MILDRATAWA Page 4

  “I do, Master. I shall remain and continue my work as you wish and see fit. I will not surrender my vows. I wish to remain your son and monk.”

  “This pleases me, my son. Now go, and rest from your journey.” Anthony turned to go. “And one final word, Anthony. I understand that you had to travel by vehicle to get here so promptly. Next time ensure you travel by foot. It is the way to a peaceful existence and can not be treated as anything less.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Anthony stepped off along the carpet that held so many monks’ footprint. He would reside. The doors were once again opened. He turned now and bowed, pulling the door too as he left the Master to meditate in his permanent retreat.

  CHAPTER TWO

  PLANET EARTH.

  PACIFIC OCEAN.

  The four-course meal on the sub went smoothly with small talk evolving around family and thoughts for the future. Dave thought it quite remarkable how the evening had passed without any sarcastic comment slipping from an idle tongue. He was more than pleased with all of their efforts.

  The cabin master had just completed with the clearing away of the dessert bowls. All that lay to their fronts now was a small glass and the customary table ornaments. The captain fell back into his chair. “Well gentlemen. I don’t know about you, but that meal satisfied my wants down-to-a-tee. I hope that everything was satisfactory to your tastes.”

  John thought: ‘He’s just commented on how well everything went. He’s waiting, waiting for someone to say that it could have been improved on in some way. A good argument must be the only thing that appeals to him. He certainly won’t get the satisfaction from me.’ He peered up and smiled wryly. “I tell you, Captain. That must have been the best meal any of us have had in a long, long time.” ‘Take that you ass.’

  The captain shot a glance towards the cabin master. “Bring on the rum.”

  “Yes, sir.” With that he turned to the drink cabinet and opened the small doors. Spirits galore, most of it rum. A bottle of Captain Morgan was held out for the captain’s approval. The nod came just as quick and the stopper removed.

  “It is a naval custom; gentlemen, for any toast that needs to be made, to be done so with a nip of rum. I hope this is to everyone’s taste. It’s been in my possession for a number of years now.”

  Dave nodded in appreciation. “I’m sure that you won’t get any complaints, Captain; so long as it’s kept to just a couple. We start early in the morning; but, I’m sure that we can oblige.”

  “Good. Cabin Master, pour the nips.” The bottle made its way around the table in a clockwise direction. No one touched their glass until all were poured, and even then the captain was the first to grasp a glass between finger and thumb. Delicately holding the small 30-mil vessel of sweet syrup up to his nose he motioned it from side to side as though it were hundred-year-old brandy.

  Hammond stood and the table guests followed his action. He lifted his glass high. “The Mildratawa.”

  Every man toasted. “The Mildratawa.” Glasses were soon emptied, only Jassat letting out with a slight cough. “Mighty strong stuff, Captain.”

  “The best. Another round thank you, Cabin Master.” The cabin master filled the downed glasses. Hammond remained standing in silence. He slowly shifted his gaze from man to man. ‘Why is it so hard for me to understand that these men have a job to do, just as I have? Why should I insist that mine is more important?’ He would never admit such a comment out loud. Pride seemed so hard to come by. But one particular thought did come to mind: ‘What is the mission about? Be patient you old fool!’

  The nips were ready for another toast. “Finally, a toast to our mission, whether it is more or less important than the Mildratawa itself, I as yet do not know. All I can say is good luck. The mission.”

  “The mission.”

  “Take your seats please, gentlemen.” Another grin came over the captain as he faced the cabin master. “Bring it in.” Dave, as for all of the others, couldn’t help to wonder what he was up to. “And finally, as I know you are men of the earth’s soils and oceans, and I have heard stories of your mischievous behaviour after working hours, I have decided to prepare a feast that will be to your liking.” He peered over to the doorway as the cabin master reappeared from the kitchen, this time with a case of 24 cans of ice-cold beer. He lay the open carton down.

  Grins fell over everyone. The maritime-grunts let out a little cheer and applauded the entrance of the magnificent substance. No time was spared. The beers were handed around with Dave and John being the first to have their cans at their mouths.

  “Dig in, gentlemen, and enjoy.” Hammond maintained his hold on the small rum glass, lifting it and watching as the cabin master poured another nip.

  “You are not having a beer, Captain?” John gestured by holding a can out towards Hammond.

  “No, thank you. I’ll have a couple of nips of rum and—” He knew no explanation was necessary but he felt in the circumstances that it would be better. He surely didn’t need his guests to think him rude; not being so close to the revealing of the mission anyway. “My stomach; can’t handle anything too gassy. Besides, my palate is far too accustomed to the rum that I dare not upset it.” John returned the beer to the centre of the table.

  “Well, Captain. Shall we get down to the reason that we’re here?” asked Dave.

  “An excellent idea. I have few questions as yet. If I could impose on either yourself or, Commander Younge to give me a brief as to your requirements, I’m sure I can accommodate.”

