Category: Vignette, Angst
Rating: PG-13 - (for adult themes, m/m interaction)
Fandom: "U-571"
Pairing: Captain Tyler/Chief Klough
Spoilers: Plenty for the movie "U-571"
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Universal Films.
Archive: Anywhere is fine, please leave this header intact.
Feedback: Sure! [email protected]

=======
HIDDEN DEPTHS
by DBKate
[email protected]
=======

The smell of death was everywhere and Chief Klough wrinkled his nose at the cloying, sweet scent of decay mixed in with the sharper odors of salt water and the sweat of terrified men. It was a rank smell, one of the worst he'd encountered in thirty years at sea, but what was he complaining about? He stunk as badly as the rest of them.

Klough wiped his lips with the back of one shaking hand and grimaced at the thick smear of blood that spread across his knuckles. Busted lip, probably, no, maybe it was his hand. There was so much blood all over this goddamn Nazi tub, it was hard to tell.

If he could just wash his face, he thought numbly, then maybe he could think again. And his hands, yes, his hands as well. They were bright crimson, drenched with the blood a hundred lives lost in what seemed like seconds. Living men one moment -- floating, stinking corpses the next, their bodies now gruesome parodies of something that might have once been human.

Nazis ... his own boys, it no longer made a damned bit of difference what the corpses once were. A dead man was a dead man, his only allegiance now was to God.

Or the Devil.

Klough took another deep breath of stale air and peered around the darkened U-boat. Long ago he'd seen the specs of Nazi subs, neat blue lines designating the various quarters and areas and in theory, they weren't that different from the boats he usually sailed.

Bunks for the boys, a hammock for the never-sleeping sonar rat, the privileged closet-sized quarters for the captain sitting alongside the obligatory cupboard for the Chief. There were mess quarters too ... it seemed like Nazis had to eat just like everyone else ... and past that was the head, the same row of never-quite-clean toilets you could find aboard any Allied sub.

It shouldn't have bothered him how similar they were, he should have been able to figure it out without much trouble, it was just that he'd just never expected to see those similarities in person, that's all.

No, not in this lifetime.

Klough turned to Tigger and nodded before he made his way sternside, slowly feeling his way through the dim corridors. The Nazi bastards may not bathe that often, but they had to have at least some drinking water somewhere, he thought angrily, kicking past a corpse of a German ensign who lay in his path, wide-eyed and smiling bloodily.

He smelled the mess before he found it. It was surprisingly neat and Klough didn't have to search long before he found the water, two dozen barrels of it, tightly stored and carefully lined with ration marks. The mess boy had written something on one of them, a warning in German complete with multiple exclamation marks.

Someone had been dipping into the water Klough guessed and he carefully splashed out a bit into the sink. Two dozen barrels might have seemed like a lot of water, but when at sea you could never have enough. Fresh water was gold, diamonds and a willing woman all rolled into one to a sailor and you treated it with the respect it deserved or you'd end up paying the price.

Out of all the ways a man could expire at sea, dying of thirst was by far the least attractive.

Leaning over the sink, Klough splashed water over his hands then dunked his head, ignoring the murky swirls of red that suddenly floated to the water's surface. It was cool and felt wonderful, and finally, Klough could think again. Blindly, he reached for something to use as a towel and clutched at a bit of stiff cloth. He rubbed his eyes dry, then grimaced when he saw a Nazi insignia... the "cloth" he'd picked up was the top half of a uniform, probably the cook's dress blues.

With a growl, Klough tossed it aside and began to rummage through the cabinets, searching for some coffee. He needed a cup and he'd be damned if he'd die without at least an ounce or two of joe in his system. Coffee first, then they could kill him.

He sniffed through various canisters until he found the coffee, dark and rich-smelling. Swiss ... French roast maybe, Klough wasn't sure and didn't care, as long as he got a mouthful of it down before he and the boys were blown out of the drink for good.

He fired up the stove and set up the coffeepot before snagging a mug from its hook. Automatic movements, and Klough grabbed another cup for the captain as he'd done every day for the past two years.

