The Coming of Comrade Fish

As you may be aware, I am tasked to give my account of the events that occurred on the 26th November, 1942. While beginning my naval service on the ship Rover Victorium, I was tasked to sail on a military dinghy to liaison with a French ship in the English channel while we underwent repairs near Dover. As my boat neared the vessel I could swear they had a strange purple glow around their eyes before I could voice an opinion, they captured me. I’m not afraid to admit that I kicked and screamed but it was to no avail, they smacked me in the head with the butts of their guns till I fell unconscious. In my restless dreams, I saw England facing the new threat of France, once an ally now a traitor? It couldn’t be true, they were just as oppressed as us surely? Why would they turn their backs to us and join the German forces?

I awoke with a start in the brig of the French ship roughly an hour later.  The violence of my awakening was caused by the explosive entrance of what I could only presume was the cannons of the Victorium meeting battle with these strange Frenchman.  I looked desperately at my surroundings, it was a small metal-lined rectangular room with a rusting iron door. I ran to the door, trying to look through but was met with the poor sight of a dull metal lined wall. However, part of the wall was polished enough to show the dim reflection of the cell next to mine where a figure was slumped on the floor. 
'Hello there!' I called out, half in desperation, half in relief. A light grumble came from my new acquaintance as he slowly raised his head to address me. 
'Where the-' He stopped himself as he started, the most startling thing about him so far was his accent. It was the thickest  Russian I had ever heard. My hopes were dashed as I realised that convincing a Russian to aid the allied forces would be tricky even though they had recently become allies. So I fell to my knees, resigning myself to my fate, that was, until he spoke again. 'Excuse me, gentleman. Could you tell me where I am?' 
'what?! You’re on a French ship' 
'And what are you doing on a French ship during wartime?' he asked as if it were strange for me to be on allied waters. 
'They’ve mutinied against their country and captured me.' 
'Ah shit…' He brought himself to his feet and pushed his door until the metal crumpled and it opened. 'It’s going to be hard to explain but my friend has escaped and is causing trouble.' 

I stared incredulously as he stepped out of his cell, his visage now clear to me. How do I explain the maddening sight that I saw staring down at me that day? He was a fish! A damned fish?! He stood like a man but his skin was replaced with that of bright blue scales with a dark lining towards his back. He had a mouth more like a rectangle than the usual shape, below a nose which consisted of just two holes. His eyes were two great pools of darkness with remarkably expressive eyebrows which gave off an air of friendliness, albeit also a hint of disorientation. His body was also mystifying as his shoulders were broad like a man’s but his legs were much thinner. The gradual thinning of his body giving a look more akin to a carrot than a man. He pulled my cell door off its hinges effortlessly and extended a hand down to lift me up. I obliged and he brought me to my feet, not letting go of my hand. 
'Comrade Matvey Fish' is what he introduced himself as. 
'Lieutenant James Moorhen' I answered. He smiled, letting go of my hand. 
'We better go see the captain' 
'Is he your friend?' 
'No, but that’s where he’ll be' I found his response curious but followed him to the next room. 

We entered a larger area with two guards, both exhibiting the strange purple glow under their eye. They pointed their firearms at my new friend who quickly brandished a small double barrelled shotgun from under his ill-fitting leather jacket. He went to fire but was met only with a dull click. They laughed in response which didn’t help either of our moods.
'I apologise but did you really think that I would leave you with a loaded weapon?' one sailor roared.
'Oh, no worries Sancho' Comrade Fish replied calmly. 
Suddenly Fish’s head lurched upwards as if to be sick. The soldiers failed to notice Fish crack the shotgun to a reloading position. He brought his head down, opened his mouth and perfectly vomited two shotgun shells into their respective holes on the shotgun. He flicked his hand with the speed of a gunslinger, firring the newly loaded shotgun at the men who both flew back from the force of the blast, dead. I stood in awe as he vomited two more shells up into the weapon.
'Y- you knew that man?' I asked.
'Not really the man, more…' He paused to think. ' you’ll see soon enough, come along'

I followed him up a stairwell where we were met with the deck of the ship, the French crew seemed too distracted by the Victorium to deal with us. Fish beckoned for me to be quiet while we  snuck up an exterior stairwell towards the captain's quarters. When we reached it, we entered casually as a figure stood in the middle of the room. The figure of the captain turned to face us, the expression on his well kept features was that of annoyance. One odd thing I noticed when I first saw him was the fierceness of the purple in his eyes. Stranger still was the hat he was wearing, it seemed too small for his head so he had thick straps that joined in a knot under his chin.
'Right, come on now Sancho' Fish said in tone one would use when addressing a dog 'that’s enough for today'
'I’m not going back, Matvey!' the Captain roared as he lifted two swords, one in each hand.

The captain threw him a sword and before anything more could be said they both swung at each other. Sparks flew in the air as their swords met, the sounds of clangs would’ve been unbearable if it weren't for the skill of the two. Whenever the captain would parry a blow, Fish would just step away with a flourish, slashing back in a masterly fashion. Eventually, Fish managed to parry a blow and, tiring from the fight, kicked the Captain in the chest causing him to fly off his feet towards a wall. I swear that in the blink of an eye, Fish threw his sword so fast that it caught the flying captain in the chest, pinning him to the wall. He tried to raise himself but just slumped, dead. However, the things that I thought were hat-straps moved, causing the hat to fall off leaving them. As it fell, the straps curled up showing their true nature, they were connected to a small squid-like beast on top of the Captain's head. I recoiled in horror as it let out a cry.
'Ooh, you always have to spoil everything, don’t you!' the squid shouted in a thick Spanish accent, two little eyes unfolding themselves from it’s body.
'No, you always have to spoil a perfectly fine dimensional jump' Fish retorted. 'Now, make the crew forget what happened or-' he pointed at the sword 'I will gut you' he paused looking pleased with himself then added 'but not this fine man here, he deserves to remember'

The squid deflated a little then a bright light emitted from it. After the light dimmed, Fish grabbed the squid by it’s top half and slapped the bottom half.
'Bad Sancho!' He stuffed the squid into his inner jacket pocket then headed out onto the deck where the confused British and French crews stared at him in confusion. 'Don’t worry everyone, you have all met up for routine refuelling and will carry on your duties as normal' he tried to calm the crew but it wasn’t working, they were staring at a Russian fishman after all. He turned to me and said 'I’m going to leave now. Forget everything you saw here and certainly don’t write it down'
'Ok' I said. Before I could ask any of the thousand questions running through my head, he jumped off the side of the boat. I ran to look over the side but to my surprise there was nothing. Not even the remnants of a splash in the water, almost as if he had disappeared entirely.

Afterwards, I rejoined my regiment and carried on with my duties trying not to think back to the strange occurrences that had happened that fateful day. In the end, the crew members and Captain’s deaths were explained to the French authorities as a tale of mutiny. The two crew members stabbed the captain who, in his death throes, shot the two men, dragged himself to his quarters and pinned himself to the wall in an act of defiance. The entire French crew were later court martialed.

Anyway, that was over twenty years ago now. Wherever that fishman and his strange Spaniard squid are now, I’ll never know… 

- Captain James Moorhen, 1967