  Dave looked over to John and pulled a neatly folded map from his breast pocket. “Excuse me, Captain.” He indicated the glass with a slight nod.

  “Oh, of course.”

  Delicately unfolding the map he laid it in front of Hammond and removed an engraved pen from the brassard on his right sleeve.

  “As you can see by the map,” Dave pointed with the tip of the pen, “the coordinate we are presently heading towards is seventy nautical miles from the Nicaraguan coast. On reaching this point we will require your vessel to submerge to within one hundred metres of the ocean floor and contour your way to this point on the coast. We require you to navigate along the depression to prevent any detection from possible radar, sonar, or spy satellite built for the purpose of detecting submerged naval vessels.”

  The reference was written in bold on the map. The captain nodded in acknowledgment to the task. “Shouldn’t be a problem. The sonar on the boat is amazing.”

  “In that case, once at this location we should be able to close in on an underwater channel which exists at this point. The closer the better.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. We should be able to get to within just a few metres, if necessary. And with the sonar, the latest mind you, not even an Invisible Energy Ultrasonic Wave Absorber will deflect our search for a fixed contour of the earth’s crust. Our intelligence will indicate which will be more appropriate – approach or stand-back; but the sonar will get us to within a decent range, regardless.”

  “Outstanding, Captain.” Dave continued. “Once at this point my squad and I will move with the larger of our submersibles into the channel entrance. We shall continue as far as possible. John and his squad will remain onboard, they are aware of all mission variables and will take care of all requirements; going through you of course, if required.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Commander.” Another note of sarcasm from the captain hit home: ‘So much for the chain of command.’

  “You will be in location for a period of no more than twelve hours.”

  “Yes. Please go on.”

  “Well; that’s it really. There’s not much else to it. Quite simple actually. Don’t you agree?”

  “Surely there must be something else for me.” His eyebrows turned in as he stared down both of the squad commanders. “I must have another task.”

  “No, Captain; nothing. Just monitor your sonar and lay quiet on the ocean floor.” He placed his pen back into the
brassard and lifted the map from the tabletop.

  “There must be more to this than meets the eye. I insist on knowing more.”

  “What more do you need?”

  “For Christ sake, man! You haven’t told me anything of the mission!”

  “I’m afraid that most of this mission is on a need-to-know basis, sir; and you, quite frankly, don’t need to know.”

  “What of the mission parameters? Surely, I can’t operate without knowing more about my disposition.”

  “Your disposition is more than clear, Captain.” John spoke. “You will remain in position for a duration of twelve hours.”

  Dave interlocked his fingers and laid his forearms on the tabletop once the map was secured back in his pocket. “Please, Captain, give us an example.”

  “What if I’m fired upon; do I leave you? Do I fire back? What if a reconnaissance sub discovers my position? What if you don’t return within twelve hours?”

  “If I don’t return inside twelve hours, it is probable that I’m dead. As for the rest; Commander Younge has complete authority.”

  The captain couldn’t believe his ears. “I tell you what Commander, you continue like this and you’ll get shit from me and my crew. I don’t know who you think you are, but I wouldn’t relinquish my command to anyone; not even the goddamn Chief of Defence.”

  Dave pulled a letter from his other breast pocket, sealed with the stamp of the Mildratawa.

  The captain took the letter handed him and opened it up, removed the pages within and read through the authorised message which had been written by the combined heads of the Council. “This is very peculiar and out of line.”

  “They are orders, Captain. I suggest you obey them.”

  “How can this be?”

  “You know what’s required, Captain. It’s the Mildratawa. Nothing comes higher than this.”

  “Yes, of course. This is mighty unbelievable. I have no information to go on, I don’t know what it’s about.” Hammond was stunned and bewildered. The authority had given these men temporary command of his vessel during the act of the mission itself. Nothing else was given except explicit directions. He read out aloud: “‘You are to follow any order given you in the most professional manner possible. All of humanity is at risk’.”

  Dave stood. “I’m sorry, Captain, but this is the way it has to be. We thank you for the wonderful meal and bid you good night.”

  The squads departed in silence. The captain remained seated and gazed at the authority one more time; as though it was a bad dream, and the cabin master; he remained motionless and didn’t dare a move or comment.

  PLANET EARTH.

  AMERICA STATE.

  Doug and Jools sat at the bar of the Thane Inn and sipped their beer in pleasant relaxation. The light in the bar was dim but very appealing. Small brass lanterns hung from different points along

  the ceiling, each giving off a particular contrast of light that only added to the comfort and solitude; a sense of belonging; to feel at peace with one’s self. Columns of varnished cedar and hanging plants in full bloom also added to the European style surrounds. It was all contrived to bring out the best of feelings.

  Both had fourteen ounce glasses of Hedgerows Black Bitter. The flavour of the eight percent liquor rolled over their palates like a liqueur and the tips of their tongues couldn’t wait to lash out at the top lip, not a drop wasted. The head stuck to the sides of their glasses as they drank, just like its ancestral contender Guinness.

