Operation Wolfe Cub: A Chilling Historical Thriller (THE TIME TO TELL Book 1) (19 page)

Without further ado, he snaked over on his belly, turned it on, and nervously spoke into the partially-damaged microphone as clearly as he could, “Mu-mu…May Day. May Day, do you hear? This ’s the
Blessit
, number FV-231…please, anyone? We’re bein’ shot…May Day, damn it,
ohhh
, woe is me. I’m bein’ attacked!”

In no time, a signal scratched back with a woman’s voice. “This is the U.S.
Chameleon
, AK 110. We read you. State your location, come in?”

“Fu-for, God, I don’t know a location. Days from Maine coast, maybe. I—I can’t get up. They come out-a-nowhere. They popped outta nowhere. You gotta get here now. You hear? I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die, I’m tellin’.”

“Calm down. Were you the blue fishing boat passing us eastbound this morning? We’re the cargo ship passing through, over?”

“Yes, damn-it, now hurry!”

“State the vessel attacking you…is it a U-boat? How many, over?”

“What? U-boat? It’s a black ship. Ain’t nothin’ like it. It’s a spaceship lookin’ thing with wings, I’m tellin’. It popped outta the sky outta nowhere—then landed and started blowin’ up the place!”

“Stay put…keep your microphone on. We’re headed your way immediately. Over and out.”

Jed dropped the microphone and collapsed. “‘Stay put,’ she says? I’m goin’ to hell from here.”

All of the sudden, US-2’s Zwilling Twins cranked up again, sending a rage of rapid fire right up the
Blessit
’s deck. Ridiculous numbers of rounds sprung up the boards, like giant rat traps snapping closer to Jed. All he wanted to do was curl up and cover his ears, when the blasting suddenly stopped right below his feet. Warily, he opened his eyes, realizing he was still alive.

As he lay there in the province of fear, he felt a most unusual urge to celebrate. Rolling up to his side was the Mister, as he called it. Booze barely oozed from the cork. Urgently, he picked it up, and he tipped it desperately for a huge swig. Surely, this shouldn’t have mattered, but it did for him. Audacity instantly kicked in with consequences. He swept up his brother’s Winchester and stood straight up, as if he had a pure metal jacket, waiting to be tested all over his frail body. He took his time to aim back at the US
Wehrwolf
for a counterattack, but he didn’t take the shot.

US-2 calmly stared through his optical, hardly believing what he saw. It was the black outline of a fearless, skinny man, quivering all over and ready to fire.

US-2 flinched at first, but then he carefully looked through his optics again, as if he was being lured into some kind of trick. He muttered, “Look, Junior Lieutenant….the man is gone crazy.”

US-2 didn’t even have to adjust his aim through those crosshairs of his. Without further hesitation, he lit up his Twins, sending Jed’s limbs and body out to sea, piece by piece.

From there on, the
Blessit
floated alone, bludgeoned by gunfire and wet with blood. The only thing left on board that sounded alive was the music of the blood-spattered radio, still playing tunes, without losing a beat:

“This is JDVL radio. I just love Benny Goodman’s stomping jazz, don’t you? Now for an update on the weather…get ready out there. We are in for a naaasty, and I mean naaaasty, storm front coming in from the east. It’s making its way clear over to the coast of Maine soon
.

“Sailors out there, beware….you’d better be in because we have a dangerous ship advisory for you right now—”

Subsequently, the shortwave came on by itself next to the radio: “Are those shots, over? Hello? Hello? Can you hear me, over? Hello, come in,
Blessit
. This is the U.S.
Chameleon
. We are en route and armed, so please get out of the way if you can. I repeat…we are en route, so, please, get out of the way if you can, over.”

US-2 was aboard his own vessel, clueless in more ways than one. While the shocking talk kept signaling away on the shortwave off in the distance and while the pod kept sinking outside of his peripheral view, he seemed quite amused to be out of touch by scanning the damage he’d created to the
Blessit
.

The scene inside his optical was a smoldering mess of fractured boards, broken glass, and a half broken-down cabin splashed over wickedly with the color of blood. While yawning, he turned to the baby. “There now, we are closer to
America now, Junior Lieutenant, look. She’s now
red
, white, and blue.”

