Operation Wolfe Cub: A Chilling Historical Thriller (THE TIME TO TELL Book 1) (16 page)

“What does it look like?”

As US-1 swam around, he smiled and asked, “Come on out and join me. What’s wrong, can’t you swim?”

“Of course, I can. Don’t be pulling this. I’m the joker around here, not you. Get back up here.”

US-1 treaded water briefly. “I think that’s what happened to Doc. He couldn’t swim. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right. I’ll throw you a rope. Let’s go.”

US-1 looked at the gun, “What were you thinking about with the gun? You wouldn’t think of shooting me, would you?”

“No, jackass, I’m looking out for you. Something I shouldn’t think about. Let’s go before you become shark bait.”

“Sharks? There are no sharks this far out…okay, I’ll swim back. Give me just a second…you said you wanted to relax so—
relax
.”

US-1 floated up on his back on top of the water. “
Ho-ho-ho
…this is great. It’ll wake you right up…you should join me!”

US-2 turned him down again, but something else from the deep had already extended an invitation of its own. In the cold, dark, murky waters, several fathoms down, the big, female black fish, more commonly living up to her name as the “Killer Whale,” must have seen what she’d been waiting for. Quickly, she encircled with her big, black, torpedoshaped body. Within an instant, she turned on a dime, as if savoring his last seconds. She rocked her black body, pointing straight up to the surface where US-1’s splashing shadow sparkled with edges of sunlight. In an instant, and out of the abyss, she gave out one last signal—one cryptic click—before bolting up.

Thawoooosh!

Before a warning could be uttered, she exploded up like a six-ton marine missile breaking through the surface. She left a massive geyser of water behind her as she continued her launch with US-1 clamped down, deep inside her jaws.

US-2 turned around, barely in time to witness it. “
Awh
!”

The only thing either of them could hope for was a catch and release.

Horror came without shame, as far as the Killer Whale was concerned. She celebrated her keep with a horrendous back-flop into the sea and then vanished without a trace.

US-2 aimed his gun and screamed, “Orcaaaa!”

A massive sheet of water engulfed the deck, grabbing everything in sight. US-1’s clothes and the baby quickly washed toward the edge of the vessel. US-2 made a remarkable dive across the deck, catching the baby by just his blanket. Without haste, he quickly placed him back into the safety of the cockpit and then rolled back out on deck with his pistol ready to fire.

As he lay there, belly down with his gun pointed at the receding bubbles of where US-1 once was, he gasped, “Just one chance! Show me…give me one chance…damn you! Show yourself!”

He got what he wished for. The big female whale popped up on the surface once again, thrashing wildly with only part of US-1 left between her jaws.

Blam-blam-blam-blam-blam-blam-blam! Blam-blam-blam!—click
.

US-2 immediately unloaded his magazine. He tried to reload, but stopped, acknowledging the fact that his comrade was gone. He felt hopeless as she thrashed her meal on the surface even harder, using whipsawing motions.

US-2 turned away and closed his eyes, but he couldn’t turn off his ears. Behind his back, he couldn’t help but hear the gruesome sounds of rock solid bones cracking. When the shocking incident was finally realized to its fullest, US-2 hung his head low. He tried to move away as far as he could, but avoiding his paralyzing predicament was hard to do. He escaped to the far side of the vessel, but it wasn’t far enough. He was marooned there in a vessel of quietness afterwards.

“
Awwwwh
!”

After yelling his heart out, he opened his eyes to the calm sea only to receive another gruesome sight surfacing right
before him. The sibling whales showed up with the other half of US-1. His torso was so mangled that it was hard to imagine he was once human.

The whales paid no attention to US-2 on deck, as they savagely fought for their share, splitting him into smaller pieces. Quickly, they too disappeared into their watery hideout, leaving no trace of such demonic disgrace.

US-2 fell to his knees, collapsing on the deck as if he were hell-struck. Every muscle in his body went loose and lifeless, momentarily letting the waves push him and his ship around. It was as if he too had been caught up in the killing, but in a different way. He was caught between reality and incredulity, it seemed.