  Any leave for them from New York had been revoked due to the seriousness of all matters concerning the past few days. They couldn’t however turn down the opportunity to become acquainted once again, not whilst the opportunity presented itself. There was so much to be caught up on.

  They conversed on news, good and bad, all that which had befallen them since their last meeting.

  Jools ordered a fourth round. “I can understand what you’re saying about religion, but surely you don’t believe that the trouble we’re having now has anything to do with a cult?” He was careful not to divulge any information to the barman who stood within earshot as he slowly poured the Hedgerows from the taps that dripped with condensation.

  “It’s a possibility. Take for example my ordination as a Tibetan Monk ten years ago. Although my stay was one of the shortest in history, I believe I learnt a lot. There are more religions and cults out there than you can poke a stick at.” His ordination was rarely spoken of. Usually Doug’s ploy was to change the subject when anyone tried to pry information from him.

  “Since you’ve brought it up, Doug, why don’t we talk about it. I’ve always been interested in what happened to you during that period in your life. Every time someone mentions it you shy away. There’s only the two of us here now you know.”

  “Not if you count that barman there’s not. There’s no telling how many people will know my little secrets if he gets hold of them. A pub must be one of the only places in the world where you can count on everyone knowing everything, the day after the night before.”

  The bartender placed the glasses onto two small coasters that just happen to be advertising life with the Muslim Faction of the Western Community. He held his hand out. “Ten-twenty thanks pal.”

  Jools lifted his card from his shirt pocket and handed it over. The card was waved over the top of the micro till and the liquid crystal display showed ten-twenty; automatic adjustment was carried out to his account balance. He handed the card back. “Thanks pal.” The bartender moved off to the far end of the bar to serve another customer, chewing faithure leaf as he moved. The leaf was a drug. Since the introduction of the drug lung cancer had diminished and cigarette tobacco had become outlawed. Lung cancer and heart disease were now a thing of the past – but everything has its downfalls, and faithure leaf’s was hair loss.

  Doug indicated the corner table to Jools, for which they moved to with replenished glasses in hand. “Where shall I start?”

  “I guess any place is as good as another. How about… why you went?”

  “Well, let me see. Just before the war I was trekking the Himalayas, for something to do more than anything else. As our ancestors used to say: because it’s there. Anyway, I was trekking. I’d hired a guide from a village near Thimphu, along with two other members of the village to help with the carrying of my gear, and of course, in the case where trouble was somehow invited; after-all, I was a tourist, and American. I tell you, the views were

  absolutely amazing; it was terribly cold though. All three of the guides were bilingual and I found that even in that small part of the world man’s tongue could change dramatically from one village to the next.”

  “Why the change?”

  “People moved there for long life, prosperity in being, to live with the Word; ideas. I think they sought their innermost self, not believing in the religions of other countries that had been forced upon them during childhood, by some travelling minister, priest, monk or... whatever. This of course had only been going on for the last one hundred and twenty years. The difference in cultures never really clashed or fused and neither did their mentality, so a language which could be spoken by all wasn’t present and no single one more dominant than another.” Doug took a pause and a large mouthful of beer before continuing.

  “We came across a village, and that night sat for a meal which was shared with a monk, to whom was passing through at the time. All that I could get out of my companions was that the monk was seeking a way of meditation not seen or heard of before on Earth; something along the lines of the Great Bandistari of the lost city of Vlaij. At the time I didn’t know whether the monk spoke English or not, though on occasion he would look up at me, as though he wanted to add something. It was only later that I found out that he understood every word I spoke as though he’d spoken them himself.

  “I communicated with my guides until late that night but couldn’t get very much out of them; as though they were hiding something. Gee, they must have been a good s
eventy years old, probably two hundred years plus between the three of them.

  “The next morning we woke and he was gone… the monk that is. Well, for the next two days I sought information from my guides and honestly felt that this way of life could be my escape from outside beliefs and influences. I was still in the army at the time and very tempted to extend my well-earned long service leave.

  “I got all the information I could from them and travelled to a place known as; let me see. Yes, Ulugh Muz Tagh. Within a month of training I was ordained a lay disciple and sent to work on textbooks that they called the Great Scrolls of Prehistory, and the only guilt I carried was of the knowledge that I had to soon make a decision about getting back to the Battalion or staying where I was. I have to say, I was very tempted to stay on. They believed that deciphering the Scrolls could bring about galactic and inner world peace. I didn’t actually tackle the deciphering part; I just helped to maintain them – clean the library now and then, keep each book well maintained and full of life; that sort of thing.”

  “Did you?”

  “What?”

  “Believe in the galactic peace?”

  “I found it hard. If you can imagine, a man living in the West all his life and then all of a sudden being told everything there was about secret Prehistoric Scrolls that could save and unite every living person and thing. The way of the East was something different again. Unless you’re there it’s hard to see or feel. I guess I wasn’t quite ready, in mind or spirit. I’d jumped into something too deep to live with or comprehend.”