His crew was at least well-equipped with arms and ammunition. Continuing the war was certainly something he hadn’t planned on. At least, it seemed to him, he had the advantage of the element of surprise. The Americans might suspect the U-616 to be in the area. Certainly not on dry land, and surely with no idea of location. Should he lead a raid against the Americans and use surprise to defeat them? It was an option. An option his heart didn’t want to follow, but he knew his head would ultimately decide.
A murmur arose from behind him, just where the sandy beach ended and hard ground and grass began. He turned and saw a crewman pointing to the sky. Others shielded their eyes against the sun and looked too. The murmur rose.
Christoph lifted his gaze to see what caused the commotion. A bird of some sort, perhaps a frigate bird, circled overhead. As it moved out of the sun’s glare, he realized it wasn’t a bird at all.
The creature was bat-like in a way and reminded him of a dragon from one of Erik’s children’s books. Its upperparts were tannish-green in color and underside the same, only streaked with white. The head had a triangular shape at the top, and its bill was long and flat.
SKEER-AK!
A shiver ran down Christoph’s spine as the beast’s cry cut deeply into his rationale. His schooling had included the study of fossils in one of his science classes. He remembered a flying reptile named pterodactyl, a pterosaur, from the time when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. From the skeletal remains and drawings, this creature could be nothing other than that. But that was impossible. Dinosaurs had been extinct for millions of years.
He scanned the nearest trees and listened intently over the growing surprise of the crew. There weren’t any birds nearby. Strange. Could this be an island evolution had ignored? This was 1945, every corner of the Earth had been explored by this point, and nothing like this had ever been found.
The storm. The storm had something to do with them being there. It certainly had moved them through space and set them on land. How, he didn’t know. But, did the storm do more than that? Did the storm move them back in time?
Impossible. Time travel only existed in fiction. If it were possible to manipulate time, then Hitler would have had his best scientists working to perfect it.
“Commander,” Lt. Bach said. He had stepped over while Christoph had been lost in his thoughts. “What do you think that is?”
“Probably the same thing as you. It’s a prehistoric creature, a pterodactyl.”
“There have not been any prehistoric creatures alive since the prehistory of man.”
“Well, I would say you are wrong at this point. There is at least one.”
Bach went to speak, but Christoph raised his hand.
“I can’t explain our situation at this point. This is what we know: We are on an unknown island that has a large flying reptile. I seriously doubt it is alone, so we need to keep our wits about in case it decides to risk a chance at tasting humans. What other kinds of life might we encounter, we do not know. But,” he said as he pointed southeast, “look at the smoke. We do know the Destroyer that found us is several kilometers away. We must first make a temporary camp and decide our moves. I will send out recon missions to get a lay of the land. Hopefully, we will find a semblance of civilization and a means off this island, and soon be on our way back to South America.”
***
Camp was set a short distance inland. Trudging through the dense jungle had been an arduous task. Each crewman carried a personal shoulder pack with minimum provisions. And all had to carry rations and weapons that had been stored aboard the boat.
Christoph decided, along with the other representatives of the SS, to take refuge just west at a rocky embankment several stories high. The solid wall provided defense on one side, and to their fortune, provided cavernous holes large enough to offer a semblance of shelter for the entire company. Accommodations were almost as comfortable as the U-boat, and passages leading to the open sky were only a few steps away. Bedrolls had to be rationed, as bunks on the U-boat only bedded half the men at a time. U-boats were only large enough to allow half the crew to walk about. So, the other half had to stay in bunks out of the way.
“White Eagle to Troster One, over,” Otto Faulk said, the back of his hand glistening with sweat. He had been at his duty for nearly a half hour. “White Eagle to Troster One, over.”
“Perhaps the granite hill behind us is blocking the radio signal,” Eichmann said. His tone had been even, but his words always seemed to carry a veiled threat.
“We tried the radio at the beach before following the group here,” Bach said. “The results were the same.”
Faulk grabbed the hand crank on the radio and turned it several times. “White Eagle to Troster One, over.”
“Perhaps the radio is broken, no?” Barbie said. “You reported the ship’s communications had malfunctioned during the storm.”
“We considered that and opened the radio. There were broken tubes. Any tubes connected to electrical equipment shattered during the storm. The spare tubes in boxes were intact. We replaced the tubes, and there is no reason for the radio not to work.”
“The radio is working,” Faulk said as he methodically changed bands.
“What do you mean?” Eichmann asked.
“The static. I know the radio is working because of the atmospheric noise. What I do not understand is why I cannot pick up any other transmissions. There is always chatter somewhere on the radio band. Radio waves can travel hundreds, even thousands of miles depending on signal strength and atmospheric conditions. I have never seen a time when the airwaves were totally silent,” Faulk said.
“Interesting,” Eichmann said. He cocked his head to the side and stared off into infinity, not bothering to share his thoughts.