After growing bored from looking, he flipped his optical back behind his seat and stretched his arms back, as if he intended on giving himself some slack from a murderous job well done. While doing so, he did stop to interrupt himself, thinking he might have missed something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He paused, for a minute while smoke from his twin barrels drifted in front of his face.

Quickly after that, he snapped his fingers and lit another cigarette. As he blew a thin stream of smoke into the soft breeze, he gazed into nowhere as if wishing to forget about the paralyzing predicament he’d fallen into.

After thinking his way into forgetfulness, he grinned and mumbled, “Now I know why they picked me for this job… see me in action, Junior Lieutenant? See that? I bet the bastards don’t have the guts to do
that
again…so this is what to look for in America...swines. They’re everywhere, eh, Junior Lieutenant? You hear me through that bubble? Here, let me open it up and give you some fresh air.”

His junior lieutenant didn’t have much to say. From the surprising, round-eyed look he gave, one could only guess what he thought after all the deafening noise of high-flying gunfire, packed in with jolts powerful enough to rattle teeth. His feathers were ruffled, for sure. Maybe he was too shocked to move. Fortunately for him, the power-packed dilemma came to an end through the wonder of time, soothing itself by a little peace and quiet afterward. The fright quickly passed for the young boy. Within a matter of minutes, he soon became oblivious to his surroundings once again. He continued to play with his pistol magazine beside him as if nothing had ever happened.

US-2 was as oblivious as the baby was. He still hadn’t thought about refueling, nor did he see the U.S.
Chameleon
well on her way, filled with an entire crew of warriors he could have only wished to be apprised of.

Seeing such a huge vessel deserved the attention of just about any rival daring to set their unknowing eyes on her. The U.S.
Chameleon
’s company of sea-goers gave a new meaning to the word “undercover” when it came to brothers of war. They were Maritime U.S. Merchant Marines aboard and representing an auxiliary of the United States Navy.

Interestingly enough, they didn’t look like the Navy, for their disguise was cunning. The ship they cruised looked like a cargo ship, but she wasn’t a cargo ship at all. She was the equivalent of one of the deadliest vessels in the U.S. Navy’s fleet in the Atlantic.

She would have fooled the best of them in warfare. From her slow-moving, single-screw steamer appearance, all the way down to her lengthy, four hundred-foot hull, she had the looks of pure, peaceful deception. Make no mistake—she was the real thing. She was an innocent-looking cargo ship turned into an enemy’s worst nightmare—and bigger than battleships that never hid their guns and cannons.

Her weight seemed to defy gravity the way she floated on top of the water. Apparently, the ocean was heavier by just a few thousand pounds, or she would have sunk straight down in record time. All 6,600 tons of her bashed through whitecaps and wakes as if she was a steamroller crushing the top of everything just to make it flat.

To sum up her dishonesty, she was painted in an even heavier disguise of rusty red and gray, like she was surely not looking for any kind of fight that day.

One surprise definitely deserved another in this instance, however. Contrary to any belief, she was headed straight to one of the biggest Atlantic battles that World War II’s history books never told. What she intended on approaching was a tiny, but mighty contender who was just as secretive as she.

Aboard the U.S.
Chameleon
, the normal day-to-day duties were being carried out, with one exception. Since the
Blessit
’s distress call came in loud and clear, they had inherited the dubious duty of investigating in their very own special way. They had started thinking about their hidden guns and turrets for the first time.

The U.S. Merchant Marine captain making the call for action just happened to be currently involved in a staff training class in the control room, where he was wrapping things up with his pupils. One of them in the classroom raised his hand and was called upon to speak, “Excuse me, Captain Nelson, if we ever encounter battle, could you go over the German’s stratagem again?”

Captain Nelson replied, “Very well, but first, let me finish what I am saying…we’re three days out on our third rendezvous mission to seek and destroy enemy U-boats. They can be anywhere along the Eastern seaboard, and they can wreak havoc on the Atlantic supply chain to our allies overseas. So far, we’ve failed to attract enemy German subs anywhere with our undercover cargo ship. Let me remind you, we are not just going to sit around and fish. If we have to, we will take the offensive to get the message out. We’re capable of taking out an entire fleet of subs. Trust me. If we get the chance, German subs will be sunk.”

