Prehistoric WWII

by Dane Hatchell

  “Many people share my last name who are not related to me.”

  “I’m sure. She was from Heidelberg. Do you have family in Heidelberg?”

  Phelps’ eyes widened. He paused, and said, “I do.”

  “See, we might be cousins. You and me.”

  “There is no way for us to know. Again, what is your point?”

  “Point? We’re from two different countries with vastly different beliefs, yet we just might share the same genetics.”

  “And?” Phelps let the word hang in the air.

  “And, there’s something else I didn’t tell you about my mother,” Slick said, his gaze locked on Phelps’. “She’s a Jew. That makes me half-Jewish. Oh wait, I’m sure to you that there is no such thing as a half-Jew. I’m Jewish.”

  Phelps shrugged, obviously wanting to avoid escalating conflict.

  “You see? Look, look at my nose.” Slick turned his head so Phelps could view his profile. “See how it hooks a bit. You know, a Jew nose you Germans stereotype in your propaganda?”

  “Races had different characteristics,” Phelps said.

  “They do,” Slick said agreeably. “But haven’t you noticed when you look in the mirror that your nose hooks the same way as mine?”

  “It does not.”

  “Are you blind?” Slick said, realizing the growing anger in his voice. He gritted his back teeth together, and said, “Okay, Phelps. I’ll let it go. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Now, let’s move on to the next cross join, and I’ll start tying it up.”

  Artur Phelps kept his lips tight. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.

  *

  The hatchet Brazo used to chop the eight-inch-in-diameter bamboo dulled with each swing. At first, cutting bamboo to length had gone quickly. Now, it took four times as long. Unfortunately, they had brought only that one hatchet. Brazo considered going to the water’s edge and try to sharpen the blade on a flat stone. But, they nearly had enough to finish the second raft, so he decided to sweat it out until the job was complete.

  Fearing that the storm hovering offshore would move out to sea, the captain found himself looking over his shoulder toward it every couple of minutes. Each time his heart skipped a bit seeing it there, praying to whoever would listen for the chance for it to remain.

  Brazo had never felt this much anxiety before in his life. He tried to calm himself; they were still eighteen hours away from the first low tide tomorrow. There was no guarantee the storm would be there eighteen seconds from now, and each second ticked off in his mind felt like an hour. They were so close at a chance. He didn’t know why, but something inside made him think they could actually make it. Was that some human condition influencing his rational mind? To come this far to fail would seem to be the cruelest joke the universe could pull on them.

  The captain cut another piece of bamboo, leaving a foot of stump poking up. He let the hatchet fall to the ground and massaged his right hand with his left. Arching his back, and wiping the sweat from his brow with a forearm, he saw Erik staring at him a few feet away.

  Brazo gazed back, but the boy didn’t say a word. He didn’t know what was up, but something was definitely on Erik’s mind. “Erik, are you okay?” Brazo asked.

  Erik nodded but remained silent.

  “Look, I know you must feel real bad about losing your dad. I don’t know what to say to make it better. I do know that time has a way of healing. But you’re going through the worst of it now. All I can do is say I’m sorry, and if you need to talk to someone, I’m here for you.”

  “I do want to talk, but not about my father,” Erik said.

  “Okay, let’s talk.” Brazo stepped over by the boy.

  “The U-boat was on its way to South America. Aboard, there were high-ranking officials who were with the SS. I once heard them speaking about the war. They did not know I was listening. There are things they said which could cause many more people to die. I do not want to betray my country, but I know that we have lost the war. Something inside me does not want to see other people die. I am tired of the killing. I want the world to be in peace.”

  “Wars end in treaties. Peace will eventually come. I don’t know what Germany’s future will be. The United States is a fair nation. You don’t have to worry about the German people becoming slaves of the Allies. Tell me, what did you overhear?”

  “The SS agents, Barbie, Eichmann, Mengele, Stangl, and a man and wife who called themselves Viktor. Even though they knew Germany was about to fall, there was still a plan to deliver an atomic bomb to Japan.”