Christoph had mentally given up on the radio almost from the start. There was plenty of evidence to suggest he and his crew were no longer in 1945. Evidence he fought to accept. After seeing the pterodactyl, he remembered that giant sharks roamed the ocean in prehistoric times. Two creatures existing outside his normal timeline was more than just an oddity. It strengthened the idea that their existence was the norm, and he and his crew were the ones severely out of place. But in reality, there were more than just two strange creatures. On the trip to the rocky shelter, many small creatures skittered away through the foliage. They were fast and their skin colored to camouflage them well in the lush environment. Of those few he caught a glimpse of, he couldn’t identify specifically. They were at least reptilian or perhaps even amphibian, seeing as they were so close to the sea. But he could have sworn he saw them running on two legs instead of four. It was hard to tell, as the creatures were low to the ground. And as far as birds, he did see a few nearby. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to put on his glasses before they flew away. These birds had feathers but were noticeably different from European birds. Of the three he saw, their legs were larger, and their bodies and heads actually appeared reptile-like. Their flight of escape was without the grace of a modern bird, nor had they sung sweet tunes, sounding only in strange pops and rasps.
“You can stop now,” Christoph said to Faulk.
Relief loosened the tight expression on Faulk’s face. “Yes, sir.” He quickly secured the microphone, picked up the radio, and headed toward one of the caves used as material storage.
Dr. Mengele stepped from the cave offering refuge to the two patients, Frank and Gisela Viktor. The man carried himself in a slow and determined gait, which drew all eyes upon him by the time he arrived. “I take it our situation has failed to progress any further.”
“We are secure for the moment. Beyond that, we will take any opportunity presented to us to get us closer to our objective,” Christoph said and wondered how long the esteemed members of the SS on this journey would continue the charade of civility. Eichmann, Barbie, Stangl, and Mengele were men of strong wills, each demanding perfection in their own commands. Who would rise among them first to challenge his command? And what of
Frank Viktor? Christoph found it strange that he had never heard of the man before he arrived on U-616. He was told Viktor was a civilian and a secret confidant to the Führer himself. One thing was for certain, the four SS officers acted subservient to the man, and to a lesser extent, his wife, as if he were the Führer himself.
Then the realization hit him. He had been so focused on the mission and his son Erik that the possibility never occurred to him that Frank and Gisela Viktor might possibly be Adolph Hitler and Eva Braun. Rochus Misch had been witness to the Führer’s and his wife’s suicides. Misch’s report, that both took cyanide capsules, and Hitler had put a gun to his own head and pulled the trigger, eliminated any future thought that the Führer had somehow escaped.
“The patients, are they still in good spirits?” Christoph asked.
“Yes, surprisingly so,” Mengele said. “Their injuries are healing nicely and,” he stopped to take a deep breath, “both tell me the air on this land has refreshed them.”
“Just being outdoors is enough to revive anyone’s spirit,” Bach said. “Especially someone who is not used to spending days cooped up inside a U-boat, breathing recycled air expelled from fifty other men.”
“No, it is something more than that,” Mengele said. “The air is, so to say, heavier, richer, and not with humidity.”
Once again Christoph’s mind returned to his science class. The prehistoric world’s oxygen level in the atmosphere was just over 30%, significantly more than the 21% of his modern world. The theory went that some life in prehistoric times was able to grow to gargantuan size because of the increased oxygen. This would explain why he didn’t get winded on his trip through the jungle to here.
By this time, Franz Stangl had joined the gathering. He looked impatient, roaming his gaze and not fixating on a point for more than a split-second. “What is next, Commander? I wanted to buy a ticket for the next train out, but I could not find a station.”
Well, at least someone found humor in the situation. “I have sent out two recon groups of five men each. They will map an area a few kilometers wide north and southeast of our position. Their orders are to return by noon tomorrow. We will know more by then.”
“The trains always ran on time under the Führer’s watch,” Eichmann wistfully said.
The lieutenant colonel’s words brought an ache to Christoph’s gut, robbed of the glorious hope once felt of what the Fatherland had achieved, and the future that had been lost.
Several meters away, Erik worked dutifully with two other crewmen wiping down the rifles and checking loads of ammunition.
Christoph felt an uncontrollable urge to hug his son and headed off to see him.
Chapter 7
Brazo’s heart sank along with the USS Sutton. He hadn’t had time to form an emotional bond with the ship, though, having only been in command for a few weeks. The two shared no battle scars or memories. It’s just that the ship was such a magnificent creation: sixteen hundred tons of battle steel hardened by human sweat, capable of unimaginable destruction. Thousands of man-hours toiled in its birth, but in a matter of minutes, a death blow had sent it to the bottom of the ocean to sleep forever. Such a waste on so many levels. Its demise exacerbated exponentially by the poor souls who went down with it.
The aft was the last part of the ship consumed by the ocean’s mouth. It stuck spear-like at an angle and slowly disappeared. The ship’s mass pulled in a shallow spinning vortex, threatening to take those near with it. Fortunately, the life rafts were far enough away, escaping one disastrous fate for an unknown other.
Oil mixed with the greenish water and small waves caressed the surface. The ship was gone as if it had never been there; its stories, its memories, its future, gone with it.
Damn the war! Damn every threat to freedom. Man had progressed so far above the animals, and to his shame, some of his greatest achievements weren’t designed to save lives, but to take them.
Brazo forced the poisons weighing down his soul from his mind. He couldn’t dwell on what was lost. His job was to preserve what he still had.
