Blitzkrieg: Origins of the Prime: A Superhero Spy Thriller (8 page)

“Welcome to Gitmo, gentlemen,” he said. “I’m Ensign Waters, Naval Intelligence.”

“Afternoon, Ensign,” Tom said as Axel nodded to the officer and Rolf stared into nothing, wiping the sweat from his brow, still obsessed with the heat.

Waters waved a jeep full of sailors behind him toward the plane. “The men will take care of your gear if you gentlemen will come with me,” he said.

“Certainly,” Tom said. “Thank you.”

Ensign Waters walked back around the front of the jeep and climbed into the driver’s seat while Tom sat beside him in the passenger seat. Axel climbed into the back and, after some prodding, convinced Rolf to do so as well. The giant of a man squeezed into the seat, pushing his brother tightly against the other side.

Ensign Waters drove the jeep down the hill to the ferry that would take them across Guantanamo Bay to the windward side of the island. About an hour later, the men sat in a briefing room sipping glasses of cool water while being sheltered from the heat.

They did not have to wait long before the door opened and a group of military officers entered. Tom, Axel, and Rolf stood, shaking hands with each of the men. The officers were introduced as Captain Cook, commander of the Naval base at Guantanamo Bay, Colonel Harley, commander of the Marine Barracks, Commander Jones, head of naval intelligence for GTMO, and Captain Austin of the Coast Guard cutter
Persistence
. Everyone sat around the large conference table.

Captain Cook glanced around at the other military officers and then back at Axel, Tom, and Rolf, before speaking. “Well, gentlemen,” he began, “we aren’t really sure what you’re down here to do, but we received orders to provide you with whatever you needed.” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “So, what do you need?”

Tom smiled.

***

The plan was a simple one. Sail the USCGC
Persistence
north from Guantanamo Bay to a location off the coast of Cuba, just south of Havana. From there Axel, Tom, and Rolf would take a small craft to the beach, landing under cover of dark, and rendezvous with an anti-Castro Cuban who would lead them into Havana and return them to their boat once they had the defector. They would then take the boat back to the Coast Guard cutter and sail to Florida. Tom had insisted that they come up with a fall back, in case they could not make it back to their boat. They had devised a secondary escape plan which involved traveling the length of Cuba to Guantanamo City and from there crossing over into the U.S. Naval base. Colonel Harley escorted Tom, Axel, and Rolf out to the fence line that separated the base from the rest of Cuba to determine the feasibility of that plan. He had tried to explain to them that it would be much too dangerous, but Tom insisted that they have a look for themselves.

Axel and Tom stood atop an observation post situated on the shore of the Guantanamo River, on the leeward side of the bay. Colonel Harley and two Marine sentries stood just behind them. From their vantage point they had a clear line of sight into Guantanamo City, which appeared to be a couple of miles away. Guantanamo City was a small workers town, the primary industry being a food processing plant. There was very little else surrounding the city other than military outposts watching the Americans.

“So if we had to, we could travel down from Havana to Gitmo City and then cut across to the fence line?” Axel asked.

The Colonel chuckled. “Not if you value your life,” Colonel Harley said before spitting a stream of brown liquid from his mouth over the side of the observation tower. He waved his hand over the open area between the city and the fence line. “We call that the
Cactus Curtain
,” he smiled, clearly amused by the name. “Cuban asylum seekers kept fleeing Castro’s regime by coming into Gitmo, so the Cuban military planted cacti to dissuade them.” He spit another stream of brown juice before smiling broadly at Tom and Axel. “But it ain’t the cacti that is the problem. It’s the minefield. There are rows and rows of land mines between us and them.” Tom and Axel looked at each other and then out over the minefield.

“Is it possible to navigate through the minefield?” Tom asked.

“It is certainly
possible
to traverse the minefield. It has been done before, but I wouldn’t advise trying. Hell, even the Cuban army doesn’t know where all their mines are. They just laid them out haphazardly, without any kind of diagram or plans.”

Axel peeked out over the side of the post down into the Gitmo River. He saw something large swimming past. “Hey, what is that?” he asked. The Marines quickly joined him and looked down into the water.

