Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius - Kevin J Anderson [181]
The sub-marine boat crested the calm surface while Harding and two crewmen emerged from the hatch. It was late afternoon; the sun would set within an hour. They used spyglasses to assess the American warship.
As soon as the armored vessel was visible, the United States ship began blasting with its cannon. Orange tongues of flame shrank in the distance to the size of firecrackers. After several seconds’ delay, the booms of gunpowder reached their ears across the still sea. A scattered pattern of cannonballs splashed in the water. None of the projectiles came close to the Nautilus, but Harding and the other crew members went below.
Nemo was standing at the helm controls. “She’s begun firing at us, Captain,” Harding said.
Nemo nodded, waited for them to secure the upper hatch, then gave the order to submerge. “Mr. Harding, this is your hunt.” He stepped aside to let his second-in-command take the controls, but the captain of the Nautilus displayed a greater degree of uncertainty than ever before. He felt no passion, only numbness, a blind momentum that led them nowhere.
“Power up engines,” Harding called.
The grim men had been through the routine numerous times before and responded with military efficiency. The growl of the electric engines built to a loud roar, and the Nautilus leaped forward, cutting a wake across the surface. Its brilliant spotlights shone like the eyes of a dragon in the sea, as foretold in the book of Revelation.
Distant vibrations followed them as the American ship continued its cannonade. The Nautilus picked up speed -- a bullet streaking toward its doomed target.
Nemo gripped the railing, breathing heavily and trying to focus his thoughts. His obsession, his war against War, had given him a purpose during the bleakest time in his life. But the men aboard the naval vessels he destroyed also had wives and families. Perhaps some of those sailors had been conscripted against their wills. By what right did he rob them all of their futures?
He squeezed his eyes shut.
I could have been with Caroline all this time.
The sawblade spine of the Nautilus struck the hull of the American battleship. The impact ripped the vessel’s keel open, breaching the lower decks. Within moments, the wooden-hulled ship exploded, spewing debris into the unexplored waters of the Atlantic.
Nemo didn’t even know the name of the ship. Nor did he care. . .
#
Within an hour, the American war vessel had fallen over on its side and began to go down, dragging victims to the bottom. Nemo remembered the wrecked Cynthia at the docks in Nantes, his father trapped in a sealed stateroom as the boat sank. He thought of Auda and the boy Jules, trying to flee Rurapente, drowning after their ship was attacked. . . .
But somehow the fury was gone now. He saw only more misery caused by others, caused by him. He had not helped at all, merely made the situation worse.
After dark, Nemo ordered the Nautilus to surface. With engines humming at low speed, the vessel crept toward the floating debris. A few fires glowed in the ocean’s night, and he wondered if the sharks would come. He stood in silence outside the hatch, inhaling the tang of smoke, gunpowder . . . and death in the fresh sea air.
He felt no exhilaration at what he had done, no triumph at striking another blow against the warmongers. Evil men would always find evil things to do, and innocent men would always become cannon fodder. By destroying so many warships, he had only added to the number of victims sent to their deaths by incompetent commanders or politicians.
Nemo wondered if he should isolate himself, take the Nautilus and go somewhere away from the world. Surely, he deserved a respite from his dark quest by now? What more must he do?
And then there was Caroline.
As his eyes adjusted to the distant firelight and the pale moon, Nemo saw a lone human figure clinging to the wreckage. The man waved a long, angular arm, trying to draw attention