The mug felt heavy in his hand and the anguish hit again, squeezing and tight in this throat.

The captain, his captain, was dead, gone down with the ship. Klough had seen his corpse floating past, face up among the debris and the rest of the dead. He'd spent the last minutes of his life waving Klough and the rest of them on, telling them to go, trying to save to save what little of his crew he could. He hadn't asked for a rescue, he probably would have skinned them alive if they'd even attempted one. Klough almost had to laugh at the thought, but the lump in his throat was choking him to silence.

Besides, it no longer mattered what a dead captain thought.

Lieutenant Tyler was captain now. The kid was efficient, obedient, smart as a whip... but nowhere near ready to make the terrible decisions a captain had to make every waking moment.

Such as who would live . . . and who would die.

The kid had already made a huge mistake, hesitating in front of the crew. Admitting any weakness or fear was a morale killer of the worst sort and mutinous grumblings were already whispering throughout the sub.

Klough had squashed what he could but knew if Tyler didn't take charge soon, they were going to end up floating with all the others.

The percolator quit popping and Klough poured out two cups before heading to the captain's quarters. He found Tyler there, staring at the photos lining the walls, all of them eerily similar to the ones that once hung on their own sub. Rows of smiling sailors, the Nazi captain shaking hands with some unknown admiral, beauty shots of the ship ... everything the same, except for the swastikas that fluttered in the sea breeze.

Klough set the coffee in front of Tyler who accepted it wordlessly. He squeezed into the opposite seat and took a sip, welcoming the bitter warmth that slid down his throat.

He avoided Tyler's haunted eyes and instead stared into his cup. There was a lot to explain, a lot of hard-won wisdom he'd have to impart on the kid before this break was through, but for now, he'd let the silence speak for itself. He listened to the hull creak as the sub wandered aimlessly through the icy sea, guessed its depth at maybe twenty meters and wondered if they were still alone in the water.

Or if the Nazi hunters were just biding their time, sitting there like bourgeois vultures, deciding which of the dead to feed on first.

"Batteries?" The exhaustion in Tyler's voice was so profound that Klough grimaced at the sound.

Not now, the Chief thought, his throat tightening again. You aren't allowed to be tired yet, not when this has barely begun. There is no rest for the weary... not if they want to stay alive.

"Not fully up yet, but they're working their asses off on it. I predict we'll be up to ninety in less than an hour, sir." Another sip, this one to cover the break in his voice on the last word. Lieutenant Tyler was above him in rank, always had been, but there was a huge difference now -- Tyler was the captain, his captain, and the idea still had some getting used to.

Tyler leaned his head against the wall, his eyes unfocused and watery. His entire posture spoke of defeat and a chill coursed through Klough at the sight.

A defeated captain meant a dead crew and for all his fatalist philosophies, Klough wasn't ready to die, not just yet. "Permission to speak freely, sir." Tyler nodded, still staring blankly at the ceiling. "Granted."

"If you don't drop this 'Poor Me' routine, you're going to kill all of us." He paused. "Sir."

Tyler's head snapped forward. He blinked with confusion and Klough watched, satisfied, as a bright flush filled the young officer's cheeks. "Pardon me, Chief?"

Angrily, and that was better, Klough thought, much better. "You're our captain now, sir." He paused, waiting for the enormity of that idea to sink in. "And the captain knows everything, whether he does or not. He's always in complete control and he sure as hell doesn't know what fear means, even when he's pissing himself just like the rest of us."

Tyler blinked again, his focus sharpening as he contemplated Klough's words. The kid was a quick study, this much Klough knew, and he let that thought comfort him. Youth can adapt and he had faith in Tyler, for as the dead captain had once confided in Klough, the kid had always shown such great promise.

If only they had a little more time.

Tyler sat up stiffly and took a sip of coffee, regarding Klough closely. "Do you think we can make it to England?"

Klough shook his head, his heart sinking. "I don't know, sir."

Tyler's eyes narrowed. "There is no 'I don't know' Chief." Icily. "Tell me yes or no. Under current conditions, can we make it to England?"

