Operation Wolfe Cub: A Chilling Historical Thriller (THE TIME TO TELL Book 1) (15 page)

“Oh, he told you and not me? Why is that? What security measure?”

“The petrol pods begin to sink after so long.”

US-2 shook his head. “Okay spit it out then…how long do we have before it sinks?”

“I figure we should get there with a little time to spare. You’ve got to do your job and kick it up a little more though.”

US-2 motioned sarcastically. “Okay, I can do that…if you have any more secrets, you’d better tell me because—”

“There’s no more, believe me…so save it, will you? Doc told me about the sinking of the pods by accident last night… he had a bad feeling about him dying. Stop getting upset.”

“I can deal with being upset…but he was right about dying. What was he—psychic or something?”

“He mentioned synchronicity among other things. I take it you’re back in this?”

US-2 pointed his finger and trigger thumb. “You’re the new
Kapitan
. What are we waiting around for?”

“You read my mind. Setting base course….setting stealth propulsion to maximum…preparing to surface on the go. We are getting there, good to go. You ready on engines?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Back on the ocean’s surface she came, with her bow breaking water on the run. As they looked in all directions, both engines fired up in stride, roaring echoes across the barren seascape.

They may not have looked as good, burned at the stern, but the US
Wehrwolf
was back in business. A few minor bent fins and a few more dents down her sides didn’t hurt.

Nothing else had really changed since their close call, except for perhaps US-1’s new demeanor. He was at the center helm where Doc once was, feeling around the armrests, periodically pausing to think about his new position. The thought of their lost captain must have crossed his mind and settled in, for an overwhelming rush of sadness clobbered him. He looked pale and clammy, when he should have been relieved. A huge migraine was thrown in too, he rubbed the side of his temple. Most definitely, he was still stuck in a trench of relapse rather than forethought.

One thing was sure: in the midst of the terrible turmoil, he was the one now making the commands and calling the shots in an operation he knew little about. His depression showed, to the point that it caught US-2’s attention as they
started to gain speed. “It’s all right. America, remember? We’re going be all right.”

US-1 looked back then smiled lightheartedly. Quick comments didn’t seem to help, for he spiraled back into his daze, rubbing his temple again.

US-2 felt sympathetic. As he sped along, he swallowed before offering his first smile. “Hey, I’m in it with you to the end…I can’t lose you, damn it, so listen…I can be loyal too, when I want to be.” He went on, “Soooo—what’s my command?”

US-1 came around, “What? What did you say?”

“You know. What do I do—
Kommandant?”
²⁸

US-1 coughed himself out of stagnation, then tried to smile. “Get this thing going…let’s see one hundred ten knots or better.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” US-2 surged on his throttle a bit. “She’s thirsty for petrol…can you feel that? Can you feel it,
Kommandant
?”

US-1 placed his arms back up on his armrests, then pointed his finger out to the bow and beyond. With a fake finger shot, he pulled the trigger. “Let ‘er rip.”

They took off like everything else was standing still, disrupting almost everything nearby. Aquatic strangers, once again, fled the scene: Seagulls flew for the lives, fish busted away from their schools, and a distant pack of whales even changed course. In no time, their vessel danced and skipped across the wakes without a care in the world.

Inside the US
Wehrwolf
, the atmosphere was all business, unfortunately. Forces of nature, along with their miniscule friends of the feather, gave little reprieve for these disciplined sea travelers. The Atlantic did what it did naturally, regardless of what kind of rhythm they were in. It just so happened that
the waves and wind steadied, fortifying the luck they needed while making good time.

Midway through the day, US-1 and 2 had found a rhythm of their own with the assistance of a little radio they’d discovered hiding in the instrumentation. They turned it on to a station of static with a hint of music from the foreign land they knew little about. The song was in English, but they didn’t care. They flipped their heads around and snapped their fingers, singing in some odd form of English and German mix that would make sense only to the intoxicated.