  Brazo raised a hand. “Wait. You’re telling me Klaus Barbie, Dr. Mengele, Eichmann and Stangl were on the U-boat? I had no idea those high-ranking officials had slipped past us.”

  “Yes. We were all to get papers in South America and begin new lives.”

  “And you’re saying the Japanese might get ahold of an atomic bomb? I need to hear every detail you can remember of the conversation,” Brazo said.

  “It is even worse than that. There is an attack planned in the United States.”

  “What kind of attack?”

  “A ship named John Carver is to arrive two days from the time the storm brought us here, somewhere near New York City. There is an atomic bomb on the ship. Another ship, the Black Point, also has an atomic bomb on board and will go up the Potomac River to DC. The bombs will be detonated at the same time in hopes of destroying your government.”

  Could this be true? Brazo didn’t believe the boy had it in him to invent this wild tale all on his own. Did the German’s really have the bomb? The story seemed impossible, but the impossible had become the norm of late. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the bombs in the States?”

  “That is all I overheard. A U-boat is on its way to Japan to deliver a complete atomic bomb, plans, and materials to build three more. The number of the boat is U-234,” Erik said.

  Brazo took a deep breath and chewed on his bottom lip. Blowing up New York City and Washington, DC, might very well cripple the United States. If Japan had the bomb, well, then there was probably no way the US could win the war. Of all the events Brazo had gone through the last couple of days, this scenario was by far the scariest. “You said the bombs in the US were supposed to go off two days after the storm took us here? It may be too late to stop it.”

  “Yes, Frank Viktor said in two days.”

  “Viktor…Viktor. I don’t recognize the name.”

  Erik hesitated a bit, and then said, “I do not believe that was his real name. What I can say, is that when I overheard the conversation, I thought it was the Führer himself speaking.”

  The boy’s words hit Brazo like a sucker punch. Hitler? Alive and on a U-boat to South America? Surely, Erik was wrong. Hitler was dead. Or was he? Even if all that Erik had told him had a one percent possibility of being true, getting back to their time was now exponentially more important.

  “Erik, what you told me could save many lives. Maybe millions of lives, if we can make it back. You did right by telling me, and you didn’t betray your country. The best thing for all is for the war to end now.”

  Erik nodded and looked at the ground.

  “Let’s get this bamboo over to the others and finish the second raft,” Brazo said.

  The boy stepped over to one end of the bamboo and lifted it.

  The captain grabbed the other end and led the way. Slick needed to hear the details as soon as possible. One of them had to survive and convince the Navy brass of the impending doom.

  Chapter 22

  Because high and low tide shifted every six hours, Brazo and the survivors witnessed the maddening rush of water onto the coastland and back out before the next morning. He knew the ocean’s tides were affected by the sun, moon, and rotation of the Earth, but had no explanation why the tides flowed in and out so quickly. Was this phenomenon only present here on this particular coast? Did the storm directly out to sea contribute in any way? Questions, but no answers, not that it
mattered, anyway.

  It neared time for the tide to roll out. Brazo, Slick, Erik, and Stone were aboard one raft. Brown, Wallace, Rodrigue, Sanders, and Phelps, the other. Each had crude paddles that would take a lot of extra effort to navigate the waters. The paddles were at least superior to the stocks of M1 rifles, of which only two were carried aboard each raft. Space was at a premium; bringing more rifles would have cluttered the seating arrangement. If they encountered any prehistoric sea creatures as before, they would have to make do with minimal firepower. At least they each had their Colt .45s. Judging from the dead tree that was caught up in the tide yesterday, the ride out to sea to the storm would be fairly quick. It wouldn’t take long for them to find out if a miracle could come true or if they had the made worst and final mistake of their lives.

  “Just believe, Captain. Just believe,” Jim Stone said.