“It’s a manatee,” said a large lance corporal named Green in his thick Georgia accent. “We see ‘em all the time. Them, sharks, and of course the Gitmo beast…just about everything swims up this river.”

Tom smiled and slapped the young lance corporal on the back. “And they can, because it’s not mined.” He then turned to the Colonel. “We can take a boat down the river.”

Colonel Harley laughed as he shook his head at the audacity of these men. “Sure, you can take a boat down the river, and stay free of the mines. Of course, first you gotta find a boat.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Tom said. “I’ve never seen a rural town near a body of water that did not have numerous boats ready and waiting,”

The Colonel nodded. “Alright, well let’s say you do commandeer a craft,” he said. “The Cubans watch the river as closely as we do and might be a bit suspicious of any boat high-tailing it to the American side.”

Tom laid a hand on the Marine commander’s shoulder. “Colonel, if we are high-tailing it down the river to the base, we’ve already raised plenty of suspicion and at that point will be simply trying to survive.”

After reviewing the plan, the Colonel led the way down the long winding set of stairs to the ground below. There they found Rolf exploring a bunker with the young Corporal who drove them out to the fence line. Rolf looked like a kid playing war.

“Hey Axel, check this out,” he said excitedly. “This is a
real
bunker, just like in the movies.” Rolf stepped back inside crouching low to fit through the door and then his face reappeared in the small firing port as he pretended to fire a machine gun at assaulting Cubans.

Tom leaned over and whispered into Axel’s ear, “I’m going to have to put my foot down, Axel. Rolf is not ready for this mission. He would be a severe liability and might get all of us killed or captured.”

Axel nodded. He knew Tom was right. They were going undercover in Havana, posing as German tourists, and Rolf would already call a lot of attention to them simply based on his size. Despite what he had told the director, Axel had known deep in his heart that Rolf was not ready, but there was the other side of the coin. Rolf
wanted
to be on the mission. He was part of the team, always had been, and was just as excited as Tom and Axel to get a real world mission, a chance to put all of his training to use. To deny Rolf this opportunity would break his heart.

Axel watched as Rolf laughed and played in the bunker like a child. He was having so much fun, they were probably going to have to tear him away from here. Then Axel had an idea. “Hey Colonel, are there always Marines stationed at this post?” he asked.

Colonel Harley nodded. “Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. No matter the weather. Marines stand post during hurricanes. Of course in that case, they would be in the bunker instead of the tower.”

Axel nodded. “How would you feel about Rolf staying out here in the bunker while we’re in Havana?”

Harley glanced at Rolf and then back to Axel. He lowered his voice to ensure Rolf could not hear him. “No disrespect, but can he handle it? He seems to be a bit…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but instead touched his head with his pointer finger clearly indicating what he meant.

“He’s well trained, Colonel. He’s jumped out of planes, navigated jungles…” Tom said allowing his words to trail off.

“Well,” the Colonel said as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Aren’t the Marines here under orders to help in any way we need?” Axel asked.

The Colonel nodded. “I suppose it’ll be alright,” he said. “But if something happens to him, or if he does something to hurt someone else, that’s on you, not me.”

Axel and Tom both nodded. “Fair enough, Colonel,” Tom said.

“Rolf,” Axel said and watched as his brother stepped back out of the bunker, still smiling happily.

“Yeah?” Rolf asked.

“How would you like to stay out here in the bunker and stand post just like a real Marine?” Axel asked.

Rolf’s eyes widened as he nodded his head up and down. “That would be so cool,” he said.

“Alright then, you can stay here while we go to Havana.”

The smiled disappeared from Rolf’s face. “Wait, that means I’d miss the mission,” he said and began shaking his head from side to side. “No, I want to go on the mission. You guys need me.”

Axel glanced back over the fence and then back at his brother. “It is part of the mission,” he said.

“Really?” Rolf asked. He trusted his brother completely, but it was difficult to understand how sitting in a Marine bunker could be part of a mission to Havana.