The twenty-something life rafts spread a large swath of ocean, all heading for the shore.
He turned his gaze to the men in his raft. XO Slick had been staring at him and quickly looked out toward land. Undoubtedly, he had been gauging Brazo’s reaction. Was he expecting the captain to break down over losing his ship? Or was this a learning moment for him? If Brazo could maintain his composure, then the XO would know that would be expected of him. Men followed the examples of their leaders. Having the confidence and respect of your crew alone could determine the outcome of the battle. Today, Brazo would give his crew no reason to lose heart.
Jim Stone paddled dutifully with the other crewmen. Jim was a humble man of great character. His devotion to God and His Son unquestionable. He had an uncanny knowledge of electronics, and there wasn’t anything electrical he couldn’t troubleshoot. As nice of a man as he was, those who tried to push someone of his diminutive stature around soon learned they had a virtual tiger by the tail. Jim Stone was one scrappy fellow once prodded over the edge. Brazo thought it was a good thing Stone didn’t care for strong drink, as he would have made one mean drunk.
The others in the boat were regular crewmen; variously ranked, and most under the age of thirty. One of them, Adam Rodrigue, looked too young to shave. Another, Danny Underwood, didn’t look that much older. He knew some seventeen-year-olds had legally joined the Navy, and often wondered if any sixteen-year-olds had slipped in.
Something from his left peripheral caught his eye. The ocean bubbled not far from a raft several yards over. Sharks? He hoped not. The last thing they needed now was a school of sharks coming by to take a mouthful of the raft, or worse.
Then he thought he saw something float to the surface of the water. It was reddish, reminding him of a hot dog in color. The end of the object lifted out of the water and raised up over the raft. At first, he didn’t know what to make of it, thinking something from the Sutton had floated to the surface. But the object unfolded and spread wide. Massive whitish suction cups with blue edges, looking like beach balls cut in half, threatened the raft’s occupants.
The moment was surreal, challenging Brazo on an unexplored level. His mind struggled at what he saw and what it meant.
A sailor yelled as he looked up at the feeding tentacle looming above. The suction cups pulsed with life, seemingly like mouths opening and closing.
A raft mate abandoned his paddle and grabbed at his hip, coming away with a service pistol. He began firing before aiming, but a wasted bullet or two was insignificant. He unloaded the magazine as the appendage came down, capturing three of the men in the rubber raft.
Four sailors had been lucky enough to spill out the side into the ocean. They swam away as fast as they could.
“My God, what is that?” Brazo said, helpless to do anything but watch.
Slick pulled up his sidearm and held it at the ready.
Some fifty feet away from the captured raft, something mountainous pushed up past the surface. A drill bit-shaped stabilizing fin larger than five bull elephants standing nose to tail emerged and continued skyward until a ghastly all-seeing eye of monstrous proportions entered the light of day.
“Kraken.” Brazo had spoken the mythical creature’s name in a whisper. His subconscious had assigned the name to something that only existed in legend.
Growing up, he had read many ocean tales. The kraken was lord of the sea and showed interlopers no mercy in their folly to travel the waters of his kingdom. The mighty beast would swim underneath unsuspecting vessels, giving no thought of the tiny creatures who crawled on top. Its eight arms would slither up the hull and snake along the deck until finding a bowsprit, the mizzen, the main mast, or the foremast and take hold. The tiny creatures aboard would yell, scream, and fire their puny weapons. Their efforts would be for naught.
The kraken did not take revenge in haste. It savored the spoils of its victory one victim at
a time. As more of its arms weighed down the ship, the two feeding tentacles searched and caught what would prove to be a tasty meal. No man could stop the powerful crush of its beak. In the end, the captain of the ship proved to be as ordinary as the lowest deck mate. The kraken would rise above the wooden vessel and relegate its fate to the bottom of the ocean. The arrogance of man invading the kraken’s lair came at a price. The price was always the same: total destruction.
The first sailor to enter the giant squid’s beak cried out to God and begged for mercy. Salvation was not at hand, but perhaps mercy was. The sailor’s plea was snuffed out in mid-sentence. Hopefully, the end had come quickly.
XO Slick steadied his hand and fired two rounds toward the massive mantle. His Colt M1911 .45 had short range accuracy. Brazo thought there was little chance of the bullets even finding their target.
Random gunshots popped off from various life rafts. Sailors had unpacked M1 Garand rifles and attempted to give the men swimming for safety a fighting chance.
Stone had his M1 ready and steadied his aim with an elbow on the raft’s edge before squeezing off rounds.
More death cries spoke the fate of the captured sailors. Each had been devoured by a creature a third of the size of the Sutton.
The sailors in the water, one by one, began to disappear as the feeding tentacles quickly harvested their precious flesh.
Guns had seemed to have no effect on the giant squid. Seven men had met an undeserved fate.
The captain has two choices when it comes to battle: fight or flee. If they were out in the middle of the ocean, then he would have had no choice but to group and fight the thing to the last man. But land was too close and the odds against them too obvious. It was again time to flee. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but his head must always overrule his heart.
Prehistoric WWII Page 4