Operation Wolfe Cub: A Chilling Historical Thriller (THE TIME TO TELL Book 1) (21 page)

His lieutenant helped him up. “Sir, do you need damage reports?”

“I can see the damages! Look at all this, damn it!” As he brushed himself off, he looked at part of his remaining crew unmoving in their boots. “Well, don’t stand there everyone! Get going! They can’t sink us. Let them bring on their torpedoes, for all I care. We’re just getting started!” He adjusted his collar, took a deep breath, and then stood up straight as he grabbed his binoculars once again. “There…you see? They stopped firing. That’s the best they’ve got! They’ll never live to see daylight again…commence firing!”

His lieutenant ran up from behind, tapping his shoulder. “Sir! Some of our crew—our gunners even—they’re dead, sir. They’re really
dead
.”

Nelson turned to face him, looking him square in the eye. “Welcome to war, Lieutenant! Wake up…somehow they got lucky!” He then turned back around yelling, “Can’t let those peckers get away with this! I want to know what that thing is!” He turned back to his lieutenant. “Lieutenant, you’re stalling me. I said commence
firing!
”

The lieutenant jumped up, yelling as he ran off the bridge, “Remaining live stations, commence firing!”

Others echoed down, “Make live stations, commence fire! Make live stations! Commence fire! Move ammo to live stations! Fire!”

Immediately, US-2 was set aback from their return attack. Volleys of rounds from the U.S.
Chameleon
’s monster turrets came crashing down into the ocean. Water continued blasting up closer until one fin at the stern got clipped. Trails of machine gun fire soon followed, inching closer up onto the deck that he once stood upon. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, glimmering machine gun holes lit up the cockpit across the control panel as US-2 flinched and danced from one side to the other.

He quickly sat back down next to his junior lieutenant to counter, but his guns just wouldn’t fire anymore. “
Awh!
We’re empty!”

Just by chance, he spotted the big brass buttons on his controls. Instantly, he lunged for the one marked “Anachronism Kraft Strahl Kanone,” but he stopped within an inch of ramming it with his fist. He then reached for his stealth propulsion controls, but looked through his broken hatch. “Nooooo! I can’t dive!”

As the barrage of bullets intensified, he looked over to his junior lieutenant who still seemed fine. He closed his eyes and then opened them again. “It’s the Strong Ray, Junior Lieutenant…it’s time. Time to be soldier or die, little one. I’m sorry, but we’re in this together.”

As the cannon fire came in all too close, he went for his big brass at last. Wet and wooly-eyed, the lone blond warrior took a quick glance over to the frail fishing boat and for the first time, saw its beaten-up name on her stern sticking out at him. He closed his eyes and muttered the frail little boat’s wishful name: “Blessit.”

Blessings he needed. He was about to embark upon the wildest longshot, which came to him as clear as a bell at that moment. Through the hellacious hailstorm of bullets and cannonfire, he struck the big gun button as hard as he could and waited—then he waited some more. “Come on! Do something!”

For the longest seconds of his life, he waited until finally, something engaged beneath his feet with a mighty thump. Out in back, inside the third bay beside the twin engines, a superficial super sound emerged. Something analogous to tiny thunderbolts erupting in swirls causing him to look behind in fright. The very essence of it, never before seen in this world, had begun. Terrifyingly so, the sound simulated the reckless spinning faster and faster.

US-2 quickly harnessed himself in the security of his chair and waited a little longer before he had second thoughts. A panicky change of mind crossed his face suddenly as the swirls gained in speed and sound. He reached for his
controls, trying to undo what he had just engaged, barely finding the time to moan, “Oh no…no, I’ve done something
wrong
. Turn it off…
turn it off!
”

It was too late. Right then and there, he quickly realized there was no turning back. The very weapon that Doc feared the most was about to blow inside the vessel.

CrrrrrrAAAAASH!

A clash of waves quivered through the cockpit. Instantly, the energy gripped ahold of US-2, causing him to jolt. It was as if his very being was slapped into thinking about the boundaries of his consciousness. Reality tested him again with hallucinating distortions everywhere he looked, but there was more. Just when it seemed he couldn’t stand its misery, the clash of waves quickly spun into a twirling aura and immediately surged through his entire body, “
Ah
!”

