Operation Wolfe Cub: A Chilling Historical Thriller (THE TIME TO TELL Book 1) (12 page)

Doc then looked over to US-2 and waited to see if he knew what to do. He was sitting there picking his nail, so Doc poked him to get his attention. “We’re entering the Atlantic for an abrupt change of sea, Number Two…would you be so kind as to read the bathythermograph and adjust our vessel?”

US-2 put his cigarette out to get to it. “Got it. Reading… change is fifteen degrees…salinity has increased….adjusting for thermohaline effect.”

After US-2 finished, he relaxed a little too quickly. A minute later, he suddenly woke himself out of his daze with an idea. Eagerly, he rubbed his hands together.

“Hey didn’t you say it was someone else’s turn to go below and stay with the baby for the night? You two can stand watch? How about it?

Doc and US-1 seemed surprised with his apparent generosity. Happily, they agreed.

“Sure, I don’t have an appetite for bottles and diapers. Do you, Doc?”

“No, can’t say I do…thank you, Number Two, but remember. You have to think about changing a number two when you get down there.”

US-2 shrugged his shoulders and headed down below. “Not a problem. It can’t be worse than the shit we see up here.”

A few feet along the way, before he slipped down the ladder, he saw Doc’s alarm clock over at the corner of the deck. Curiously, he picked it up then smiled with another one of his mischievous expressions. “Hey Doc, catch.”

Doc turned around just in time to see his alarm clock lobbing directly at him in midair. Barely in the nick of time, he caught it through an exorbitant amount of juggling around like a clown. “Why, thank you…a minor cause for ‘alarm,’ to say the least. By the way, did the alarm help anyone this morning?”

US-2 retorted as he slipped down the ladder, “Didn’t bother me a bit…but, ask your number one man. He’s the one who couldn’t find it.”

Doc looked over to US-1, who didn’t comment right away. “Oh, yes, it got us right up.”

Doc smiled cordially then wound it back up. Content, he placed it at his feet below him. Then with the careful, slow moves of an older man, he adjusted his seat to the recline position and closed his eyes with his arms crossing his chest. “Good…no time for sleeping-in aboard my ship.”

US-1 hollered to US-2 below, “Hey, I smell something... close the hatch if you’re going to change that diaper, will you?”

US-2 yelled up, “I didn’t change him yet. What do you mean? I’m on the head.”

US-1 shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Can you hear me up there? I said I’m on the head.”

“Yes, we can hear you.”

A minute or two went by before US-1 glanced over to Doc, who had fallen asleep all too quickly. He grinned as he looked up through the wide-open view of their glass cockpit underwater. Very quietly, he leaned way over to Doc, and then shouted, “
Hey
! Forgetting something!?”

“
Ahhh
! Christ O’Mighty! They’re coming!
They’re coming!
”

“Wake up, Dr. Wycliffe.”

“
Whew
, felt like I got shocked by an electric eel. Did you say something, or was that a dream?”

“I said, the scale shutters…are you forgetting to shut them down?”

“Oh, why sure…thank you for being so kind. I must shut them down here now.”

“Don’t know why. Not much could scare me after today. What about you?”

“I suppose you’re right, my good friend. Insurance is cheap, so I’ll do it anyway. There we go…
ah
yes. I feel better now.”

“You know, Doc? You’re all right.”

“Oh? Well you’re quite friendly too. Something just came to me before you so kindly woke me up out of an apparent bad dream.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, how should I say without striking too much alarm? I’ll just say it, I suppose. Do me a favor if this is not asking too much.”

“Yes?”

“When we get to America and part our ways, I wish for you both to stay in touch with me while I take the baby.”

“Doc, I realize this mission was a last-minute plan, but new plans keep surfacing that you never—”

“No, I surely mean this…I want you to see our mission through to its entirety.”

“Of course, Doc. I always see things through…like Blondie said, we’ve got it made.”

“No—no, I mean getting the baby to the United States and giving him a good home. The point is moot, I suppose. Any one of us is capable of taking care of the child, but I surely know about everything.”

“Blondie is a concern of mine, but I think he would live up to his oath of whatever it takes…as for me, you have nothing to worry about. I can easily see anything through. For me, it would be nothing shy of an honor. You’d just have to tell me what to do with him when he gets older.”

