Chapter 18
We climbed aboard the Leviathan like creatures born from the sea, water streaming from our black rubber suits in rivulets that pooled on the deck.
The crew maintained a careful distance as we emerged, their faces a study in conflicted emotions—relief at our return, awe at what they had witnessed from the ship’s deck, and the ever-present undercurrent of fear that accompanied their every interaction with us.
I peeled back my hood, feeling the night air against my face like a caress after the crushing pressure of the deep.
My flock gathered around me, their expressions revealing varying degrees of exhilaration and disquiet.
Ruth’s eyes still showed excitement, while Thomas held an intense focus and stiff shoulders.
Dr. Gallow materialized from the shadows, clipboard already in hand, his pen poised to document our return. “Any casualties?” he inquired, the question directed at Mercer rather than me, despite my standing mere inches away.
Mercer’s lips curled upward as he peeled the wetsuit from his shoulders.
“None on our side,” he said, water dripping from his slicked-back hair.
“We neutralized most of the crew.” His eyes gleamed with satisfaction before darting toward me, hardening.
“Though some remain merely... incapacitated.” He turned to Gallow.
“Have the Osprey intercept the U-boat’s position.
Those Germans still breathing should be in Allied custody before their fleet can mount a rescue. ”
Gallow’s pen paused mid-stroke, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “You left some of them alive? That wasn’t the operational directive.”
“The operational directive was to neutralize the threat and secure intelligence,” I interjected before Mercer could respond. “Both objectives were achieved.”
Mercer’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Miss Bladewell advocated for a less... permanent approach to the German crew. Given the circumstances, I deemed it an acceptable modification to the plan.”
The admission clearly cost him, yet he offered it nonetheless. A small victory, but significant. Dr. Gallow made a notation on his clipboard, his expression unreadable behind the reflection of his glasses.
Gallow’s lips thinned to a bloodless line.
“How... accommodating of you, Captain,” he said, each syllable brittle as ice.
His pen scratched viciously across his clipboard.
“I’m certain General Gantry will be most interested in this deviation from protocol.
” A tight smile appeared and vanished. “But what’s done is done, I suppose. ”
The crew hurried to collect our specialized gear as we dispersed to change into dry clothing.
I caught fragments of their whispered conversations—awestruck recountings of how we had disappeared into the ocean depths and emerged victorious less than an hour later.
One young sailor crossed himself as Ruth passed by, her predatory grace apparently more unsettling on the return than during the departure.
Later, in the officers’ wardroom where Mercer had convened us to debrief, the true consequences of our approach became apparent.
Maps spread across the table showed the planned movements of the German Wolf Pack—intelligence that would save countless Allied lives in the coming weeks.
Codebooks captured intact would allow our cryptographers to decipher enemy communications for months.
“The mission was a success,” Mercer acknowledged, his finger tracing the U-boat’s planned route across the Atlantic. “Though my approach would have been cleaner.”
“Cleaner?” I scoffed. “You mean bloodier. With more bodies.”
“I mean with fewer complications,” he corrected sharply. “Those sailors will be interrogated. They’ll report being attacked by something... unnatural. Questions will be asked.”
“Questions without answers,” Desiderius interjected. “They were unconscious during most of the encounter. Their accounts will be dismissed as panic, trauma, perhaps hallucinations caused by oxygen deprivation.”
“Or superstition,” I added. “Fear of the unknown is a powerful weapon. Let them wonder what struck from the depths.”
Mercer’s lips curved into something approximating a smile. “You’re thinking more tactically than I expected, Miss Bladewell.”
I met his gaze directly. “If effectiveness means leaving witnesses to spread uncertainty and fear rather than leaving corpses to be counted, so be it.”
The successful operation shifted something in the air between us—not friendship, certainly, but perhaps a grudging mutual respect. When Dr. Gallow arrived to escort us back to our quarters, Desiderius spoke up with an authority I hadn’t heard him exercise since our conscription.
“Our flock performed admirably tonight,” he stated. “They deserve better accommodation than the cargo hold you’ve assigned them.”
Gallow glanced toward Mercer, clearly uncertain whose authority took precedence in this matter. Mercer studied us for a long moment before nodding slightly.
