Wolff said.
“Not a damn peep,” the radio operator said.
“I don’t understand it. Yesterday’s test, the signal was so clear
it was like coming from the next bulkhead.”
“Could it be bad weather?” Richter said.
The radio operator shook his head. “It was
designed for all weather. The batteries are supposed to last six
months.”
“What about your equipment?” Wolff
asked.
“No problem here. I just received a message
from Naval Command, clear as a bell.”
“What did they want?” Wolff said.
The radio operator handed him a message
slip. “Confirmation of objective.”
Wolff read it and handed it back. He ran his
fingers through his hair.
“What will you tell them?” Richter said.
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t go back to repair it. We’re
scheduled to rendezvous...”
“I know,” Wolff said. “We need to get
underway. Would you set up the coordinates with the navigator?”
Wolff left the radio room. Richter and the
radio operator exchanged looks.
~~~
Agatak sat on the beach, stitching together
the ragged flaps of their tent. He finished a panel and took a
break to watch his son.
Shogan lay on a large rock a few yards
offshore, eyes fixed on something beneath the surface. In one hand
he held the radio antenna, poised like a spear. Suddenly he whipped
his arm and hurled it into the water. In a moment, he reeled it
back in with a length of cord. He held aloft a thrashing 10-pound
char. The hand-tooled barb at the antenna’s tip protruded through
the fish’s head.
“Hah. Look at that.”
“Big enough for my supper,” Agatak said.
“What are you going to eat?”
“The next one.”
~~~
In the U-boat’s control room, the steady
shudder of engines was punctuated by the ping of the sonar device.
Valves sighed with intermittent hisses.
At his console the helmsman adjusted the
plane and rudder controls. His eyes moved back and forth across the
instruments before him – heading, depth and air pressure.
Wolff sat nearby, watching the flickering
phosphorous green of the sonar screen. His complexion was slightly
pockmarked, and in close-up resembled a lunar landscape under a
green sun. There was a faraway look in his eyes, wherein was
reflected the rotating sonar beam. His eyes were like tiny pressure
gauges in some half-human machine, still functional but starting to
deform with fatigue.
~~~
Agatak and Shogan sat together beside the
campfire, eating roasted Arctic char. Their faces were bronze with
the glow of the flames and the warmth of the fish in their bellies.
Agatak burped and smiled at his son. He tore off another handful of
fish.
Above them, the northern lights danced in
ropes of colored fire.
~~~~~~~~~
ALAN ANNAND
Alan Annand is a writer of crime fiction,
offering an intriguing blend of mystery, suspense, thriller and New
Age noir . When he’s not dreaming up ingenious ways to kill
people and thrill readers, he occasionally finds therapy in
writing humor, short stories
and faux book reviews.
Before becoming a full-time novelist,
he worked as a technical writer for the railway
industry, a corporate writer for private and public sectors, a
human resources manager and an underground surveyor.
Currently, he divides his time between
writing in the AM, astrology in the PM, and meditation on the OM.
For those who care, he’s an Aries with a dash of Scorpio.
You can find him on Facebook, Goodreads and
LinkedIn,
or follow him on Pinterest, Tumblr and
Twitter.
For more information, see his website
www.sextile.com
~~~
Have you read all of Alan Annand’s
novels?
Please write a review on Amazon and/or
Goodreads.
~~~
AL-QUEBECA
Montreal detective Sophie
Gillette, still mourning the death of her brother during covert ops
in Afghanistan, investigates a fatal hit-and-run, uncovering a
terrorist plot to assassinate an American governor, disable New
England’s electrical grid,
“Not a damn peep,” the radio operator said.
“I don’t understand it. Yesterday’s test, the signal was so clear
it was like coming from the next bulkhead.”
“Could it be bad weather?” Richter said.
The radio operator shook his head. “It was
designed for all weather. The batteries are supposed to last six
months.”
“What about your equipment?” Wolff
asked.
“No problem here. I just received a message
from Naval Command, clear as a bell.”
“What did they want?” Wolff said.
The radio operator handed him a message
slip. “Confirmation of objective.”
Wolff read it and handed it back. He ran his
fingers through his hair.
“What will you tell them?” Richter said.
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t go back to repair it. We’re
scheduled to rendezvous...”
“I know,” Wolff said. “We need to get
underway. Would you set up the coordinates with the navigator?”
Wolff left the radio room. Richter and the
radio operator exchanged looks.
~~~
Agatak sat on the beach, stitching together
the ragged flaps of their tent. He finished a panel and took a
break to watch his son.
Shogan lay on a large rock a few yards
offshore, eyes fixed on something beneath the surface. In one hand
he held the radio antenna, poised like a spear. Suddenly he whipped
his arm and hurled it into the water. In a moment, he reeled it
back in with a length of cord. He held aloft a thrashing 10-pound
char. The hand-tooled barb at the antenna’s tip protruded through
the fish’s head.
“Hah. Look at that.”
“Big enough for my supper,” Agatak said.
“What are you going to eat?”
“The next one.”
~~~
In the U-boat’s control room, the steady
shudder of engines was punctuated by the ping of the sonar device.
Valves sighed with intermittent hisses.
At his console the helmsman adjusted the
plane and rudder controls. His eyes moved back and forth across the
instruments before him – heading, depth and air pressure.
Wolff sat nearby, watching the flickering
phosphorous green of the sonar screen. His complexion was slightly
pockmarked, and in close-up resembled a lunar landscape under a
green sun. There was a faraway look in his eyes, wherein was
reflected the rotating sonar beam. His eyes were like tiny pressure
gauges in some half-human machine, still functional but starting to
deform with fatigue.
~~~
Agatak and Shogan sat together beside the
campfire, eating roasted Arctic char. Their faces were bronze with
the glow of the flames and the warmth of the fish in their bellies.
Agatak burped and smiled at his son. He tore off another handful of
fish.
Above them, the northern lights danced in
ropes of colored fire.
~~~~~~~~~
ALAN ANNAND
Alan Annand is a writer of crime fiction,
offering an intriguing blend of mystery, suspense, thriller and New
Age noir . When he’s not dreaming up ingenious ways to kill
people and thrill readers, he occasionally finds therapy in
writing humor, short stories
and faux book reviews.
Before becoming a full-time novelist,
he worked as a technical writer for the railway
industry, a corporate writer for private and public sectors, a
human resources manager and an underground surveyor.
Currently, he divides his time between
writing in the AM, astrology in the PM, and meditation on the OM.
For those who care, he’s an Aries with a dash of Scorpio.
You can find him on Facebook, Goodreads and
LinkedIn,
or follow him on Pinterest, Tumblr and
Twitter.
For more information, see his website
www.sextile.com
~~~
Have you read all of Alan Annand’s
novels?
Please write a review on Amazon and/or
Goodreads.
~~~
AL-QUEBECA
Montreal detective Sophie
Gillette, still mourning the death of her brother during covert ops
in Afghanistan, investigates a fatal hit-and-run, uncovering a
terrorist plot to assassinate an American governor, disable New
England’s electrical grid,
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