Hours dragged on. US-1 succumbed to napping now and then, while US-2 had no such benefit. Fatigue settled in on him too, but from something else besides the monotony of navigating. He kept looking down on his steering mechanism, trying to grip it a little harder each time. His controls had been pulling against him all day. Apparently, the damaged rudder had finally taken its toll, making his job more laborious than ever. He made the mistake of looking over to US-1, who had dozed off, looking all too comfortable. He seemed bothered by it. “Hey!”

US-1 barely even moved. Instead, he rolled over, so US-2 yelled, “Heyyy! Wake
up
!”

US-1 popped out of his chair grabbing his pistol on his holster. He quickly realized it was his comrade messing with him.

US-1: “What? Couldn’t you tell I was sleeping?”

US-2: “Slow down on the trigger. If I can’t sleep, neither can you.”

US-1: “Thanks for letting me know. You bother me, you know that?”

US-2: “Who said I was here to entertain you? The baby needs a little attention, and so do we. Can we shut down for a minute or two? I’ve been on the go, holding this damn steering too long.”

US-1: “Well,
uh, hmmm
. We’ve been making good time, looks like.”

US-2: “We should be about ten minutes ahead of schedule now from the looks of Doc’s alarm clock.”

US-1: “Yes we are. Good job. Everything’s holding up too, I see.”

US-2: “All except for my steering. I can’t go on much longer without a break.”

US-1: “What’s wrong?”

US-2: “The blast damaged it, I think…I have to go outside and see why we are pulling so hard.”

US-1: “Okay, let’s do it then…hey, look. Our sonar’s back on.”

US-2: “I know. I fixed it while you were sleeping.”

US-1: “How’d you do—oh, never mind, I don’t want to know. Well it looks like good news…sonar says we are all clear.”

US-2: “What? Speak a little louder…engine noise.”

US-1: “I said the sonar works! Go ahead, shut down!”

US-2: “Slowing down right—now.”

US-1: “It’s so calm outside. I can’t believe it…a good a place as any since it all looks the same.”

US-2: “You read my mind…beautiful days…keep ’em coming.”

US-2 backed all the way off his throttle, sending their obnoxiously-loud rasp across the barren, sleeping ocean. Her noise drove the usual marine animals to escape the scene, but didn’t affect a new group of creatures deep down below the surface. To the contrary, these animals were intrigued by their presence. In fact, they actually turned around to swim back toward the direction of the noise. They could hardly be seen beneath the dark waters, but they revealed themselves to be menacing.

They were the apex of the underwater kingdom. A feast-or-famine type of family was what they belonged to. In times
of yore, they were called the “Evil Black Fish of the Sea.” The only name they should have kept. “Unnerving” might have been another way to describe them since they were most definitely unafraid. The most troubling aspect about them was their supreme intelligence. It showed, through their eerie alien clicks and whistles of echoing communication beneath the water.

The larger one demanding the lead and closing the gap between them and the vessel was, without a doubt, the devout matriarch. Somewhere along their brutal bloodlines, their females had become the leaders and this leader was no exception. She looked to be taking them right up close to the bottom of the US
Wehrwolf
without being seen. As their team of encrypting messages of clicks gained frequency beneath the waters, so did their anxieties. Then, with the click of their last little creepy sounds, they ducked further down into the murky depths directly below.

US-2 took another look at his sonar just to be sure nothing was lurking in the waters. “Wait…I thought I saw something.”

“What is it?”

US-2 tapped the screen. “I don’t know…I think it still has a short or something. First I saw something big below us, but then it went away.”

US-1 brushed his hand away from the controls. “You never fixed it…forget about it.”

US-2 nodded as he felt the tingling of his hands from holding his steering too long.

His comrade was equally sore. He got up, feeling the numbness of his buttocks.

A little relaxation and recuperation was on their minds as they looked at each other. Just being motionless was good enough. As they lapped up the still serenity for just a moment longer, US-2 was the one to press on. “Go get the baby. I’ll try to find some tools around here.”

“Tools?”

US-2 paused. “You know,
tools
. Those things we use to fix things. Something’s bent outside. Hopefully, we can do something about it…if we can’t, we’ll be in trouble steering beyond a few more hours.”

US-1 nodded and then went to grab the baby down below, while US-2 found a toolbox hiding in a compartment.