“Yes—yes, but not now. The part about US-2 concerns me too…pardon my brutal honesty, but I don’t know if US-2’s head is in this.”

“Why was he chosen for the operation anyway? I mean, it couldn’t have been that much of a hurry, could it have been?”

“The war came upon us too fast as you know, but the selection process was unilateral, actually. It had to do with the Aryanization Program. He was the Nordic one, in case you wish to know.”

“Oh, one of those white-haired, blue-eyed Aryans? I see.”

“He’s not what you think. Nordics have strong tendencies to defend even though they are eccentric. The rebellion in him speaks of it too, quite noticeably.”

“So…what makes him so great? He hasn’t proved a thing as far as I’m concerned.”

“He’s a true, blue warrior, so to speak…no other warriors in the pool of a hundred came close.”

“Oh, so he was bred to be that way?”

“No, actually not. He’s like you. He’s a natural—and in his prime too, I must say…I got a good look at him in the exhibition trials. Quite impressive.”

“Aryanization program? I know little about it. Where did the idea of Aryans come from anyway, if you don’t mind me asking? I mean their beginnings.”

“My, my—it is older than you think…
Sanskrit
, it is. Aryan origins go clear back to the ancient Indo-Iranians, who inhabited parts of what is now known as Iran, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh—even Scandinavia.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really…its philosophy over the years has changed somewhat. It made its way into Europe, where Aryanism is said to have been perfected.”

“You seem like a religious man in a world of cutting-edge science…how can you even relate to Aryanism with your two beliefs?”

“Oh no, there’s a lot of Christian believers on my side, ironically. Not just Christians, either. Aryanism is also
intertwined with Hinduism, Jainism, and Buddhism in the back sides of time. The striving urge is the philosophy to move the soul to divine consciousness. By the way, Jainism describes a path of nonviolence—to
all
living things, actually to say one aspect. We are an inherently self-centered species, I must say. A most difficult perspective to sustain with all variables considered. It is very old, you know.”

“
Hmmph
…I wouldn’t have thought you would…can something so
old
still have relevance?”

“Oh, it is very relevant. Its attraction is hard to deny. Perfection is everlasting. Science and religion both agree with this. Aryanism is as old as the people of the world itself… so why do you ask about US-2?”

“I was just wondering. You picked me, right?”

“Two totally different matters, US-1. But, yes, I had some say about you.”

“Why me then?”

“Quite simple…we had to deal with a formula called ‘diversity.’ We had to have it in a tiny bottle too. The bottle is this vessel…the operation has to succeed. We have to protect the baby at all costs.”

“Yes, but how can we rely on someone like US-2? I mean, you’re seeing his mishaps for yourself.”

“Not for you to decide…I think we came up with the right combination.”

“I hope so then…you and your brains have to decide that, I guess.”

“Yes, I hope so too…okay now, get some sleep. I will proceed with my rest, too. Hopefully, I won’t get woken up again—if you know what I mean. I’m tired and I’m turning over now.”

“Hey, Doc.”

“Yes, US-1?”

“Thanks for choosing me. There’s nothing on earth that would make me more proud to be instrumental in delivering peace—for the world, I mean.”

“You’re very welcome. Just thank me when we get to the United States. Thank me by taking care of the baby if something happens to me. I’ll tell you about him later as a backup.”

US-1: “I have to say, I had a dream. Ever since I was old enough to remember, I had this dream.”

Doc: “A dream? Is it something of interest?”

US-1: “Yes, it is…I dreamed to be a part of something big…as big as the world itself.”

Doc: “I know. It stood out in your profile documents. You’re in the right place.”

US-1: “You took note of that? Was that why you chose me?”

Doc: “Yes. One has to dream before believing in themselves. A very powerful tool in one of my specialties of science called
Synchronicity
.
²⁶
Okay, now go to sleep. This is enough for one night.”

US-1: “Synchronicity?”

Doc: “Yes, synchronicity. That is precisely why I think it is one of you who will see our mission through, not me.”

US-1: “Interesting…so there’s no chance of going back home?”

Doc: “You aren’t having a change of heart, are you?”

US-1: “No, not at all, I mean—”

Doc: “Good. That is why you had to be single. Nothing to gain; nothing to lose. US-2 is no different. You
do
remember that part of the strict criteria, don’t you?”

