Fiction

EnZi Part One Odesa Chapter 20 The Stakes Are Raised

by Stanislav Dema
02/01/26
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Mood: 

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Scar Tissue

We were sitting on the veranda again under the shade of the grapevines. This time, the entire "Poseidon" crew was gathered around the table: tired, excited by recent events, but grateful to fate for the chance to spend time with these wonderful people, Vasilis and Ester.

The hosts welcomed us as if we were part of their family. And although no one had expected guests in such numbers, they managed to set the table quickly and generously—as only people whose hearts are larger than their purses know how.

On the table lay two of their usual loaves—dense, fragrant rustic sourdough bread, baked just that morning. And to make the lunch festive, Ester had rolled out dough in a matter of minutes and baked hot flatbreads—slightly toasted, with a crispy crust, brushed with olive oil. With them, she served a bowl of honey with crushed walnuts and cinnamon. The hungry lads from the "Poseidon" nearly forgot about the main course, tearing off piece after piece of flatbread and dipping it into the amber treat.

The main dish of the table was a large clay pot of roast—stewed chicken with potatoes, onions, wine, and herbs. It seemed they had slaughtered two chickens for our sake: the meat was tender, juicy, soaked in lemon, thyme, and rosemary.

Nearby, Ester placed goat cheese—soft, fresh, fragrant. To accompany the meat—a sauce of olive oil, mustard, and honey.

She had also managed to prepare two pies: one open—with onions, egg, and bryndza; the second—closed, simple, rustic, but so fragrant that it made all our heads spin.

In the center of the table stood a salad—tomatoes, cucumbers, sweet onions, basil, feta, olive oil. Ordinary products, but presented in such a way that they seemed brighter and tastier than anything we had eaten before.

For the guests, Vasilis brought out a bottle of wine, the very one I had gifted him yesterday. He opened it solemnly—as if we were having a big family celebration.

We ate in silence—not because there was nothing to talk about, but because the food truly demanded respect. In every dish, there was sincerity, generosity, and attention to the guest.

When the plates were empty, Ester placed a large porcelain teapot in the middle of the table.

— Tea from the Carpathians, — she said. — Thyme, mint, willow-herb, rosehip. And with it—blueberry jam.

Fragrant steam rose above the cups, and it was as if something inside each of us relaxed. We sat inhaling the aroma of the mountains, and for the first time that day, felt calm.

And it was over this tea that a serious conversation began. It was time to make sense of the situation.

The conversation began calmly—with my account of what had happened in the dungeon. Questions and clarifications followed. But as soon as the submarine was mentioned, Vasilis immediately became serious. In his gaze appeared that expression found in people accustomed to assessing the situation, calculating risks, and making decisions.

He turned to Petro and Kostya:

— Let's go over it again. In detail. What exactly did you see?

Both recounted what they had seen: the presence of a snorkel, the silhouette, approximate dimensions, the shape of the conning tower, the hull coating, the crew's actions. Vasilis listened without interrupting—only nodding occasionally. When they finished, he exhaled like a man who had finally formed an opinion.

— Yes... — he said quietly. — You identified it correctly. This is a Type XVIII, and judging by the description, modification Ausführung B. A very rare, newest ship.

He paused, and it was evident—he was choosing his words.

— The Type XVIII itself is the pinnacle of engineering thought. The Germans were the first to create a working snorkel, and this... — he shook his head slightly, — this is, of course, a brilliant solution, though it lies on the surface. An obvious idea: the boat travels underwater, and takes in air through a retractable device. Engines run, the crew breathes, only a small pipe is visible on the surface.

— But! — his voice became firmer. — The snorkel is not a miracle. The idea of such a device has long been discussed in naval circles. Sooner or later someone had to embody it in metal.

He leaned forward slightly.

— But what Kostya noticed—the leviathan skin...

Here his voice became quieter.

— That is something else. Something completely different.

He set aside his cup, moved closer to the table, and began to explain:

— In underwater acoustics, there is an important concept—acoustic signature.

This is the totality of all noises that an underwater vehicle emits in the water: machinery and equipment noise, propeller shaft rotation frequency, hull structure resonance, propeller cavitation noise, hydrodynamic noise, and characteristics of the reflected active sonar pulse.

Each submarine sounds in its own way—like a unique voice.

He paused.

— An ordinary steel submarine, even at low speed, leaves a distinct acoustic trail.

Active sonar sends a pulse—the hard hull returns a clear response.

