LANGSDORFF AND THE PIRATE SUBMARINE

LANGSDORFF AND THE PIRATE SUBMARINE

At the fourth ring of the telephone, Langsdorff began to awaken… three rings later, he’d gladly have twisted the neck of the idiot that decided people should communicate more easily, blinking  painfully by the strong light of his bedside lamp, stroked gently his wife’s cheek: “Lemme see, hunny… H’llo? Better this be good, you…” He hadn’t the chance of using ALL the vocabulary he had learned (and invented) along his career in the Visonian Navy.

“For starters, my Captain, being wrenched from a warm bed and a pleasant dream at two A.M. isn’t my cup of tea, either” that nasal twang and opener could only belong to…

“Lee? What’s going on, First Officer?” Ogreat, moaned Langsdorff for himself, official business? “I thought even wars began at a decent time of the day”

“COMSUBPACK issued the order to have the crews of Opononi, Barracuda and Swordfish alert on the double, Captain; as a minimum, there are 61 minks as groggy and disgruntled as the two of us: now, why the urgency and…”

“… and why the crews regarded as the best of the submarine fleet I assume? … Lee, if you repeat that last one to Stromboli, I’ll wring your neck! Well, it’s us, Opononi and Barracuda then…” chuckled Langsdorff; he turned to his wife, half-supporting her body with an elbow, now more alert and MORE concerned: six years of marriage had taught Vreni Mink that the life of a sailor as capable and dedicated as her husband was a bag of unexpectedness.

“Langsi, what’s the matter?” Mumbled Vreni, blowing softly a lock of auburn hair from her eyes, as she sat upright on their bed and hugged him “What can require your submarine, PLUS other two ships? What the emergency can be?”

“WHAT?” almost yelled Langsdorff Mink at the phone “TWO? Plus WHAT!? Lee, Doc must have the surgery well stocked and I mean WELL stocked! People could count only with us in those waters. Ok, see you at the base. Bye”

Vreni was already at the closet, checking the jacket, cap, etc. Langsdorff was already at the private bathroom: “Honey, orders from the top brass… believe it or not, we are required to stop a band of pirates!”

“Shall I select your cutlass and your eyepatch?” Smiled she “The chest needs oil and the bottle of rhum…”

A mahogany (and wet) head poked through the door: “Give Polly a cracker, will you?  As ridiculous as it sounds… can’t give you more details, Lee himself has got only the basics… Feneckisthan has requested Visonia’s help… at level of Head of State… What Lee told me is, succinctly, our nation sends three submarines, two frigates and a hospital ship… and Beaveria cooperates too… I wouldn’t be surprised if Procyonia helps as well…”

One hour later, an official car stopped before the family’s home. It was really cold and the robe Vreni had seemed so inadequate! Langsdorff hugged and kissed sweetly the mink that meant for him more than his life as he dried a tear from her cheek: “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’ll try to communicate as often as possible; please tell Damien and Bruno Daddy’s job sometime demands these sacrifices, I love them… and you, Vreni”

“Take care, Langsdorff” begged she “and return victorious”

“I promise, my love” Without further words, he entered the car as his chauffeur stocked the luggage inside the trunk and left his home to be the professional his country was so proud of. He managed to take a nap while they arrived to the Naval Base of Oceanidus, nervous center of the Visonian Submarine Force, the elite of the Visonian Navy.

En route to the Situation Room, he met with the guy he least wanted to see: Stromboli Mink looked disheveled, unkempt and in need of a gallon of coffee, Langsdorff knew he was no better and already ached to have something for breakfast; his salute was more mandatory than enthusiastic.

And, as always, Stromboli didn’t pull punches: “Yes, I am overjoyed to see you, Langsdorff. The sooner we know what this is about, the sooner each one will be relieved from the other’s presence.”

“I guess so, Stromboli” grunted Langsdorff, “even so, such an irregular reunion requires two professionals so can your temper, ok? Later we can hit each other if you like – God knows I would enjoy that – and…”

Stromboli shoved him against a really chilly wall: “Now hear me, pretty boy! I hate your guts through and through: all those problems by that wimpy sailor of yours… but now this is something bigger than either of us! Don’t wave the flag of ‘professional’ before me, ok? Both are here because we are the best this Navy has to offer, so to business! Mark my words, Langsdorff: Once this is over, it’s you and me, no ranks, no gloves!”

“Remove… your… paws… from my… shirt… Stromboli or God helps me…” Langsdorff gnashed his teeth, blind with rage; this dork had once kicked at his pleasure one of Swordfish’s sailors, just because he had crashed against him turning a corner. Langsdorff turned that same corner… and two seconds later, he had Stromboli pinned against a wall, his own paws around his throat… it had almost been court martial for Langsdorff but, as things turned, was Stromboli’s own command what hung from a thread… and he wasn’t a bit happy for the comments added to his CV… or the unrestrained popularity, affection and loyalty his hated rival enjoyed among each and every sailor, soldier, pilot and servicemink in the country: the sailor that was practically every occasion his chauffeur had once said that “I’ll bash open the skull of whoever tries to replace me as Captain Langsdorff’s driver! He’s the best guy in the entire Navy!”

“ATTENTION, YOU TWO!” A voice to be reckoned with. A voice to be feared as well: Commodore Halsey Mink, their commanding officer, was watching both captains with a reproachful air, as a teacher with two rebellious students “Langsdorff, Stromboli! Can those energies for our target and for pity’s sake… BEHAVE AS ADULTS!! I am to the brim with your rivalry! Only the fact that this comes directly from the President’s Office prevents me to send you BOTH to the stockade, you two idiots!”

