months ago, but as bilge rats—Frank was an engineer and Nathan an electrician—they worked together on a regular basis and chatted often. Despite his being almost ten years my junior, there’s been a spark between us from the start and it’s only grown stronger. Perhaps it’s time for me to take the bull by the horns and find out if he feels the way I do.