By the parameters of this response, the hydroacoustic system can determine not only the presence of an object but also the approximate class of the boat.

Then he raised a finger:

— But here is what this new coating does... This is a completely different level of technology.

He spoke slower, emphasizing every thought:

— Firstly, the specialized coating with a porous structure of variable density dampens structural vibrations of the hull.

Machinery noise, instead of radiating into the water, dissipates and is absorbed within the coating.

This reduces the boat's self-noise by an order of magnitude.

— Secondly, the material effectively absorbs the incoming active sonar pulse.

That is, the sonar receives a reflection not from metal, but from the surface of the absorbing coating.

He leaned closer:

— And most importantly—such a shell alters the phase and amplitude structure of the return wave.

The sonar expects a clear echo signal from a normal hard surface but receives a response without characteristic spectral peaks.

The hydroacoustic system automatically recognizes this as random background noise.

That is, the boat literally becomes invisible in the sonar field of view.

He leaned back in his chair.

— That is why the Coast Guard boats detected nothing.

It is not operator error.

You were up against a boat acoustically camouflaged so well that with existing technologies, it is practically indistinguishable from the natural noises of the sea.

Then his gaze became serious:

— Do you understand what this means?

A power has entered the game that is not just strong. It possesses technologies of the future, capabilities, and the political will to apply them for a goal no one should know about.

Now you are not just looking for the key to En-zi and the Shamir.

You have entered into competition with an adversary who is practically unlimited in resources.

You can have only one advantage. Detailed information about En-zi and knowledge of the truth about its nature. Forewarned is forearmed. And I am sure you and Zusya can get all this from the Keepers of Sanctity—people who have been gathering this knowledge for centuries.

It so happens that most members of this brotherhood live in Odesa. Ester is a representative of one such family. I am sure Zusya has already established contact with them.

— Well then, Chelago, — Vasilis sighed, — you will have to work hard in the archives. Especially since you already have rich experience in such matters. I think you will succeed. But adventures will have to wait for a while. I see our German friend gave you quite a beating.

I tried to answer with a joke, but took too deep a breath, and a painful groan escaped my chest. Vasilis frowned:

— Listen, friend... how did he get you? What's injured?

I took a cautious breath—and pain immediately flooded under my ribs.

— Nothing terrible, — I hissed. — Two ribs damaged. Shoulder—feels like a bull gored me. But I’ll live.

Petro, who was listening attentively and nodding, said:

— Confirmed. Fractures without displacement—that is already good news. I applied a tight bandage fixing the chest so it doesn't move when breathing. The shoulder is better—a severe contusion, deep, but no fractures. I cooled it with chloroethane to stop the swelling. I had a couple of ampules left from my service.

Then he looked at me strictly:

— Operative work will have to wait for now. Can't say exactly, but for a few weeks. In three or four days, you'll be able to sleep without pain. The injuries aren't that serious. But all the same: we will definitely do an X-ray in the city. Need to make sure there are no other damages.

I nodded wearily:

— Thank you, Petro.

He smiled, slightly embarrassed:

— Oh, trifles. We Plastuns know field medicine. Not the first time pulling people out of tight spots.

Vasilis looked at me with an attentive, long gaze:

— Chelago... you got extremely lucky. This man could have seriously crippled you. Or killed you.

— I think, — I said, carefully touching my bruised shoulder, — he had a direct order not to kill me. They still need me. I am absolutely certain: they will track me until the moment I lead them to En-zi myself.

If they have already involved an entire underwater cruiser in surveillance—it means they understand I am a key figure in this whole story.

I chuckled, wincing from pain:

— And logically... If he wanted to kill me—he would have simply shot me. He had a revolver. After all, he shot at Kostya without any hesitation. But, now I remember, he even wrapped the revolver grip in cloth. He hit not to cripple, but to switch me off for a while.

I sighed:

— So yes... They need me alive. And that, if you think about it, is even worse.

I wanted to ask who that man in the wetsuit could be, but Vasilis beat me to it. He raised his eyebrows slightly and said:

— I think I know who your mysterious opponent is.

— By all appearances, — he continued, — this is an agent of German intelligence. The very one led by General von Tiefenbach, whom I knew even before the war. We met at a conference on maritime security issues. So, at dinner then, he drank far more than a man of his position should have—and became frank.

He pursed his lips slightly.