When US-1’s blood lapped up to the side of the vessel, US-2’s mind was made up for good. He was duped into thinking that it didn’t happen, but it did. His experience was as authentic as the blood he touched in the water with his shaking hand. Thereafter, he sobbed while softly tapping the butt of his pistol against the deck. He fought back angry emotions, trying to rid himself of despair, but the only thing his emotions brought on was fatigue.

Minutes later, exhaustion crept into him so heavily, it seemed to loot whatever energy he had left. To get past his saddened impasse, more than just a few minutes had to pass. As time trickled on, he found himself on his back on top of the deck, inadvertently slipping off to sleep. He struggled in his last conscious moments to crawl to the center of his vessel, where he simply collapsed again. Within seconds, he passed out, leaving him with very little desire to go anywhere else that might be safer. In his sleeping moments with Randolf crying in the background, he took himself away from the echoes harkening of the horrendous scene. He may have felt peaceful, sleeping as he was. However, in the real world outside his dreams, time would only tell if peace would greet him kindly once he awakened.

An hour or more went by as the unattended vessel drifted in the near silence of the oceans wakes. Together, he and Randolf drifted alone against the elements above, below, and beyond. At the time, but too early to say, it seemed like trouble was brewing once again and without notice.

Trouble comes in threes, if one believes in superstition. Indeed, within the realms of nature, a third concern began to emerge quicker than not. The weather from the east, or whatever was, began to show itself. It swiftly moved in, seemingly as if it wanted to take the place of the terrible torpedoes and killer whales, just so it could hand out its own round of havoc. One could see it off in the distance, looking so calm at the first glimpse. Let it be said that calm sometimes comes before the storm. At least the clouds showed themselves that way. The storm that silently wished to blow in a mysterious direction was coming directly for them. The sun had no part in it, for it hid behind the spotty shades of gray and black, quickly taking over what little bit of blue horizon there was.

Not much more than a half an hour of daylight was left. The brilliant prisms of mostly red color in the sky seemingly offered their sympathies for the death of US-1, but even they looked as if they were going away for thoughts of better days. It wasn’t long. Within a minute or two after, the vibrant colors were gone, succumbing to ever more shades of gray and black.

There in the same region of the impending storm, a flicker of lightning appeared. Like the silent deadly whales, it could not be heard or seen, especially from the way US-2 was sleeping. Thunder was nowhere to be found.

The likelihood of the storm was fast becoming certainty, but this storm seemed to be growing into nothing new. It was the same hideous storm that had been left behind when the crew set out on their mission. Slowly, it approached, as if it was coming right along with them. Though slow-moving, it
looked like it was gathering more size which struck chilling thoughts.

So little was known about it, except that it was seemingly within the confines of what was natural. Like any natural force, it didn’t need to rest. It patiently kept coming. No matter how fast the US
Wehrwolf
’s engines could take them, it lagged behind—with its own race in mind. That is, if it had any kind of mind at all.

Indeed, there’s always a promise of better times when it comes to the weather. The promising time just wasn’t then as dusk began to settle in.

Oddly enough, the ocean and rain seemingly knew what was coming. Soft, delicate drops of rain began to follow in the forefront. Along with the ocean’s unrest, those subtle speckles of wet warning almost simulated the rhythms of what was approaching. Waves turned more alarming as they crept up and washed over the deck of the sleeping US
Wehrwolf
, giving their own form of incidental warning too. The time for
their
telling seemed subtle, but true.

Even if US-2 awoke, the question of what might motivate him to continue the journey, remained. As he lay there, his head began to rock harder, along with the stronger waves that were well on their way to rising to a more alarming rate than before. He twitched at the sensation of taps of rain hitting his face before he flinched and finally awakened.

Another chilly wave crested over the deck and slithered up to him. Sleepy eyed, he dared to study it, as if it looked strange to him. Perhaps it was a crossover from his dreams, but it was as if he was too caught in the sensation that the elements were alive, trying to tell him something. He looked somewhat alarmed, but it was just water, of course.

Immediately, he brushed his feelings away. His illusion of minor panic seemed ill-deserved, so he relaxed with a sigh of relief. For a brief time, he seemed quite content to just listen to the rain pattering softly on the deck. He then opened
his hands to feel the rain. Another wave lapped up over his hand, offering him a sense of normalcy again. Somewhere in his awakening, he realized that he was alone way out there in the Atlantic without any land to see for perhaps thousands of miles.