“Yeah,” Axel replied. “You see this river,” Axel asked as he pointed to the water flowing by. Rolf nodded. “We might be bringing the Russian down this river and if that happens, the Cubans are going to be chasing us.” Rolf’s eyes widened. “We need you to wait for us here. As we’re coming down the river, you’ll have to help us fight the Cubans. Think you can do that?”

Rolf nodded. “Yeah, I can fight the Cubans.” He stepped over to the fence line, placing both hands against the chain link and staring through menacingly. “I’ll crush ‘em.”

Tom smiled at Axel proudly. The crisis had been averted for now. When they returned to D.C. they could decide what they needed to do with Rolf. For now, he’d be safe on the naval base yet still feel as though he contributed to the overall mission. Now it was time to ready for their insertion into Havana.

Chapter 7

Axel felt the cool spray of the salty sea mist upon his face as the inflatable boat bounced up and down on the waves. They had set off from the Coast Guard cutter
Persistence
several miles from the Cuban coast. Tom was acting as coxswain of the small craft and Axel was navigating. It was dark, the shoreline was impossible to see and they were navigating completely by compass. Axel prayed to God that he was not leading them further out to sea where they would die of thirst and exposure.

After a long night of bouncing in the waves, they were relieved when the shoreline finally came into view. They sailed parallel to the shore—a few thousand yards out—until they reached the point both agreed was the landing spot. Tom motored them in until they were about a hundred yards out. He then cut the engine and they paddled the rest of the way, allowing the waves to carry them to shore. When the water was shallow enough, Tom and Axel climbed over the sides of the boat, splashing into the cool ocean and pulling the boat ashore.

They dragged the heavy boat up onto the beach and knelt down on the sand. Both men looked about the beach expectantly, and just as Axel was about to ask Tom if he had a back-up plan in case their Cuban contact was not here, they heard a whistle that sounded remarkably like a man attempting to sound like a bird. They watched as four dark, man-shaped shadows rose up in the black and dashed over to them.

“Hola,” the first whispered when they reached them. “You are the CIA men, no?”

“Not exactly,” Tom replied, “but close enough.”

“I am Juan,” the Cuban informed them. “Let’s hide your boat.”

He and his friends quickly helped Tom and Axel lift the boat and carry it up the beach beyond the tide line so that it would not be taken out to sea. They lowered the boat into a small ditch and covered it with palm branches. “Diego will watch over it,” Juan said, nodding to one of his compatriots. “Come with me.”

Three of the four men departed, disappearing back into the darkness from whence they came. Juan led Axel and Tom to an old, rusting pick-up truck.

“Before we get in, do you have your contribution to the Cuban Liberation Fund?” he asked with a smile. Tom unslung a small, black bag from his shoulder and tossed it to the Cuban. Juan opened the zipper and peered inside. Satisfied that the amount of American dollars inside was acceptable, he opened the driver’s side door and climbed inside the truck. Axel and Tom climbed in on the passenger side with Axel sitting in between the two men.

Juan drove just a few miles down the road before he came to an old barn. He pulled over and climbed out of the truck, indicating for Axel and Tom to do likewise. The two men complied and followed the Cuban into the barn. Once inside Juan closed the doors and then lit a small oil lamp. He unslung the small black bag of cash from his shoulder and tossed it onto a table. He sat down on a wooden stool and opened the bag, dumping the stacks of bills out onto the table.

“You should go ahead and change out of those wet clothes and into your civilians,” Juan said in a thick accent, without looking at them. “We’ll try to get a couple hours sleep and then we’ll drive into Havana.”

“How far is it ?” Tom asked.

Juan shook his head from side to side. “Not far,” he replied.

Tom shot a frustrated glance to Axel who suppressed a chuckled. Axel then began unbuttoning his wet shirt. Both men changed into dry clothes, specially selected to match their cover as German tourists. Then they ate a dinner of canned beans and sausages before laying down on sleeping bags and going to sleep as Juan, who had finished counting the money, turned off the lamp.

The three men only slept for a couple of hours before the sun was rising overhead, peeking through slits in the barn wall. They rose, dusted off and once again piled into the truck, intent on stopping at a cafe in Havana for breakfast, just like real German tourists would.