— Boasted like a schoolboy. Spoke of some secret unit Übermenschen—combat swimmers capable of covertly disembarking from a submarine and returning using a special underwater vehicle.

And so, — he looked at me, — it is with such a "superman" that you clashed.

He shifted his gaze to Kostya:

— Kostya, honestly... it is amazing that you are alive at all.

And that Chelago is alive too. Yes, I agree, the agent had orders not to kill, but only to stun and incapacitate for a while. Though a blow to the head with a piece of iron, which he intended to deliver... — Vasilis shook his head. — Such things sometimes cripple for life. So you, Kostya, truly saved our friend.

He paused.

— But here is what I don't understand: how did this man not hit you when you were shining the lantern in the tunnel? Those are ideal conditions for hitting a target.

Kostya blushed slightly, but pride flashed in his eyes. He cast a quick glance at Petro and answered:

— To be honest, Pan Vasilis... Petro saved me.

Petro smiled slightly with the corner of his lips but remained silent.

Kostya continued:

— He likes to tell me different tricks they were taught in the Plastun unit. One of the main rules for contact in the dark, in a confined space: hold the lantern at arm's length away from the body.

Professional shooters are always taught to shoot precisely at the light source.

He showed with his hand how it looked.

— That's how I walked: beam—to the left, and myself—to the right. Two flashes—and I immediately switched off the lantern and dropped to the ground. Let the enemy think he hit.

And judging by how confidently he ran, he really thought so.

Kostya inhaled air:

— When he passed me, I grabbed his legs, knocked him to the ground—and our struggle began.

He shook his head, remembering.

— I tell you... the strength of this brute was like a bear's. I don't consider myself a weak man, but there it looked like a primary schooler wrestling a grown man.

In the end, he applied some painful hold—I didn't even understand how, but my hands unclenched by themselves. He jumped to his feet and ran away so fast I didn't have time to do anything.

He chuckled:

— So... your words, Pan Vasilis, about these Übermenschen of yours—are not exactly an exaggeration.

I was silent, digesting everything I heard. We sat under the grape shade, the wind quietly rustled the leaves, and the same thought gave me no peace. Finally, I decided:

— Kostya... but how did you end up there? How did you even understand I needed help?

He lowered his eyes, his face took on a guilty expression—uncharacteristic for him.

— Chelago... I was following you, — he said quietly.

He raised his gaze—direct, honest.

— You see... from the moment we discovered the submarine shadowing us, I immediately realized: it is watching not our shalanda, but specifically you. Our humble "Poseidon" cannot be of interest to such a force.

So I decided: one pair of eyes is good, but two—better. Need to stay close and watch, in case you need help.

He paused, took a sip of wine, as if gathering his thoughts.

— After unloading, I went to the outpost. Said we had engine trouble and needed time for maintenance. They gave us the go-ahead to stay on the island.

I ordered the lads to bring weaponry to full readiness—just in case. And I took binoculars, a flare gun, and went up to the terrace, on the high ground. From there, the whole island is in the palm of your hand.

He pointed toward the cliff.

— At some point, I saw you and Vasilis approach the temple. You talked... he left, and you went down into the dungeon.

I became anxious. I took the binoculars again, scanned the bushes around—and suddenly noticed a dark shadow. It stood motionless, and then very slowly, very carefully began to approach the entrance. Then I realized: something went wrong. I had to be there.

He sighed.

— While I descended, while I found the entrance—quite a bit of time passed. Inside, I got lost altogether, after all, I didn't have your map. Those tunnels there—devil break a leg.

But suddenly... it was as if something called me.

He grimaced, trying to find the words.

— It's hard to explain. As if... a radio turned on in my head. And an announcer with a calm voice began to narrate some strange presentation.

I remembered one of the scariest days in service with the Coast Guard—when we were on duty at sea and plane wreckage was falling on us from above, and we were pulling downed pilots from the water... And here the voice was as if from there—from an alien, foggy world.

Kostya shook his head.

— Then this "announcer" began saying something about situation correction... And at that moment, everything inside me dropped.

It immediately became quiet—and as if someone turned me to face the right direction. I didn't fall into a stupor like you... Probably because I was far from the artifact. But this strange feeling—it led me straight to where I needed to be.

He looked at me seriously.

— I entered the hall at the exact moment when that guy was approaching you and preparing to bash you on the head with the revolver. It looked like one more second—and that's it.

I took out the flare gun... fired... well, and you know the rest.

He spread his hands.

— That's the whole story.