I must apologize for taking so long to post this final update to my experience. While I could list any number of reasonings, classification, legal troubles, verification with the others, the truth is much simpler. I simply did not want to think of it. But I have made a commitment to documenting this event, and I must see it through.
If you have not read any of my recollection thus far, you may find the beginning of it here.
It is not easy to describe the choice I was forced into, having just witnessed one of my team be dragged away by a monstrosity that defied explanation, while another stood before me, eyes blank and empty.
“Peter? What do we do?” Beaver asked, his voice quiet. As I looked upon my only remaining comrade, I thought frantically about that question. What could we do?
The mission was over, full stop. I no longer cared if the Center Court-martialed me, or if our enemies found the rifles first. The fallout of either simply wasn’t worth whatever was aboard this ship. Even with that determination, however, my choices seemed sparse.
Fighting that thing was hardly an option, two full magazines, possibly more from the others before they were… I don’t know, taken? All that did was drive it back, and it seemed to move just fine afterwards. Even now I could see no blood where it had once stood, nor down the hall it had taken Tic. Our weapons were tools of deterrence, not victory. Besides, it was entirely possible that there were even more of those things waiting down below. What good would a full magazine be then?
Fleeing was no choice either. Anything that could get us home, the submarine, the raft that had brought us aboard, both stuck on the right side of this blink, and we’d missed our jump back. Were we supposed to swim hundreds of miles in arctic waters, hoping to reach a corrupted variant of a nation hostile to us? That was of course assuming there was anybody there, which, as this ship had made clear, could be entirely untrue. Even if we could somehow make that journey, what if we found more of those things once we made landfall?
It all seemed like a cruel joke, the two most fundamental responses of the human mind to danger, and neither of them were viable to us.
I spared a look at Roid, his blank eyes not even so much as boring into me. He could not even stare, for there was no intention in his gaze. I thought of Tic, surely suffering the same fate, helpless and inert.
That was where I made my choice. I couldn’t get my men off that ship, but I couldn’t abandon them without effort.
I did not respond to Beaver immediately, instead rummaging through Roid’s kit as I searched for what I needed. The man gave no resistance as I pulled the RSh-12 from his person, nor when I opened the cylinder.
5 rounds. 12.7x55mm. My experimental rifle had driven the creature back, and this round was far more powerful. Maybe…
“Peter what are you doing?” I heard my friend ask. I did not respond immediately, instead searching the rest of Roid’s kit, eventually finding what I was looking for; a circular ring of steel. On the ring were five massive rounds, prepped for immediate reload. Ten rounds total. Only after I’d secured these did I begin removing my AKSP.
“I’m going after Tic.” I said.
“What?! Peter that’s insanity!” He replied, quickly lowering his voice once he realized how loud he was being.
Once my rifle was free I began to pull the loaded magazines from my vest. One fully loaded, twenty four rounds. Three spares, now just one had been unloaded. Seventy-two more, ninety six left. Less than a hundred… I hoped to God that was enough.
“He’s one of us, Beaver. These two men we found are gone, but they are alive. Tic must be too.” I explained. Before Beaver could respond, I extended the rifle forward, pressing it into his chest, his hands reaching up in surprise to grab onto it.
“Take this, your 105 is useless.” Beaver’s eyes shot open as he took the weapon in his hands, and even more so as I began removing his carbine magazines and replacing them with mine in his vest.
“This is… Peter you can’t be serious, this is lunacy!”
“It’s been lunacy from the moment Ilyana disappeared, and now it’s claimed our brothers!” I yelled, giving the final magazine a solid push. Taking a step back, I tested the weight of Roid’s revolver in my hands for a moment, the sheer mass of the weapon feeling almost as heavy as the rifle. I thought for a moment about what I was doing, but only a moment. Lunacy, yes. But Tic was down there.
Taking a breath, I slipped the speed loader into my kit before nodding towards Roid, who still hadn’t moved an inch.
“Take him back to the bridge, use the rifle to keep him safe.” Beaver’s gaze seemed to finally break from uncertainty, now flaring with incredulous anger.
“And leave you alone with that thing?!”