“The officer’s quarters on D Deck are currently unoccupied,” he conceded. “Make the arrangements, Doctor.”
“And access to the chapel for regular services,” I added, pressing our advantage. “Not merely during designated rest periods, but as a standard part of their training regimen.”
A muscle twitched in Mercer’s jaw, but he inclined his head in agreement. “Within reason. Combat readiness remains the priority.”
“Faith is part of their readiness,” I countered. “As tonight demonstrated.”
He didn’t argue further, which I took as tacit acceptance. Small victories again, but they accumulated like drops of water gradually reshaping stone.
Hours later, after the flock had settled into their improved quarters, I found myself drawn to the ship’s deck.
The night had deepened, clouds obscuring both moon and stars, leaving only a perfect, velvet darkness pressed against the Leviathan as we continued our journey toward Europe.
I stood at the railing, the Bishop’s manual of prayers open in my hands.
I sensed Desiderius before I saw him. He joined me at the railing without speaking, his gaze fixed on the invisible horizon where water met sky in perfect blackness.
“They performed well tonight,” he said finally. “Better than I expected, considering their limited training.”
“Faith guided them as much as discipline,” I replied. “Even Thomas recovered his control when reminded of his purpose.”
“Purpose is a powerful anchor,” Desiderius agreed. He gestured toward the prayer book in my hands. “I wouldn’t mind borrowing a few of those prayers. If you don’t mind.”
I traced the embossed leather of the cover, finding the small cross worked into its corner. “Bishop Harkins understood the true nature of our mission. He included a passage about carrying light into darkness, rooted in the twenty-third Psalm, that I find particularly comforting now.”
“‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,’” Desiderius quoted softly.
“‘I will fear no evil,’” I completed. “For even in darkness, we are not forsaken.”
A third presence joined us, appearing from the shadows with preternatural silence. Captain Mercer’s silhouette took shape against the railing several feet away, his posture rigid as always, yet somehow less adversarial than before.
We stood in silence for several moments, three immortals bound together by circumstance rather than choice, each carrying decades—or even centuries—of different experiences.
The ship’s engines thrummed beneath our feet, driving us ever closer to a war whose scale and savagery would dwarf even our considerable lifespans.
“The Germans have a concept,” Mercer said suddenly, his voice carrying easily despite the wind.
“D?mmerung—the twilight, neither day nor night, but something in between.” He turned slightly, his profile sharp against the darkness.
“Perhaps there’s room for both prayer and predator in this war.
Neither fully blessed nor fully damned, but something in between. ”
The observation surprised me, not merely for its insight but for the recognition it contained—an acknowledgment, however oblique, that our approaches might complement rather than oppose each other.
“The Bishop would say that all of the creation groans for redemption,” I replied carefully. “Even those parts that seem furthest from grace.”
Mercer’s laugh held little humor but no malice either. “A comforting thought for those who need comfort.” He straightened, adjusting his uniform with habitual precision. “But I’ve found purpose sufficient. As did your flock tonight.”
He departed as silently as he had arrived, leaving Desiderius and me alone with the darkness once more. He remained silent for several minutes before speaking again.
“He is not wrong,” Desiderius observed. “Purpose sustained me for centuries before I found faith.”
“But was it enough?” I asked. “Was purpose alone sufficient to keep the monster at bay?”
His silence was answer enough. I clutched the prayer book closer, finding strange reassurance in its solid weight.
We were entering waters both literal and figurative that none of us had navigated before—vampire soldiers in a human war, spiritual creatures forced into pragmatic violence, the holy and unholy combined in service to temporal powers.
As the first faint trace of dawn threatened the eastern horizon, forcing us to retreat below decks, I wondered what Bishop Harkins would make of our uneasy alliance with Mercer.
Would he see divine providence in this arrangement, as he had suggested during our last meeting?
Or would he recognize the danger of compromise, the slippery slope from necessary violence to embracing the very darkness we sought to transcend?
The question would have to wait. For now, we sailed on through darkness—toward the heart of history’s greatest war. What we would find there, and what it would make of us, remained hidden in shadow. But that didn’t mean we were without light.