US-1: “Yes, that one stood out to me. I remember. At the time, I thought the only way to be on this mission was to be by
myself. I mean, a married man wouldn’t have stood a chance for this opportunity, right?”

Doc: “Not when it comes to warlord assassins and journeys of no return—the problem in this synthesis is we have a baby. The baby is our mission. See you in the morning. Go to sleep.”

US-1: “Why is it a baby anyway?”

Doc: “I said I would tell you more later. You best be on your way to beddy-bye. The days will be more strenuous as we carry on, I assure you.”

Swiftly thereafter, Doc dropped back off to sleep, but US-1 did not. A lonely sense of sadness suddenly came over him just then. Somewhere after the Doc’s last few words about him being single was when his smiles turned to dust.

As he sat in his chair, sulking, more of the sorry look about him came to light in the dimly-lit cockpit. Secretively, he pulled out his wallet and opened it up to the first thing inside—a picture of himself, posing as happy as could be with a beautiful young woman wrapped around him. On his other side, wrapped tightly around his leg, was a very tiny boy with a leather ball at his feet. In the backdrop was nothing much really, just a rundown house so small that all of it fit inside the picture too.

What little could be seen or known of the picture, a conclusion might have been drawn that everything in the wrinkly-edged, black-and-white picture was his. The house, the woman, and even the little boy. He quieted a sob before putting the picture away, ever so tenderly back in his wallet. Shortly thereafter, he tilted his chair back and fell asleep, leaving one last lonesome tear to trickle down his cheek.

Chapter 5

By next morning, the US
Wehrwolf
and her crew were somewhere deep in the Atlantic, still submerged. The time was around 0600 hours when little drops of rain inaugurated the ocean’s surface. Their touchdowns were delicate at first, until the drops began to pour down from the sky.

A couple of nearby whales were the only visitors, spewing with the water’s surface, also. After they saw what they wanted to see, they gracefully dropped below the surface, out of sight. The only thing they left behind was a small wave good-bye with their tails.

Shortly thereafter, loneliness crept back over the ocean’s drizzly surface, and the silence of the next few moments was mystifying. The clouds were equally mystifying, filled with shades of gray. They spread across the sky in all their glory that mild morning. A few small rays of light could be seen way off in the distance toward the sunrise, but none significant enough to change the solid pewter color that was present almost everywhere as far as the eye could see. Nothing else protruded above or in between, just the mood of the sky and ocean until,
Spew-wooooosh
.

Forming up from the soft ocean top, tapped by rain, a round mound of suds and air escaped. An uprising pool of bubbles followed, looking all too familiar. Indeed, she was the US
Wehrwolf
making her recognizable ascent before she could be seen.

A lazy fountain of water in the center of the bubbles grew and grew until her pointy black bow quickly appeared,
seemingly from nowhere. The rest of her menacing shape quickly followed, as a feathery fan of water gave way beneath her keel, hull, and, finally, her fins. Steadily and silently she rose to greet the wide-open, gigantic Atlantic once again.

The hatch safely broke away from her seam, letting out a hiss before opening the rest of the way, revealing a very ambitious crew inside. They were ready to receive the thrills of the new day, rain or shine.

US-1 was the first to crawl out with his binoculars, where he eagerly began to case the area. In the moments that followed, he happily told his comrades without looking at them, “You’re right, Doc! I see it…it’s over there…one o’clock… about four hundred meters.”

Off in the distance was the petrol drop they’d scheduled themselves to find. It was a large, black, round tank floating and bobbing about, with a small, white handkerchief-sized flag flying high above. On the face of the flag was the strange golden symbol of the rolling star—the same one found on the fins of their vessel and their coats.

With US-2 navigating inside the cockpit, they idled their way over to the pod while the hatch was still open and US-1 still standing on deck. When they got there, Doc pitched him a rope to secure the vessel to one of the shiny, bronze bollards near the tip of the bow. Once tied off, they began their service procedure. US-1 was still mainly involved with that. With a small hop over to the top of the pod, he gingerly popped open the manhole-sized lid and connected the fuel line apparatus to their vessel, except a minor problem occurred. He tried to work the pumping apparatus with great difficulty. “It won’t move…the hand pump. It’s jammed or something.”