“The alternative is leaving Roid alone with it!” I yelled back, holding up the revolver.
“At least I can still hold a weapon!” Beaver’s shoulder slumped as he shook his head, the grip on his rifle tightening.
“Beaver,” I said carefully. He turned to me, fire still in his gaze. “I need you to trust me, brother. I cannot do this alone.”
Beaver’s face twisted a moment, his head shaking as he clenched his eyes shut. Finally, he groaned and looked to Roid, then to me.
“Seven minutes. Seven minutes is all I am willing to give you. If you do not come back before that, I am coming for you.” He declared. I did not object.
Perhaps it was my lingering terror at the creature causing me to hesitate, but I watched Beaver pull at Roid before I turned away. I watched as that bear of a man, once leading the breaches and carrying the heaviest of loadouts, clumsily stumbled along with Beaver. Led along by the hand as if he were a toddler. My heart sank as my mind raced, imagining Tic suffering the same fate, but with no one to guide him. I had to go after him. I had to.
My grip tightened on the revolver as I turned back to the doorway, leading further down into the ship. As part of our operation, we had been equipped with night vision, a precaution for the potential loss of power or the natural darkness of a cargo hold. Staring into the windowless hall way, I found myself grateful as I activated my specs and pulled them over my eyes. The grasping shades quickly became clear, revealing a long hallway before it pivoted, turning left and leading down.
Raising Roid’s revolver, I breathed deeply as I held it at half ready, and stepped into Hell.
The first hallway was almost entirely silent. I suspect this section of the ship may have been either additional crew quarters or some recreational area, judging by the fact it was carpeted. This denied me even the sound of my boots on metal, which only added to the stress bubbling in my head. As I reached halfway, I found myself subconsciously pulling back the hammer of the revolver, hoping that the soft clicking of the metal might calm my nerves.
Even with the circumstances as dire as they were,I found myself instinctively turning towards the various metal doors, each pressed shut. Though my mind urged me to step inside even for a moment, to just clear them to be absolutely sure, I forced myself to walk past them. I didn’t have the ammo to spare, not anymore, and Tic didn’t have the time to lose.
Instead, I found myself breathing in deeply as I shifted the revolver to low ready before making my way down the stairs. These were pure metal, and allowed me to actually hear my progress with each metallic clink as I stepped carefully down them. I tried to hold onto those sounds, hold onto them.
At the bottom of the stairwell, I brought the revolver back to my chest, and felt another pressure in my chest as I noticed a figure, undoubtedly human, lying on the floor, unmoving.
My first thought was that the man was dead, but I quickly noticed that even through the grainy filter of my goggles, there did not seem to be any blood. Of course, this did not rule out the possibility, but without an obvious sign of death, I could not pass him by. Taking a deep breath, I moved closer, lifting the revolver ever so slightly as I kept my ears open for the sound of opening doors, or heavy thuds.
The man was no soldier, I could tell that from his overcoat, thick rain boots, and woolen cap. As I moved to stand over him, my grip tightened for a moment as I saw his face, shriveled, blank, his eyes empty, just like the man in the freezer. Much like Roid.
I gently knelt and moved two fingers to the man’s throat, trying to ignore the shaking in my hand as I did.
There was a pulse, but… it too was wrong. It felt like an average pulse, not weak, not faint, even through my gloves it was clearly there. But it would beat only once, fall silent for maybe three seconds, beat, then fade again. I have read that certain toxins can slow the body’s heart rate, but considering everything else we had seen, I suspected this was no toxin, or if it was, it belonged to the demon.
That thought made me immediately look behind me, raising the weapon as I stared back at the stairway, only to find nothing. It should have comforted me, to know nothing was there, but it only made me dread where these things could be hiding.
“Focus, Peter… Focus.” I told myself as I rose to my feet, cautiously stepping over the sailor.
I’m not sure how long I spent making my way through the Ilyana’s undercarriage. Meticulously tracking my progress seemed useless by the point, so I suppose I stopped paying attention. When I eventually did find a series of signs directing me to the cargo hold, the only indication of time I had was that Beaver had not yet come to drag me away. Every step felt painfully slow and too fast at the same time, the clicking of the revolver’s hammer deathly quiet and maddeningly loud.
