We approached the submarine from three vectors, just as Mercer had planned.His Alpha team positioned themselves near the conning tower, their dark forms barely distinguishable from the ocean itself.Desiderius led Beta team toward the rear of the vessel where the engine room would be located.My own Gamma team followed me toward the center section that would house the command room and intelligence materials.
The U-boat rested just below the surface, its crew likely unaware of our approach.No human eye could detect us at this depth; no instrument would register our presence.We were shadows moving through shadow, predators gliding toward unsuspecting prey.
Mercer raised his fist, the signal to hold position.We hovered in the water around the submarine like bizarre aquatic angels—or demons, perhaps—awaiting his command.He pointed to a hatch on the U-boat’s upper hull, then to himself and his team.Three fingers extended, then two, then one...
The water barely slowed Vincent as he seized the hatch wheel, his fingers leaving indentations in the metal as he twisted.The mechanism gave way with a muffled underwater groan.Water began pouring into the opening, but Mercer’s team was already descending through it, entering the submarine like a nightmare made manifest.
Desiderius motioned to his team, directing them toward an emergency escape hatch near the engine compartment.Their hands moved with the deliberate care of surgeons rather than soldiers, prying open the hatch with controlled strength.Seawater rushed through the opening, cascading into the submarine’s interior—a second flood to compound the chaos of Mercer’s initial breach.
My team followed me to a maintenance access port midway along the hull.With the precision of a safecracker, Brother Andrew applied just enough force to compromise the seal without rendering it unusable.We slipped through the narrow opening into darkness and chaos.
The submarine’s interior assaulted my senses immediately—the metallic tang of recycled air, the sharp scent of diesel fuel, and the unmistakable aroma of human perspiration.Heartbeats thundered around us, accelerating with panic as alarms blared and water poured in through the breaches we had created.The corridor we entered was painfully narrow, forcing us to move single file through its cramped confines.Pipes and cables ran along the ceiling like exposed veins, while metal walls pressed in from all sides.
German voices shouted commands, footsteps pounded against grated flooring, and through it all, I could hear Mercer’s team engaging the enemy in the torpedo room.The sounds of struggle were brief—too brief.I pushed forward, Constance and Brother Andrew close behind, navigating by sound and scent rather than sight in the near-darkness.
We encountered our first German sailor at a junction in the corridor—a young man, barely out of boyhood, his eyes widening with terror as he registered our inhuman appearance.Before he could shout, Brother Andrew had him pinned against the wall, one hand clamped over his mouth.
I leaned closer to the terrified sailor.“The command center,” I whispered in English, forgetting myself in the moment.The boy’s eyes rolled wildly, his pulse hammering against Brother Andrew’s restraining hand.Confusion flickered across his face alongside the fear.Constance stepped forward, her German crisp and authoritative: “Das Kommandozentrum.Wo ist es?”I pressed two fingers to his temple, employing the gentle persuasion that came naturally to our kind, as Constance added, “Sag es uns, und du wirst nicht verletzt werden.”
His resistance crumbled, and he pointed shakily down the left corridor.Brother Andrew rendered him unconscious with a precise blow, then lowered him carefully to the floor.No blood spilled, no life extinguished.Temporary mercies in the midst of violence.Given the breaches we’d torn in their submarine, it was likely they wouldn’t survive, regardless.Soon, they’d have to abandon ship into the icy waters and hope for rescue, or even capture.
We moved toward the command center, encountering two more sailors whom we similarly subdued.The submarine rocked suddenly—Desiderius’ team reaching the engine room, I presumed.The lights flickered, then stabilized, casting the narrow corridors in a sickly yellow glow that did nothing to improve our surroundings.
The command center door was sealed, but Constance wrenched it open with a strength that belied her slight frame.Inside, three officers stood frozen in shock, their hands hovering over control panels and communication equipment.I stepped forward, assuming the authority I had wielded at the convent.
“No one needs to die here.”I paused, glancing at Constance, who nodded and translated in flawless German, her voice carrying the crisp authority of a native speaker: “Niemand muss hier sterben.”I continued, “Surrender, and you will be treated according to the conventions of war,” watching as Constance rendered my promise into words the officers could understand, their eyes darting between us.
The senior officer, a grizzled man with iron-gray hair, reached for his sidearm.Constance moved faster than human eyes could track, disarming him before his fingers closed around the grip.His shock gave way to a different kind of fear as he finally comprehended what confronted him.
“Was sind Sie?”he whispered.What are you?
I offered no answer, instead directing Brother Andrew to secure the intelligence materials—codebooks, maps, communication logs—while Constance and I bound the officers with cord stripped from nearby equipment.Through the bulkhead, I could hear Mercer’s team moving methodically through the torpedo room.A scream cut short told me his methods remained less restrained than my own.
I left Constance to guard our prisoners and moved toward the sound, navigating the submarine’s labyrinthine interior by instinct more than sight.The torpedo room was larger than the other compartments, designed to house the massive weapons that gave the U-boat its deadly purpose.I entered to find Mercer standing over a line of kneeling German sailors, his expression coldly triumphant.
“These are the last,” he informed me, gesturing to the subdued men.“The others have been...neutralized.”
The pause before his last word told me everything I needed to know.Blood scented the air, though less than I had feared.He had been efficient, if not merciful.
“They’re disarmed and no threat,” I observed, moving to stand between him and the kneeling Germans.“There’s no need for further violence.”
“We discussed this already,” Mercer replied.“Witnesses are a liability.”
“Unconscious sailors require no further attention,” I countered.“This vessel will likely sink, regardless.Even if it doesn’t, why not capture these men as prisoners of war?There is no need to commit further violence, to risk bloodshed that will only compromise our control.”
Something flickered in his ancient eyes—respect, perhaps, or simple acknowledgment that my argument held tactical merit.He nodded once, sharply.“Render them unconscious.But if a single one of them so much as moves, I will revisit this decision.”
I moved along the line of sailors, pressing my thumb firmly against the carotid artery in each man’s neck—a technique Brother Andrew had taught us from his days in the French Foreign Legion.With precise pressure applied to the right spot, blood flow to the brain was temporarily restricted.Their eyes rolled back as consciousness fled, bodies slumping to the deck one after another, falling like dominoes.
Meanwhile, Desiderius had systematically disabled the submarine’s communications and navigation equipment.I found him in the radio room, his fingers moving with surgical precision as he removed key components and severed connections.
“The engines are inoperable,” he reported.“We’ve opened the seacocks slightly—enough to force them to surface but not enough to sink them immediately.They will be found by Allied ships within hours.”
A crash from the galley interrupted our conversation.I rushed to find Thomas and Catherine—the youngest of our vampires—trembling violently, their eyes darkened to obsidian pools, fangs fully extended.A German cook lay unconscious at their feet, a small cut on his forehead releasing the scent of blood into the confined space.
“Focus,” I commanded, stepping between them and the fallen man.I touched the olive-wood rosary through my wetsuit.“Pater noster, qui es in caelis,” I began in a whisper, the familiar prayer falling from my lips.
Catherine’s eyes softened, her breathing slowing as she forced her fangs to retract.Thomas took longer, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he battled the hunger that threatened to overwhelm him.