After warming up to the idea of fixing things with a freshly lit smoke, he flipped open the cockpit hatch and leaped onto the main deck to look about. While he scratched, stretched, and yawned in the comforts of the wide-open, he soon became distracted by the stern behind him. The steering rudder mechanism was damaged a little worse than he’d apparently thought. Nevertheless, he prepared for the idea of physical labor by taking off his Denison coat, cracking his knuckles, then stretching his arms and legs as if he were preparing for a serious workout. He crammed his cigarette to the side of his mouth and puffed his way over to the vessel’s top center fin where the problem was. It looked about as bad as the flopped-over dorsal fin of a crippled whale.

He stopped and muttered. “So that’s it.” While glaring at the damage, he took a long drag of his cigarette and blew his disgusted thoughts out with the smoke. Things didn’t look much better after that, so he turned his back to it and talked out to sea. “How in the
hell
am I supposed to bend that back?”

US-1 came up from behind. While holding Randolf in his arms, he looked at the damaged apparatus. Somewhere between being acerbic and downright dumfounded, he said, “Wow, you can’t navigate this that way, can you?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to…where were you when I…oh, well. You’ve got to help me on this.”

US-2 reached down into his toolbox and rummaged around before he finally found a pair of tools that suited him. “Here we go…put the baby down and take this, will you? I’ll take this other one.”

US-1 gingerly put the baby down in a safe place on deck. “Okay, what do you want me to do…what’s this you handed me?”

“It’s a pipe wrench…you get on that side of this. What did Doctor Wycliffe call it?”

“A vertical stabilizer aqua fin, I believe.”

US-2 started to get ready. “Okay, whatever. You take it up here with the jaws and pull back, and I’ll get over here on the other side with mine…I’ll push at the same time. Got it?”

US-1 contemplated with his wrench. “Jaws? What jaws? I thought you said it was a pipe wrench.”

US-2 looked at him, wondering if his comrade was serious. He flicked his cigarette out to sea and used his own wrench to demonstrate. “Look here. These here things that go up and down? They’re jaws. They go right here on this bent piece…okay, now. We’re going to use leverage. You pull this way while I push with my wrench the same way…got it?”

“Yes, okay, leverage. I know about that…sounds good. Got it.”

They both started together with a slow, mighty tug and push. Gradually, they began to put their whole bodies into it, without holding back in the slightest.

Their lone spectator, the baby, was in a prime vantage point to watch their fair amount of blunders. Not only was he watching, but he seemed to be enjoying every minute of their seesawing show once they got the hang of it. Occasionally, they stopped just to hammer on it with the backs of their wrenches. This might have made things look crazier in the eyes of an infant. Two big men jumping, crawling around on top of, and then pounding on the apparatus did look a little odd.

US-2 grunted, “What in hell? What’s this made of? We’re getting nowhere with this…that’s it. At the count of three, you heave, okay?”

This went on for quite a while as they struggled with the last bit.

“
Geeyawwwh!
”

“
Rawwwh!
”

Once they finally straightened the apparatus, US-2 brushed his hands and put the tools away. “There now…all done.”

Suddenly, the baby squealed and giggled, causing US-2 to say, “Well, at least we know the kid’s fine. Look at him.”

US-1 nodded and looked around to observe just how calm the weather and sea were. Staring back at him was nothing but the serene water below the gray, ghost-like clouds. Then, for no apparent reason, he stripped down to nothing but his briefs.

US-2 had no more than put his tools away when he got a glance of the final stages of US-1’s striptease act. With a preposterous glare, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I smell bad. Haven’t had a bath in days.” Without further warning, he took three big steps and sprung off the port aqua fin as if it were a diving board. Almost as surprising was the poor quality of his dive; he went head first and crashed into the water, split-legged and all.

US-2 seemed appalled. In a sort of fed-up way, he strolled over to the cockpit and reached way over inside to grab his Luger pistol, of all things. In the same fed-up manner, he walked back over to the port side where his companion made his dive and took a cocky stance with his gun in hand.

When US-2 popped his head up out of the water, he looked at his comrade holding a gun and suddenly became nervous. “Hey! What are you doing?”