More than once, in some desperate hope, I tried to radio Beaver.
“Volkhov-01 to Volkhov-02, what is your status, over?”
Static.
“Volkhov-02, respond over.”
Silence.
“Beaver… please tell me you’re alright, brother.”
Nothing.
A final stairwell lead to a small doorway, leading to what looked like a massive catwalk suspended over a dark pit. I held the revolver as close to my chest as I could, letting the barrel raise ever so slightly as the metallic feedback of my steps began to echo. I took one more deep breath, forcing my hands to steady as I crossed the threshold.
The best way I can describe the immediate feeling of the cargo hold is to compare it to the density of the air to a hard rain. When the water is coming so fiercely it feels almost like hail, and walking through it becomes difficult. Even the scent of a thunderstorm hung in the air, mixing together with the stench of old fuel and rusted metal.
I cannot say that the scent was nauseating, merely pungent. No, what turned my stomach came next.
As I peered over the railing, the night vision allowed me to peer into the grainy black pit below me. Amidst sparse crates and cargo containers, in the absolute center of the chamber were orderly lines of what looked to be men. Though it was difficult to tell from the sheer distance, the shapes were just distinct enough that I could determine they were human. Shape, size, how they stood, it just seemed too perfect.
Part of me considered they were just mannequins, or perhaps draped tarps my mind was projecting onto in the dark. It was a cargo ship, even with a demon stalking it, perhaps my mind was just jumpy? Even then I didn’t believe it. Mannequins on a classified operation? Absurd. As I looked away, watching as the catwalk lead to a zig zagging staircase down to the bottom level, I knew what I believed did not matter.
There is a specific type of dread that falls upon one’s psyche when they believe a threat is stalking them, but cannot spot it. Slowly, I made my way down the steps, peering at every corner of chamber, and even looking up towards the ceiling. No matter how deeply I looked, it was all clear, no sign of the monster. Just grains of green and the trembling frame of the revolver.
Once I had reached the bottom, I turned my attention back to the rows of men, obscured ever so slightly by containers and crates. For a brief moment, it occured to me that one of these likely contained the weapons we were looking for. I had long since stopped caring for the mission at this point, but the idea of raiding them crossed my mind for a more practical reason. Perhaps I could recover one, have something more substantial than ten revolver shots.
No, too risky, I decided. There was no guarantee I’d find them quickly enough. Roid had been carrying the breaching gear, using only what I had would be too time consuming, not to mention loud. If I spent several minutes prying open a container, only for it to be useless junk, and that thing came running, what then? No, best to move quickly, rely on what I knew and what I had.
Step by step, conscious of every movement and small creak, I moved to the men. Steadily they became more clear to me, a mass of safety jackets, thick coats, woolen caps. They stood in orderly lines, five by five, seeming an equate distance from one another. Even as the ship swayed, the men did not move, remaining perfectly upright. Now I knew they could not be mannequins, no non living thing could maintain such balance on a swaying ship.
Even when I was perhaps a meter from them they did not move, did not react to my presence. Just as gone as the men above me. I wondered why they were so orderly, of course, any sane man would. But the nature of my circumstances rendered it a mere passing thought, a brief question before I was pulled back into the steel box. Focus on why you’re here, I thought. Focus.
“Hello?” I asked, more out of a blind hope of some kind of acknowledgment than any actual suspicion. Not one of the men gave me so much as a twitch of the eye. Just stared blankly ahead with those pure white scleras. Yet even as I walked beside them, beholding their horribly wrinkled and waterlogged skin, I saw one thing that gave me hope as I looked forward.
At the front row, mixed in with the sailors, was a man in a military rig, and a holstered sidearm at his side.
“Tic?” I whispered. He did not respond, of course, I knew he wouldn’t. Nevertheless I lowered the revolver and placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling no hint of coldness or dampness to the touch. That brief moment lit a small spark of hope in my chest as I slowly turned him.