Nelson then pointed to a map on the wall: “Now to answer your question, their stratagem is multilayered above and below water. The Germans’ underwater stratagem is to choke off America’s lifelines to England and Russia with their elite U-boats. That’s where they get the surprise of their lives. Our hidden guns, with a special flotation system, can survive almost anything…let me say that we—are—no—pushover. There are only a few other vessels like us. We’re going to make a name for ourselves as a bunch of sucker-punching street fighters. Everybody better be with me, because if you aren’t, I might have to chain you up in the engine room…we
need more workers down there, and that’s where the torpedoes wind up first…what do you say? Is everyone with me?”

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir! We’re with you, sir! We’re with you, sir! Yes, sir!”

Nelson grunted, “Good…before you all go to your standard duties, I must announce a pleasant surprise. I just ordered a formal intercept course, which is prompting our first emergency call. This is no drill.” Nelson paused. “We’re in for some excitement. The call’s not a supply boat, but I don’t care. She’s a fishing boat with real, live people in distress. The last contact revealed that machine guns may have engaged her. As soon as we determine the target is real, I will be expecting all of you to act. Questions anyone?”

Everyone adamantly replied, “No, sir. No, sir.
No, sir
! No, sir. Yeah, we’re ready!”

Captain Nelson adjourned the meeting: “Good, get out of here and get ready…hey, Lieutenant, stay here. I want you by my side…plot a sneak attack on intercept course… oh, you back there…don’t sound the general alarm. Just pass it along…one more thing for dispatch…tell them to send a code to land that we’re contemplating engagement of an unconfirmed enemy target.”

Nelson then spoke more loudly to all his pupils leaving, “
Ha
! At last we get to test our ship and men. I want silence everywhere. Does everyone hear? All lines of communication—radio, speaker, whistles, blinkers, flags—down and out of sight.” He turned back to his lieutenant. “Did you get all that, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

Captain Nelson then moved to the bridge for observation. Along the way, he grabbed his binoculars and spoke indirectly to a growing number of his crew. “This vessel’s a Man of War. We’re under strict orders from President Franklin D. Roosevelt…did you know that? I love it. Yes, sir. They’ll
never see us coming,
ha!
Good as a legitimate cargo vessel hull AK-110,
ha!
We’ll see what they’re made of…quick, did anyone define our target as a U-boat yet?”

The lieutenant stepped up to face him. “No, sir, not yet… but all communications from the civilian distress call indicates that it is.”

Nelson jolted. “What? How’s that? Explain.”

“It’s hard to explain. The man and his distress call. He said the vessel came from out of nowhere, sir.”

“Nowhere?
Hmmm
, sounds interesting. Continue, Lieutenant.”

“He said it was some kind of—spaceship, sir. That’s why we determined it to be a submarine U-boat…and one more thing, sir. He said it was black.”

“Black? Maybe he thought it was gray.”

“I know, sir, but maybe it’s a new color of U-boat…the Germans have been known to change colors before, sir.”

Nelson started surveying across the ocean through his binoculars. “
Hmmm
, good analysis…that’s probably what it is, all right…anything else?”

“Yes, sir…what if they already dived and we get struck blindsided with torpedoes?”

Nelson muttered as he looked out through his binoculars. “So. Where were you when I lectured about that?”

The lieutenant looked even more worried. “No, I heard… I mean it’s hard to believe, Captain…I’m speaking for the entire crew, sir.”

“Oh, you are?”

“Yes, sir…they have a good point, I mean, nobody wants to, I mean, what about our hull? It’s chambered below to carry things, not withstand water intrusion, sir.”

Captain Nelson took his binoculars down. “That’s pure nonsense. Tell the crew…the works of Gemini Corporation… built this ship to be impossible to sink with all the floatation material we’re carrying. It’s better than a battleship…we also
have more than enough firepower. Get your head on…we got enough big guns to level Rhode Island.”

“I know, sir, but—”

Nelson pulled down his binoculars. “Are you challenging me, Lieutenant? We’re as solid as a big, fat, floating cork that’s armed—twenty guns—turrets I said. Got four depth-charge projectors. How much more do you want? Feel sorry for the enemy, not us.”

“Yes, sir. If we’re lucky, they’ll surface and come right up to us.”

Nelson grinned. “That would be nice. Do me a favor and fetch me a sonar report. Look for more subs. Where there’s one, there could be others.”