[ WP ] A downed nuclear submarine calls for help in the depths of the ocean . Surprisingly enough , mermaids respond .


 # # # # Mermaids 
 
 The rotten taste of a dry tongue in his mouth, Eric opened his eyes. With a short look around he made sure that his dreamless sleep had indeed put him back into the nightmare he just had taken a break from. Right beside his bed was a gangway of thin sheet metal, barely wide enough for one person. And then, wall. Curved, laden with all kinds of pipes and cables, black steel. He was definitely still there. 
 
 Slowly, his whole body aching, craving water, food and oxygen, he slid from the thin mattress of folded clothing. Technically, Eric was lucky compared to most of the crew down the hallway, somehow sleeping on the bare pipes in the boiler room. He chuckled at the thought of the mere existence of luck, down here, in the cold hell called ocean. Then again, when he realized that he just had made some kind of joke. 
 
 The floor creaked as he moved his boots across it, tiredly shuffling towards the hatch leading to the communications room. It was only a dozen meters away, but every step was an ordeal. When Eric finally stepped through the metal ring, he already was out of breath, cold sweat soaking his tanktop. Another three steps and he had reached the radio operator, a young man, pale as death beneath his tanned skin, rhythmically hammering onto a small device beneath his right hand. 
 
 Eric laid his hand on the operator's shoulder and squeezed it softly. The man turned his head, his lifeless eyes failed to focus. A small nod, then the same as response. No one wanted to waste their breath with talking, wanted to go through the act of ripping their dried up vocal cords open. Within a moment, the two had swapped positions and Eric slipped the sweaty leather headphones on, laid his own hand on the small device. A handwritten, yellow note in front of him displayed the message he would have to send for the next couple of hours. 
 
 SOS 
 USS NAUTILUS 
 4°09'02.4'' N 38°54'06.6'' W 
 ON GX 
 EMRG 
 
 Ignoring the stinging pain in his arm he began to move his fingers, transmitting the call for help. Muscle memory took over, a well trained rhythm dictated the speed at which he operated the morse taper beneath his hand. The low, calm humming of the sea outside in his ears, only disturbed by an unsteady growling in the background, Eric's mind drifted away, his body autonomous in an endless routine. He dreamt of home, of green and brown, sweet taste and rose scent. Of anything else than the cramped, broken, sticky submarine he was stuck in. 
 
 Theoretically, the ship should have been able to stay underwater for years, producing its own breathable air and freshwater, limited only by the food rations the crew was able to pack. That was, unfortunately, no longer true, as a depth charge had hit them, crippling the tail and sending the ship on an unstoppable downward course. Now, four days after the impact, the endless black of sea waited where the blueprints called for a kitchen, just a few meters of air and a hand ’ s length of hatch to Eric ’ s right. 
 
 *Hey, sailor. * 
 
 Eric almost shot out of his seat. Pressing one hand against his headphones, he tried to somehow calm his racing pulse, breathing deep and slowly. There had been a voice. A message. Soft as a pillow and light as an angel. He was sure of it. 
 
 But he only heard the ocean's steady hum and the deep grumbling of distant battles. A single, sad whining chime came from somewhere portside, a lone whale mourning the destruction, the death that the warring humans had brought so deep into the once calm waters. 
 
 Eric nodded in agreement with the whale's cries and moved back to the morse taper, back to reciting his very own desperate cry directed at those who floated above and went back out of his head, this wreck, this sea. 
 
 *Sailor... wo n't you talk to me, sailor? * 
 
 There it was again. A voice. A nice one, too. Almost singing, close to laughing, playing with his eardrums in the most enjoyable ways. Definitely not what a battle hardened radio operator sounded like. 
 
 Fingers trembling, Eric reached for the microphone. 
 
 `` Th*chiichhhrk*'' 
 
 A coughing fit ran through his chest, loosening the dry slime in his airways, filling his throat with more rotten taste. He spat it out, hawked once, twice, and brought the small black box in his hand back to his mouth. 
 
 `` Unidentified radio, this is the USS Nautilus. Our submarine has been hit, we have lost propulsion and are stuck on the ocean floor. Water and oxygen are low. Please identify yourself, over.'' 
 
 Silence. The calm, soothing ocean now seemed eerie, mockingly relaxed. Seconds turned into minutes and Eric's adrenaline driven heart slowed down again, his agitation vanished and made way for the dull numbness of a brain lacking almost everything it needed to work. 
 
 Then, laughter. 
 
 *Sailor! Come on, come out. We'll take care of you, sailor. * 
 
 The words tasted like salt, a fresh breeze on the beach, blowing away Eric's sorrow, his pain, his tiredness. Without even realizing it, he stood up, unplugging the microphone still gripped in his hand with the motion. He whispered, as softly as his hoarse throat would allow him, blankly staring at his console. 
 
 `` This is the U-.. Who, who are you?'' 
 
 A giggle ran over the submarine's hull, rippling across the steel platings, engulfing the communications room. Eric turned around, around, and turned again. Wherever he turned, the laughing was there, expecting him. 
 
 Ignoring the confused look on the seaman, who had been attracted by the first sound of a human voice in over a day, stumbling into the cabin, Eric followed the singsang, his hands running over the back side wall, his eyes staring through it. Dazzled by kind words and warming giggles, he staggered towards the hatch, resting his palms on the handle. 
 
 Confusion turned into fear, morphed into anger. Cracking screams missed Eric's ears as he, his mind, his heart, his soul belonged to the womanly face shining through the fist thick metal at his front, to the sugary lips whispering the essence of dreams into his ears until he could feel the warmth of the sun in shallow waters, taste the refreshing aroma of the rivers touching the ocean, smell the electrifying scent of a storm being born. The grip around the latch tightened and, deaf to the crewman who had now turned to begging, he twisted it. 
 
 Arms wide, smile on his lips he greeted the water, drowning his doubts, his fears, his sorrow, crushing his every bones. 
 
 - - - 
 
 What a nice prompt! 
 
 I tried out a more flowy style, but I kinda like it:3