“Tic, it’s your Kapitan, it’s Peter.” I whispered, pulling him to me. I wish I could tell you he was not like the rest, that even a shred of humanity remained in him, but as I turned him to face me, I saw only more of the same.
“Tic…” I lamented, praying that he’d at least groan or tilt his head. I’d have even accepted him lunging towards me, clawing at my skin, at least then I would know he was alive, at least then he would still be someone. More than some husk, more than a hollowed out shell!
But he did not respond.
That’s when I heard the thud. A thick, meaty sounding slam against metal.
I turned my head, my hands rushing to grip Roid’s revolver as my heart beat faster. My mind immediately jumped back to the demon and its broken biology. My mind raced, had I been found? Had I sprung a trap? Was it merely returning to gaze upon its horde? I did not know. As I scammed the environment around me, seeing nothing through the sights and green lit chamber, I did not know.
Another thud sounded from the miasma of darkness, and I responded by fully pulling back the hammer. The steel clicking of the weapon echoed ever so faintly, and for a moment I considered if I’d made a critical error. Whether I had or not, I knew this thing likely knew I was here, or perhaps my frightened mind merely convinced me it did. Either way, it did not matter.
I took a brief look behind me, glancing at Tic, motionless in the line, then back to the stairs. Clear, they were clear, I realized.
“Just grab Tic and go…” I ordered myself, “…just take him and leave.”
Wasting no time, I grabbed hold of Tic’s arm, dragging him with me as I held the revolver ready with a single hand. The thing felt like a sack of bricks in my hand, threatening to pull me down as I looked from corner to corner, desperate to see the creature again, and begging not to at the same time. Tic reacted much the same as Roid, stepping clumsily, but obediently as we passed the other men.
Another thud sounded as I glanced above, but I found only the barren ceiling. My heart was now pounding so intensely I could feel it in my ears, and I found myself half running towards the stairs as Tic awkwardly kept pace, half following me and half being dragged. As we reached the steps I took a big step up two pieces of metal, frantically urging my friend to hurry as he fumbled with the first step.
A third thud, louder, closer, drew my eyes up, and for the first time since making my way down there, my heart stopped.
In the grainy vision of my goggles, a massive black hand gently clamped onto one of the storage containers, its bent fingers wrapping almost entirely around it as a small sphere of blackness emerged.
“Tic, come on, we must leave!” I urged him, taking two more big steps up the stairs. I know it is hardly fair, but I felt anger rising in my chest as my friend stumbled, almost falling down the steps before I caught him, and straightened him to the best of my ability as I watched the demon.
Its entire head was out now, slowly peering at me as its secondary arm reached forward and slammed against the ground, its head tilting toward me. It was not predatory, the way this thing looked at me, but more… like a famished man contemplating a steak. No, that is a poor analogy, like a child watching an animal drag away a toy, yes, that is more apt.
Every step I moved felt agonizingly slow, meanwhile the demon became more and more visible, its jagged frame stepping over the lines of men and glaring, if that even is the right word, towards me with a singular focus. I looked up in a brief moment of panic, and cursed, still so far to go… I needed time. More time, more time. Glancing back down, I looked at Roid’s revolver, its steel glistening ever so slightly in the green light. I had no idea if it would do anything… but it was my only chance.
Without a word I released Tic and took the revolver in both hands, steadying my grip just long enough to find the thing’s blank head in the weapon’s sights. The demon stepped past the men and reached out towards me, and I pulled the trigger.
The blast was deafening, amplified by the enclosed space and ringing in my ears as my arms shot up, only just catching myself as I was shoved back by the recoil, and my hands faintly stung even through my gloves. Thank God, the big, heavy hitting round slammed into the creature with a force strong enough not only to stagger it, but to knock it over completely, falling back and collapsing as it began shaking intensely, clawing at its face.
A moment, thank God, a moment!
“Back Devil, stay back!” I yelled as I scrambled to my feet, my hands shaking as I took hold of Tic once more. Despite the revolver being mere centimeters from him, he still showed no response to the events around him. But I forced myself not to think about that as I recommitted to dragging him up the stairs, my eyes never leaving the demon as it flailed.