  His reverie broke at Stone’s words of encouragement. Truthfully, he didn’t think believing in an outcome would have any power influencing reality. Still, he did remember the Bible stories involving faith. If he expected any less than succeeding, then he might fall short of accomplishing his goal.

  “It’s almost time, Captain,” Slick said while looking at his watch.

  “Wallace, keep your men focused over there,” the Captain called out.

  “Yes, sir,” Wallace said.

  Something seemed to grab hold underneath the raft and began to pull it forward, slowly at first, and the top of the water appeared undisturbed. The men on the rafts, on their knees and bracing themselves, held onto the paddles as the outgoing tide pulled them away.

  Brazo watched the ocean leave the shoreline, exposing wet sand and stranding small, strange-looking fish. The wind blew his face and nearly took his cap off. He wasn’t sure how fast they were moving, but the only other time he had traveled like this was on the Arkansas River taking a white water rapid ride.

  All was going to plan. The other raft traveled just a little behind, about twenty feet across from them. Both rafts careened toward the storm, its green mist and eerie billowing clouds loomed before them with its mouth opened wide. It’s mysterious electrical field energized the air, and Brazo felt its sprites crawling over his skin.

  Something large and black briefly rose in the water between the two rafts and submerged just as fast. The fast moving objects had apparently piqued the interest of some prehistoric creature. Not now! Not when they were so close.

  A gray mass surfaced alongside Brazo’s raft. Jutting up from the water, a long neck carried a narrow head with sharp teeth straight toward Erik.

  Jim Stone swung his paddle, knocking the beast on the side of its mouth. It snorted in pain and thrashed its head back at its attacker. Stone didn’t have time to block the incoming missile. Instead, his right shoulder took the brunt of the blow, knocking him head-first into the water.

  “Jim!” Slick yelled and crawled to the back of the raft, searching for the man overboard.

  The beast hung back and headed where its prey had fallen.

  Just like that, another man’s life was lost. The captain was powerless to do anything now but pay the consequences of his decision.

  The back of the second raft lifted out of the water, sending Phelps, Brown, and Sanders into the air. Wallace and Rodrigue slid off the front, plunging into the ocean, with the empty raft racing over them. The water boiled with two large black masses engaged in a feeding frenzy. Crocodile-like mouths snapped and chewed as men screamed out in pain.

  Gone. Five men who had lived through more in the last few days than most ordinary people would in ten lifetimes, their lives brought to a brutal end.

  The green mist grew thick, blocking the captain’s view of the carnage. They neared the belly of the storm now.

  Erik held on dearly to the raft.

  Slick had his paddle at the ready, for what little good it may have to offer.

  By now, the fog was so thick it weighed heavy in Brazo’s nostrils. He felt it invade his lungs. The mist enveloped his body, becoming like he wore it as a second skin. He could no longer see Slick or Erik. The green fog became his only reality. Suddenly, he felt weightless. His head swooned, and his body plunged into what felt like a bottomless pit.

  Brazo was being eaten alive by the electrical monster. One atom at a time pulled away from his body. The voracious beast showed no mercy and mocked the captain for having the audacity to think he could manipulate the electrical God to do his bidding.

  T.W. Brazo felt his connection to humanity drift away. With each second, loneliness, as if a young child separated from his mother, grew in intensity. His soul slowly emptied from his body. All that he had endured in life, all that he held precious, seemed so insignificant now. His fate no longer rested with his decisions. That brought peace upon him like he had never felt before.

  He was tired. It was time to rest. It was a well-deserved rest. One that he felt would last an eternity.

  Chapter 23

  Captain Brazo became aware as he looked through a pair of binoculars on a bright and sunny day. He dropped the binoculars to his chest and looked hurriedly about. He was on the observation deck of a ship. The wind blew calmly. The smell of the salty ocean spray invigorated his inner being. This was the crow’s nest of the USS Sutton!

  “Captain!” XO Alan Slick cried with glee as he stepped from the top of the ladder onto the observation deck. “Captain, we’re back!”