Klough's breath hitched and he bit back the huge smile that threatened. The kid was learning, oh, he was learning, and there might be hope for them yet. "No, sir. Not at current status."

Tyler leaned back, considering. "Then we'll have to change our status." "Yes, sir." Klough quickly rose, suddenly feeling more energetic than he had since his ensign days. "I'll get moving on those batteries."

Klough began to make his way back to the engine room when he felt a tug on his hand. He looked down in askance and realized that it was Tyler holding him back, clutching his hand within his own, holding tight and trembling. He was a fighter, Klough thought but how old was he? Twenty?

Far too young to have to grow up so damn fast.

Klough hesitated, then slowly entwined his fingers with Tyler's, silently marveling how smooth they were compared to his own scarred, calloused ones. He'd felt hands like that before ... academy hands that had never seen much hard work, soft hands that betrayed the razor sharp mind within. His former captain had hands like that and he'd known them better than he should have during the long months at sea.

Known what they'd felt like in the dark of his quarters where there was nothing between them but heat and the muted sounds of lovemaking, stolen moments taken quickly, never often enough and ending far too soon.

That too was gone, he thought as he caught Tyler's gaze and saw the terror again, hidden in the blue depths of the young man's eyes and Klough couldn't help himself. He raised his free hand and gently ran his thumb over the shallow cut beneath Tyler's right eye. It was still bleeding, just a little, and he wiped away the last stubborn drop of blood that still lingered on Tyler's cheek. "You can do it." Whispered, and he saw Tyler swallow hard. Klough wondered if he himself had ever looked that young at any age as he cupped Tyler's face with both hands, holding his gaze, making sure there was no looking away. "You're our captain, my captain, and there's nothing you can't do."

A trembling nod, and Klough remembered another young man, also with blue eyes and soft hands, the one that was now lost to the sea, whom he used to call captain and his heart was overcome. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Tyler's, tasting blood and the sea. He heard Tyler gasp, then slowly, the captain opened himself up to the kiss, returning it desperately, his hands tangling in Klough's hair, his touch no longer weak or soft.

Klough's pulse began to pound, rushing blood echoing through his ears and he rode the wave with Tyler, feeling with his tongue the soft silk of Tyler's mouth, the sharp edge of his teeth. Hot and sweeter than he'd have imagined and Klough brushed his hand over the short velvet bristles of hair along Tyler's temples, losing himself, if only for a moment in something infinitely better than war.

Klough heard a sharp indrawn breath and Tyler suddenly wrenched himself away, leaving Klough wondering if he'd stepped over a line from which there was no retreat.

He looked closely at Tyler and what he saw filled his heart with hope. The fear in Tyler's eyes was gone, replaced with a strange fire. The captain was breathing raggedly, but was otherwise composed and Klough straightened up immediately, coming to attention as Tyler slowly rose from his seat.

"I want that engine working. I don't give a damn what it takes."

Coolly, and Klough nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I want us silent and deep and if Hirsch gives you the slightest bit of crap, bring him to me." Determination, and Klough felt the confidence spread through him like wildfire.

Maybe, just maybe, they'd live to tell this tale.

"That's all for now, Chief." Tyler glanced at him, a tiny grin crinkling at the corner of his lips. "For now."

"Yes, sir." Crisply, and Klough made his way fore and was just passing the engine room when the power returned, full force, the lights shining through the cramped sub, filling him with a giddy burst of hope.

If they survived this, he was going to make sure Tyler knew one thing. That he'd accept him as captain on any ship. For suddenly, Tyler was the captain, his captain, and there was nothing he couldn't do.

Klough made his way to the periscope room and turned to Tigger. "Captain says run silent and deep." He smiled, the warmth of Tyler's kiss still lingering. "And if any of you give me any crap, he's gonna rip you in half. That will be all."

The chorus of "Yes, sir" sounded and Klough turned his attention back to the instruments, and began his, and his captain's, wait.

-------
finis

If you'd like more, write! Click here: [email protected]

"Definition of a submarine: A boat that leaves with a hundred men and comes back with fifty couples." :-)