He jolted awake fully when he heard the baby whimpering. Eventually, this soothed him. He brushed off whatever pretense of tension he had and then rolled over on his side to buy another moment of rest and perhaps forget everything once more. He drifted back to sleep.

Cra-crack, cra-crack! Rumble rumble!

He was awakened all too quickly by the sudden cracking of thunder. This was enough, so he jumped right up to his feet. “Son of a—
God
, where’d that come from?”

He went on, “Doc? I had this—dream. US-1! Where is? Oh no…no, no, no, noooo….how could this…how could I? No, I’m on…I’m on a mission…son of a…I’m in this, this mission. I’m dreaming. Nothing but—hell! Where’s my crew-hoo-hoooo?!”

Neither of his comrades answered back, of course. He looked out to sea, but nothing was there—except colorless sheets of rain, a nearly all black sky, and a lonesome ocean listening to him with all of its undivided attention.

The blackest part of the storm was just east of him. Wide awake by then, his expression faced off with a queer state of fear as he wiped off his face with his shirt.

Suddenly, another crash of thunder rattled him again. He looked up into the blackest part of the storm where the thunder came from and pointlessly rambled, “Did you hear that, you son of a
bitch?
I wanted this mission! Do you hear?! So suck meeeee!” He ditched into the cockpit and closed the hatch in a hurry. “Can’t believe I was stupid enough to sign up for suicide…what in living shit was I thinking? Must have been crazy…free America. I’ll never see the sand of beaches. Now I can feel it better than anyone. I’m already dead.”

Through the dim lights of the controls glowing upon his face, fear clearly wrote itself all over his expression. Silence took over again when he stopped talking to himself. The glass in front of him offered little comfort from the rain trickling down, looking as daunting as the veins of mercury sparkling in shadows of black. Eerie was the fact that the storm’s approaching wrath couldn’t even be heard in the cockpit. The only thing that brought a small sense of complacency for him was the thin layer of glass. He had no idea that beyond that was nothing but a barren, watery hell outside.

Just then, he saw the empty chairs next to him. He must have momentarily forgotten he was, once again, alone. Nobody was there, except the strange, innocent, little baby. He had placed him there out of danger an hour or so ago.

Through the glimmer of the control lights the baby, tucked in dry, white linens, smiled, just watching him. Randolf seemed quite content actually, lying there as snug as a bug in a rug. US-2 watched him as the he tried to grab for anything he could to learn about. Anything he set his eyes on would have been fine: the controls, the leather seat, his blankets, or even the stranger who had just popped in beside him, named US-2, was interesting to him. Nothing was within his reach, but everything must have looked within his grasp the way he moved and tried to touch everything.

US-2 blew off his stress briefly to answer the baby’s calling. Just like a spring, he bounced out of his captain’s chair and rushed down below, where the baby’s belongings were stored. In no time, he arrived back up on deck with his bubble-like crib in both hands. He then carefully strapped Randolf inside and then strapped the whole crib in the chair as tightly as he could. As a final touch, before closing down his little bonnet, he gave him his bottle and a tucked a few miscellaneous items he thought of as good substitutes for toys. Among a couple items was a pistol magazine stuffed with live nine millimeter bullets and a cigarette lighter. “There, you happy now? Okay, good.”

Through the increasing flickers of lightning shining through the glass of the cockpit, he rubbed his hands as if he was obliviously immune to danger once again. While putting all of his faith in his vessel after that, he reached for the controls and began speaking energetically: “Okay….now, let’s reset our course, Randolf…I think I’ll call you ‘Junior Lieutenant,’ okay? Nice to meet you, Junior Lieutenant. Okay, preparing for a stationary dive…establishing stealth propulsion. Speed set to maximum…that’s twenty knots. Okay? Okay, let’s go. See? Not that bad…that storm’s going down…I mean we are going down, Junior Lieutenant.”

Gauging by the surprised look of the baby, it was safe to say he hadn’t the foggiest idea what US-2 was doing or saying. It wouldn’t have mattered, for he became instantly enthralled by the rush of seawater spilling onto and over the glass cockpit. Clearly, he was transfixed by the act of submerging before his eyes.