We had just rounded the second twist of the stairwell when I saw the thing recover, standing upright as its head now shot up towards us. Even without eyes I could see the rage in its stance, but even this seemed impersonal, as if I had merely slammed its hand in a car door.
“Stay away you monster, stay away!” I tried to scream, but the beast ignored me. Without so much as rearing back, the abomination leapt and sailed upwards with impossible strength, its claws clasping onto the steel stairs and shaking them as it clamped.
I let out a startled cry and dropped Tic immediately, and without taking the time to brace myself, fired again.
This time the revolver kicked violently, jamming my back into the slabs of metal as I coughed out in sudden pain. The monster likewise reacted with a sudden burst of agony, rearing back as it flailed and released the stairwell for only a moment, then in desperation reached forward. I do not know if it was trying to grab me or simply trying to prevent its fall, but in the moment I ducked just in time to avoid its grasp, and it instead pulled away a section of the stairs with a horrid shrieking as the metal screamed and ripped apart.
Unfortunately, the sheer weight of the disturbance shook the stairwell violently, and Tic, comatose as he was, could not brace himself… as the steel trembled and groaned, he fell against the now exposed side of the stairs… and fell.
“TIC!” I looked over the edge, hoping against hope that I could somehow retrieve my fallen brother. But as I looked, I saw the thing flat on its back, flailing and scrambling against the pain, all while Tic lay motionless on its frame.
“No! NO NO NO!” I screamed. I cussed and swore like an old sailor, my back burning as slammed my open hand on what remained of the metal. It wasn’t fair, I thought, it wasn’t…
I wanted to stay, please believe me. I wanted to save my brother, I didn’t want to abandon him… please believe that.
But staring at the creature furiously scrambling, seeing the sheared metal and jagged steel… I knew there was nothing more I could do. So I ran.
I ran and ignored the sound of heavy thuds behind me, ignored the pounding in my head, the screaming that I need to go back. I ran, my breathing heavy as I nearly slammed into the upper railing out of the cargo hold and back into the hall.
As I crossed the threshold, taking me out of that accursed place, I chanced one last look behind me, and witnessed the hand of the thing shakily grab hold of the catwalk, angrily pulling itself up, a cold fury on its non existent features. I considered firing off one more round, payment for Tic and one last defiant roar, but I thought against it.
I simply ran, through the corridors and back up the initial hallway, up the stairs and past the rooms I’d failed to clear. All the while I could hear the frantic and determined pounding of steel behind me, the cracking and popping of nonexistent bones and broken joints. I did not chance another look behind me. Not as I burst through the cafeteria, not as I shot out the other side into that first hall, not as I charged up the steps bringing me back to the deck.
I didn’t immediately register the dampness deck or the ice cold breeze, even as I slid on its the wet surface. More out of instinct than anything, I reached a hand out and took hold of the thick railing on the side of the ship, and steadied myself. As I held myself half fallen on the deck, I could still hear the clawing, grating shrieks of the steel hull as the thing chased behind me. It occurred to me long after the fact that the creature never once roared or even screamed, it only silently chased after me. Even when chasing something it so clearly hated, it was silent. Even the act of defiance was merely a nuisance.
“Peter!” I heard faintly, a scream clearly shouted as loud as possible, yet still almost nothing against the wind. Looking to the bridge, I could see Beaver, my only remaining man, my only evidence of being a good Kapitan. I did not respond to him. No, I instead tried to scramble to my feet, aiming Roid’s revolver at the opening in the deck.
What came next was… something I can’t explain. Not fully, at least.
I watched as the beast clambered around the hall below, and grit my teeth as I placed my finger around the trigger. Another shot rang out, but aim failed me, and the bullet went wide as it pierced the side of the hull. I cursed and backed away as the thing began climbing. I tried to force my hand to steady, counting each of my shots up to this moment. Two in the cargo, one now, two shots left, no time for a reload.
Across from me I could see Beaver readying his weapon as the massive claw broke through the opening on the deck, my heart pounding as it dragged itself up and peered over the edge in a bitter rage. But just as the monster began to clear the opening, we were all of us blinded by sudden strike of lightning, no more than a few meters from the ship and throwing me off balance.
