The darkness of the bottom of the ocean could be both a shield and a trap. It could provide comfort and be a source of terror, depending on your position. The submarine was in the interesting position of experiencing both positions at once.
The radioman was twisting knobs as fast as he could, trying to get his transmission over with before the enemy sub lurking somewhere in their vicinity realized that he was not alone.
"Royal Navy 371 to Papa Bear. We read you. Over."
"You're hard to hear, Royal Navy. Having some trouble there? Over."
"Nothing much, just one of our not-so-friendly counterparts for the opposite team lurking in the vicinity. We had to take a sudden dive and the skipper's favourite teacup suffered the brunt of it. Good thing it wasn't the goldfish! Over."
"It's the simple things in life you treasure. Send my sympathy to the skipper. And we need to get a message to G2. We have a scientist visiting with some kind of new chemical weapon that they've acquired from the Russians for testing. It was invented by a little old lady from Leningrad. Does G2 want us to destroy it? Over."
"Will relay the message, Papa Bear. Anything else you need? Over."
"Nope that's it. Over."
"Royal Navy 371 over and out."
Evansmoor Tarrandale, known to the entire crew as E.T. because he refused to answer to his real name, ended the transmission and reached his hand toward the console, but was interrupted by the Chief of the Boat. "Can we delay that? I'd rather Jerry never finds out we were ever here."
"Papa Bear has a new chemical weapon within reach," E.T. replied in a dubious tone that implied that he would not be responsible for the end of the world if he was not allowed to send his message and consequently the Allies were vanquished.
The COB frowned over at the sonar operator. "Okay, E.T., phone home. But make it quick."
"Aye, sir. I'll have it done before teatime."
He sent out his call to Headquarters in London and sat chewing on his second-to-last remaining fingernail while he waited.
"G2, go ahead Royal Navy 371. Over." E.T. finally heard the words he was hoping for, but it was an unfamiliar male voice that spoke them. He missed the perky female he usually communicated with. One of his favourite things to do was to try and imagine what the person on the other end of the transmission looked like. Right now he was picturing a stuffy Eton graduate with a stiff back and a slicked-down hair style, a far cry from the well-built redhead he liked to envision at the transmitter.
"Message from Papa Bear. He has a chemical weapon and he wants to know what to do with it. Over."
"Put the candle back, Royal Navy. You've been sniffing too much incense. What would Papa Bear be doing with a chemical weapon? Over."
E.T. scowled at his console. "Who are you? Don't you know anything about this whole operation? Over!"
"Royal Navy, this is—"
"Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the war room," a prim British voice interrupted. E.T. couldn't help but imagine a rotund balding type with a sleek mustache. "I do apologize, Royal Navy. Go ahead with your message from Papa Bear. Over."
"He has a chemical weapon in his reach that Jerry stole from Russia. Wants to know what you want him to do with it. Over."
"Oohh that does sound interesting," came the reply. "Tell him to find out as much as he can about it. And ask if he thinks it would be possible to steal it. Over."
"Copy that. Your instructions are to study the weapon and if possible steal it for research. Over." E.T. kept his voice steady with an effort. He knew full well who would be in charge of transporting said stolen chemical weapon to London. Nothing like a game of hide and seek at the bottom of the ocean with a lethal device on board and an enemy who wanted to sink you on sight to make life interesting.
"That's correct, Royal Navy. Stand by for instructions from Papa Bear. He may want you to transport the item in question. Over."
"What about the escapees we were supposed to collect? Over." E.T. tried hard to keep the concern out of his voice. It's just that with that other sub out there I'm too frightened to be scared of what he might say!
"You're gonna need a bigger boat if you want to get it all done in one trip. Take care, Royal Navy. Over."
"Aye, sir. Royal Navy over and out."
They sat at the bottom of the ocean and waited for two days, the stillness of the dark water only enlivened by occasional familial squabbles between crew members. There was nothing they could do about whatever was going on above water except relay what was happening.
The German sub was still patrolling by the time E.T.'s watch told him that it was evening on the second day. "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Louis Lassen pulled one of his earphones off and lowered the serial story he was reading. "Whoever wrote this episode should die! This is pathetic! What friendship is that, E.T.?" His European accent twisted the vowel of the nickname.
"The friendship between us and this ruddy German bloke up there. Why doesn't he leave?"
Instead of replying, his crewmate shifted the earphones back over his ears. "Odd you should say that," he mumbled.
"Why? What's happening?" E.T. couldn't help the worry in his voice.
"Nothing. He left. He's gone. He just . . . sailed away."
The onboard intercom blared with the captain's instructions to resume their journey to the rendezvous where they had intended to pick up the refugees. E.T. just hoped that their delay hadn't caused an irreversible problem for their soon-to-be passengers.
"Royal Navy 371 calling Papa Bear. Do you have a report on the item you were investigating? Over."
"Royal Navy 371, this is Papa Bear. Package is with the escaped prisoners to be picked up at point K12. Over."
"Will do, Papa Bear. Will head there as soon as we can confirm that our friend has left the area. Over."
E.T. could have sworn he heard a chuckle in the voice on the other end. It was American, deep, with an educated way of speaking. "He's gone for sure, Royal Navy. Papa Bear made sure of that for you. Just get our packages safe to London, okay?"
"We'll do our best. Royal Navy over and out."
He turned to Louis with raised eyebrows. "Am I going crazy? It sounded like he implied that Papa Bear got that sub to move."
The sonar operator didn't even lower the serial he was reading for the fourth time since deployment. "If we don't go crazy once in a while, we'll all go crazy. Don't think about it too much is what I say. War is crazy."
"Wait until we have to make this trip back the other way with a chemical weapon on board and see how crazy you get," E.T. challenged.
They continued their friendly bickering in between performing their duties as the boat edged ever closer to the landing point marked on the captain's charts. By the time they opened the hatch and allowed the brisk sea air to fill the sub, E.T. had talked himself back into his usual cheerful mood and had almost forgotten his fears.
That is, until a short, slender boy barely out of his teens whose civilian attire couldn't conceal his strict British military air displayed a steel canister about twenty centimeters long and fifteen centimeters around.
"Is that the chemical weapon?" Louis inquired.
The kid's panicked expression told them that he hadn't known what his package was. He stared at it for a full ten seconds and then his hands released it as he backpedaled into the periscope. E.T. and Louis both lunged to catch it, sandwiching the canister between their bodies as they stumbled after the kid.
The escapee's shirt caught on the periscope and tore as he plummeted toward the floor. The two crewmembers teetered back and forth and eventually stabilized, the weapon still jammed between them .
At that inauspicious moment the skipper strode into the room. One of his heavy eyebrows twitched upward at the sight of the kid's now-ragged apparel. "Sergeant. I see you've managed to get your shirt off. I suggest you repair it immediately."
He pivoted on his heel and stared down at E.T. and Louis. "Gentlemen. There are thousands of pieces of specialized equipment in this room that enable this submarine to function and contribute to the war effort. Could you possibly try not to hit every single one?"
"Aye, sir!" E.T. somehow found the presence of mind to step forward and hold out the canister. "May I suggest that the captain take this for safekeeping?"
Louis patted him on the back as the captain left with the device. "Good thinking! You know what the best of all this is?"
"What?" E.T. resumed his seat as soon as the young sergeant left to find somewhere else to endure the journey.
"We're going home!"