  “It’s true,” Brazo said in awe. “It’s true! We’ve come back.” His smile melted as his mind flooded with the news that the German boy had given him of the upcoming attack. “Slick, what day is this?”

  “I…don’t know. I just found myself on the ladder moments ago,” Slick said.

  Brazo called down to a crewman working on deck. “Sailor, what day is it?”

  The young man looked up. It was Adam Rodrigue. “Uh, Friday, sir.”

  Brazo wasn’t interested in the day. He wanted the date, but that could wait. “Rodrigue! Are you okay?” Brazo said. After just witnessing the man’s death, it was sort of a shock to see him alive and apparently well.

  “Yes, Captain. Fit as a fiddle.”

  “Where were you yesterday?”

  Wariness in his voice, as if he didn’t understand the question, Rodrigue said, “Right here on deck, doing my daily duties, sir.”

  Brazo lowered his voice and told the XO, “He doesn’t remember. He died back there, so he doesn’t remember. We lived. That’s why we remember.”

  Recalling the storm that started it all, Brazo hurried to the other side of the observation deck. Just as before, the walls of green clouds brewed in the distance.

  The captain went to the radio and picked up the mic. “Stone, talk to me.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Jim Stone said.

  “Today’s date, what is it?”

  “It’s the fourth, sir.”

  Brazo turned to Slick. “We’re back right where it started. We’ve been given a second chance.” A smile grew across his lips wide enough to show teeth.

  “How is that even possible?” Slick said.

  “I don’t know, and right now, I don’t care,” Brazo said, ending the celebration and returning to the business at hand. “We’ve got to go back and make sure those atomic bombs don’t reach New York City and DC. That U-boat delivery to Japan has to be stopped, too.”

  “Captain,” the radio squawked.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Radar’s picked up a bogey two miles starboard. We suspect it’s a periscope.”

  “There it is. This is where we made the mistake the first time,” Brazo said. “I’ll be damned if I allow that to happen again. I don’t care who is aboard that U-boat.” He squeezed the mic, and said, “I’m suspending the Sutton’s shakedown. These are my orders, take the ship immediately back to base. Is that clear?”

  “Yes sir, Captain. Loud and clear.”

  Brazo shook his head. “I don’t know how to quite figure all of this.”

  “What do
you mean?” Slick asked.

  “If we hadn’t gone after the U-boat in the first place, then we would never know about the upcoming German sneak attack. But now that we aren’t going after it, we have a chance to prevent it. It all seems so…predestined, in some sort of way.”

  “They do say the Lord works in mysterious ways,” Slick said.

  “That they do. If I’ve learned nothing else these past few days, it’s that I’m not privileged enough to understand the mind of God,” Brazo said.

  “You’re in good company, Captain. No one can. Maybe that’s the whole point of life. Each person’s individual struggle to understand the mind of God,” Slick said.

  “Right now, I’ll have to leave that to philosophers. I’ve got a job to do. Nothing else matters, and I will not rest until it’s complete.”

  ***

  Erik Neuzetser became aware from inside the command room of U-616. His father, Christoph Neuzetser, the commander, pressed his face to the periscope. Water dripped from a flange, wetting the floor under his feet.

  His father was alive! Alive!

  Erik’s mind raced with the events of the last few days but was pulled back by the normalcy of current reality. Did any of those horrors really happen, or was it some type of dream?

  The last thought he had before now was drowning in the green fog, and then fading off to sleep.

  He suddenly realized he had lived this moment before. This was when Captain Brazo’s ship turned to engage the U-boat. Would he do it again this time? Did the Captain, too, remember the storm that took them back in time? Would Brazo attack, and the storm take them to the prehistoric land to repeat the same events?

  Then Erik questioned if he had died in the green storm. Was this his eternal reward? Reliving the last three days over and over. Caught in some hellish loop that would never end?

  “The Destroyer, it is turning,” Christoph said.

  “Has it spotted us, Commander?” Lieutenant Bach asked.