Across the deck I could just see the outlines of… something almost human in the form of a massive shadow, stretching across even the bridge. Though I could not see what was casting the shadow, I found myself filled with awe and terror that left my knees weak. Another crack of lightning extended the shadow beyond the entirety of the ship, and to my horror, caused even the demon to shudder in place, trembling and retreating back into the cursed under chambers.
And somehow, despite the intensity of the lightning and the shattering crack of thunder, I heard a voice.
I… cannot describe this voice. It was neither man, nor woman, neither deep nor high, and with a tone that carried both authority and none at all. All the voice said was;
“Flee.”
The moment its voice faded, I felt that same, lurching feeling from before, rocking me forward and slamming my frame against the deck. My head throbbed and my stomach churned, had it not been for my hand being pinned to the floor by the sheer force of the jump, I suspect I would have lost Roid’s revolver. I could hear words but again they merged together, becoming impossible to understand as they sounded thousands of yards above me in a deep sea.
Slowly, my senses returned, my breath felt heavy, and tasted of sea salt and ice. Looking above me, the sky was once again clear, the wind had been reduced to a casual breeze, and the air felt easier to breathe. I wasn’t sure what had happened at first, had I died? Had we blinked back? How? Why?
Across from me I could see Beaver, his eyes wide and fallen to his knees. I can’t explain why but, seeing him I feared the worst. Even from this distance I could see his eyes were intact, nowhere near the brokenness of those below deck. But I also noted his stillness, the slack grip of the rifle, the tears rolling down his cheek. Not him too, I begged…
“Beaver…” I coughed. Nothing. No… God please…
“BEAVER!” I screamed. To my relief, he startled, blinking several times as he looked around in shock, then at me. He didn’t say a word, and neither did I.
“Volkhov-01 this is Volkhov-05, welcome back from your first jump. Requesting radio check from all fireteam members, over.” That one radio message nearly broke me. Pepper. That was Pepper’s voice. First jump. Looking down to my watch… seven minutes. Seven minutes from when we’d first crossed over…
“Volkhov-05…” I muttered, “…get us off this ship now.”
I had no answer to give the Center about Tic disappearing, or why Roid’s eyes had gone fully white. I’m not sure what it was that Beaver saw, but it left him unable to speak for a full week. I am sure that my superiors wanted to court martial me, to condemn me for failing the mission so catastrophically. In this way, the trauma of my fellows somehow aided me. I could not provide answers they believed, but the impossible nature of the mission and the sheer devastation to my team served as a sorry proof all its own.
From what I hear, the Ilyana is still out there, has been for some time now. Command is torn between trying to get her back, and staying away as per my recommendation. When Beaver regained his senses after that week, he was quick to back me up, insisting that we had seen things that should never be witnessed. I am still debating on whether I am grateful for his help, or if I wish he’d simply never been there. Most days, I think he asks the same question.
We never found Tic, and even further drone footage determined that the cargo hold, at least on our side, was empty. No sign of him, nor the crew, and thank Heaven, the Center had not been foolish enough to send another team. The last I heard, Roid had been transferred to one of the finest hospitals in Russia, and even they could not help him, not so far at least. I have not been allowed to visit him, but I am told that at the very least, though his catatonic nature remains, his irises have returned, so… small victories I suppose.
Pepper asks me often what happened aboard that ship, and I tell him what I can. I cannot tell if he believes me, but I suspect he at least accepts it more than command. He was there, after all, even if he did not experience what we did, he watched the Ilyana vanish all the same.
That leaves only me. I am somewhere between active and retired. Officially, I have not been discharged, but, I suspect the Center is speaking. They cannot call me unstable, but I do hear them comparing me to a broken shovel. Honestly, I cannot say I care what they decide at this point. War, no war, it makes no difference. I know what I experienced in that blink.
At the top of this recollection, I told you that conflict is the natural state of our species. Now I understand why.
Whatever that thing was in the ship, or the shadow that threatened it, they were greater than anything we, the west, or any nation can achieve. And even they were in conflict.
If even the things beyond us are drawn to war… what chance do we have?