He screamed again, whipsawing in his chair uncontrollably. He seemed potently possessed, except how could that be? The aura seemed to control his very flesh and bones. Somehow, it synched him tightly to that which contained no matter at all. It seemed as though it were his very spirit that was in jeopardy.

Inside the horrid fixation of such a freak phenomenon, he somehow stayed the course with every gasp of his breath. “I —I have a purpose.”

Every last second that ticked by seemed like an eternity giving way to his lost self. The only reminder before his incapacitated eyes was his single brass optical, which was begging to be looked through. His looked at it curiously giving the notion that he was looking at a foreign object. Curiosity was his only savior. Through the trapped isolation of his body and spirit, he looked inquisitively through it. Right there in plain vision was all that he needed to remind him of his mission.

Inside the crosshairs and lined up quite well was the U.S.
Chameleon
, blazing away straight at him off the tips of her turrets. However, the force behind him kept feeding upon itself
higher and higher, causing him to cringe with convulsions. “
Awh!
”

He screamed in pain. While he mustered to handle it, he steadied his aim and looked at his red control light slowly switching to green. Right then was the time to pull the trigger, but it didn’t work. Just then, a stout, chrome cannon barrel wrapped in coils, flipped out of a hatch directly in front of him.

Kirthump!

The Strong Ray’s gun locked into place, blocking his view. He pulled the trigger anyway.

CRACA-POOOOOOWWW!

Its massive kick was so immense that it took every last bit of structural strength the US
Wehrwolf
contained in her hull to survive the recoil. She plunged backward, pounding her stern deep below the surface while her bow sprung up almost vertically into the air. A full, disastrous flip seemed almost eminent, but somehow, she hung there.

Before Captain Nelson could pull his binoculars down and say “blow-me-down,” a shining ray bolted right through the center of his starboard side.

VAAAVOOOOOOMMMM!

The mighty impact cratered the U.S.
Chameleon
’s massive hull and threw her all the way over to the brink of a near capsize. Most of her crew on deck screamed in horror before being catapulted into the ocean. Right behind them, falling on top, were their massive turrets, guns, and debris, which quickly took them to the bottom of the ocean.

While the vessel lay on her side in limbo, none of the survivors still aboard expected horrid after-shocks to come. Unfortunately, they did. Those who clung onto the rails closest to the point of impact stared down at the brunt of it. Next to them, almost straight up, was a jagged hole big enough to drive a bus through. They quickly got a good look at her
contents, which were never intended to see the light of day. Smoldering next to them and fuming with fuel was whatever they could stuff her hallow chambers with shredded cork, balsa wood, sawdust, and even trash.

Booom!

Immediately, it burst into a towering inferno, blowing high into the sky. Incredibly, the fire twirled into an unexpected twister of horrid oranges and black.

More crewmembers, scorched from the blaze, fell to their deaths, yet the wounded U.S.
Chameleon
still tried to cling to life. Time was apparently all she needed. Come hell, fire, or massive impact, she actually appeared to be coming back. Mammoth sounds of creaks and groans sounded off the warning calls that she would soon face her enemy once more—to settle her score.

The remaining crew sensed this too, screaming as they held onto the rails anticipating a monster rock in the other direction. “Nooooo! Noooo!
Awwwh!
She’s coming back! We’re going back! Watch out! No!
No!
We’re going the other way!”

Screams only imagined in nightmares echoed everywhere as she slowly rocked back from the dead.

KaaaWooooshhhhh!

She returned with a monstrous splash, like an invincible, angry giant stepping back into the ring. Waves of water quickly came to her assistance, caving into her gaping hole, claiming the flames. Clouds of steam and smoke spewed into the air, leaving rotten, hot toxins to cry out, “Beware! I’m upright and ready to fight, once more!”

Captain Nelson survived by simply hanging onto the head of his giant cargo of war. He pulled himself back up with a look of sheer astonishment. His observation deck was still in place, even though it had taken on a new, burned look.

His look of astonishment didn’t last long, however. He quickly grabbed his emergency megaphone and traded his
amazement for spitting rage. “Take whatever guns! Fire at will! I want that thing blown out of the water! Do you hear meeee?!”