As both saluted their commander, relieved from the imminent confrontation… and sweating cold, they began again to question the unusual circumstances.

“Permission to speak, my Commodore!”  Langsdorff was once again the captain of SMS Swordfish and as such, in need of information. Halsey nodded.

“As I understood my First Officer, we must tackle some kind of corsair or something… and we are sending a Task Force big enough to begin a war…”

“I must agree with Captain Langsdorff” nodded Stromboli, his professionalism taking precedence, “wouldn’t a single ship suffice? I concur with a hospital ship but, if ciphers are what I think I heard, we only lack a heavy cruiser or a carrier… or both”

“You’ll be briefed about all that has forced this unorthodox mission in a few minutes” replied Halsey; “by the way, breakfast is included in the briefing: once the reunion ends, each one to his ship… and go to bed till your submarines are ready to depart… Lord knows you’ll need all the rest you can get. Now, BOTH, to the room… in silence… and THAT IS AN ORDER!”

Throwing thunderbolts to each other (metaphorically, thank goodness), Langsdorff and Stromboli entered the room, almost full by now. Lee hailed him to a seat beside his own. A pawshake and a hug were in order: Lee Mink, Lt. Commander of the Swordfish was one of Langsdorff’s best friends… and his Best Man at his marriage.

“How’s Vreni?”

“As miserable as she can get” sighed Langsdorff; “why this can wait till morning?”

“Beats me, boss” yawned Lee, “and the worst is that I just had gone to bed… finished the marathon of ‘Game of Minks’”

“Speaking of fans…” a feminine voice, soft and sweet, called their attention: Both officers were on their feet a moment later, saluting crisply their colleague, comrade and – in Langsdorff’s case – peer in rank and good friend.

Jarita Mink, captain of the SMS Opononi, couldn’t repress a chuckle: “Lee, for goodness sake, why didn’t you buy the recorder I told you about!? I guess your captain will have to give you the order… or should I tell Commodor…!?”

“Nooo” moaned Langsdorff, paling at supersonic speed “Jarita, anything but that!”

Hands at her hips, the beautiful blonde mink gazed the top officers of the SMS Swordfish from head to toes “Men! I bet Halsey tweaked your ears, huh?”

“In my defense” smiled Lee, “the ears tweaked were his. His little problem with Mr. Congeniality… once again”

“Traitor” smiled Langsdorff “For that, I’ll nap and you’ll guide the submarine”

“Something I was planning to do, anyway, my Captain” nodded a self-satisfied Lee, enjoying the unnamable Langsdorff frowned muzzle.

“Ya deserve each other, ya bums!” laughed Jarita, kissing each cheek in turn “Now, let’s try to be comfy in this frid… huh? Guys, who are those at the corner?”

Other three captains were at the opposite side, but their jackets were different from those worn by the submariners: they seemed as groggy and disconcerted as they, perhaps even more so, as if they were in unknown territory.

But who called more their attention was decidedly non-mink: a bit shorter but more bulky, with very long incisors and a tail as flat as a flapjack: The same question sang in all their minds: “What in blazes is doing the Beaverian Liaison officer here!?”

For rights – no offense intended – the beaver shouldn’t be there, both by apparent situation… and by rank: he was not only a diplomatic liaison, a military attaché between Visonia and Beraveria… this guy had even more rank than their superior officer; if Halsey was Commodore, Stuart Oaktooth was a full-fledged vice-admiral, former chief of Beaveria’s 4^th Naval Tactical Fighter Wing, decorated hero and also former aviator, critically injured trying to land a commercial plane whose pilot had suffered a fatal cardiac arrest. Passengers and crew, babies included, had resulted slightly bruised at the most; the beaver was almost killed.

Now, lame and with an eyepatch, Stuart Oaktooth was the pride of his country … and a real mystery for the mink captains; add three colleagues that perhaps had been underwater only in the shower and the top brass of the Beaver Nation… ok, what’s up, doc?

Commodore Halsey approached Vice-admiral Oaktooth, saluted crisply and guided him to the desk for him and the main officers of the base; same seemed curiously barren, having only seats for Oaktooth and himself, a pitcher with iced water, two glasses and the mikes: Coughing slightly, the commander of Oceanidus, began the briefing: “Ladies and gentlemen; I agree this is a really unusual way of beginning a mission but circumstances are really unorthodox, as well. For starters, those three officers at the right side are Captains James and Susan Mink, colleagues from the Surface Fleet: their frigates, the SMS Betelgeuse and SMS Sirius, will cooperate with Opononi, Barracuda and Swordfish in the operational part… that’s why Vice-admiral Oaktooth is here as well… oh, before I forget, the third captain of surface with us is Captain Finlay Mink, MD. He commands the SMHS “Mercy Star”, our last contribution to this mission. Vice-admiral Oaktooth?”

The one-eyed beaver drank some water before beginning: “I am proud of being in the same room with so many distinguished colleagues of service, just wishing circumstances were merrier: Our combined forces will engage in a hunt… as ludicrous as it may sound we are after a pirate ship… please put aside that image of the galleon with the flag of skull and crossbones: we are going after a submarine… for that purpose, my country’s navy has ordered destroyers BSS Desdemona, BSS Oranda and BSS Duluk, from the 3^rd Squadron, to set sail to Visonian waters, to join your Task Force. Their main purpose, for the time being, will be to escort the Mercy Star… specifically they are AA destroyers…. Very soon you’ll know why.”

END OF CHAPTER I