As his remaining crew scrambled to the remaining turrets and machine guns, he turned to his subordinates. “Sound the distress call! And you! Go to dispatch and send communications to land for rescue backup, damn it! We’ve got no choice!”

The U.S.
Chameleon
’s communications scrambled over to the dispatcher, who was inside and gathering up equipment from the floor. Feverishly, he tapped loads of code for all of America to hear quite clearly.

Tick-tick—tick-tick
… “S.O.S…S.O.S”…
Tick-tick
…“Unknown alien space water craft”…
Tick-tick
…“with ray gun attacked U.S.
Chameleon
”…
Tick-tick-tick
… “S.O.S…S.O.S”…
Tick-tick—tick
…“backup vessel needed”…
Tick-tick
…“Immediately!”

Winning prematurely
surely
took on a new meaning when US-2 was caught looking through his optical, grinning. Like a true young champion, he calmly studied his ailing adversary across the flat of the ocean as he whistled a few happy notes. Through the round picture inside his lens, he was quite pleased to see that he might have won the big one.

The U.S.
Chameleon
’s sparse crew was in true chaos, carrying off the dead, tending to the wounded, and putting out fires. As he played with a toothpick he had found instead of a cigarette, his chuckles quickly paused. In a few moments, he dropped his grin entirely to mutter, “What in the name of?”

He didn’t quite know whether what he was seeing was actually true, so he rubbed his eyes and then peeked through his optical once again, this time with more magnification. Sure enough, more men showed up on deck and started manning their battle stations with their remaining guns and cannons. He muttered again, “Damn…damn the Hells.”

He rocked back in his chair and looked over to the baby in his protective capsule, who was playing with his pistol magazine quite contently. “I give up, Junior Lieutenant…what in the
hell
is that ship made of?” He went on, “Well, Junior Lieutenant…we do or die. We did and now we still might die…it is time to go,
but—
” he raised his finger, “I still have a plan.”

He unstrapped the baby with his capsule from his seat and then leaped together with him to the edge of the vessel. For the moment, he looked as though he was taking preparations to a swim toward the beat-up old
Blessit
. As he got his things together on deck, he let Junior Lieutenant know what was inevitably on his ailing mind. “You see that ugly old boat out there, yes? We’re going to play boat with this capsule of yours, okay? Don’t be scared now, I’ll be floating right behind you.” Gently, he pushed his bubble crib out into the water. “There you go. I’ll be right back, so don’t float too far.”

Among other things, US-2 rushed back into the cockpit nervously muttering, “Where is Wycliffe’s control box…the black box—where is it? Where is it, damn it?”

Finally, he found it in a satchel. With one swipe, he snatched it up into his hands and read the toggle switches one by one. “Hatch open…gangway ladder…anchor…
hmmm
…engine kill…engine ignition…
ah
, I knew it. There it is—engine ignition.”

He then feverishly began throwing things about in the cockpit, as if he was looking for something else too. “Yes, a fire extinguisher! That’ll work.”

While contorting down below the controls, he wedged the fire extinguisher to his accelerator pedal, and then ever so carefully started to slow down. Precision mattered, so he took his time aiming his steering controls directly at his fearless foe—“the unsinkable.” When everything was just right, he took a piece of rope and tied the steering off exactly the way he wanted it. After that, he stood up, rubbing his hands.

The biggest upheaval came with a surprise. He looked as though he was attempting suicide when he leaned over to the big brass buttons and struck the “self-destruct” button with his fist.

Shortly thereafter, his sad, last-ditch effort made a shocking sound that nobody in their right mind would have wanted to hear. A small alarm sounded off, signaling with regular ticks that his terrifying plot had begun. Surprisingly, he jumped back. “
Ho-ho
, this is it. Doc says forty-five seconds… let’s get outta here.”

With newfound vigor, he leaped up onto the main deck with the black box in hand. With a ceremonial wave and a kiss good-bye to his assailants, he dived into the sea and caught up with his junior lieutenant floating along. With a few side strokes, he got to a safe distance and then swam back around to watch his crazy idea unfold. Somehow and some way, he looked entertained by his gamble, even though any mishap at all could blow up in his face.