Historical Fiction
Date Published: March 12th
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
William Sukara, a gregarious dreamer, emerges from the 1950s an estranged son.
In divorce debt and with limited visitation rights as a father, he searches
for order in failure. Pursuing self-discipline as an answer, he enlists in the
Navy, volunteers for underwater demolition team training, and survives the
elite course.
With five other team members, he raises his hand for a clandestine mission,
knowing only that it's a “hundred day operation in a warm climate." They
are led by a mysterious civilian who alludes that their authorization comes
from the Oval Office, and they are to operate with extreme malice. They
revolt, escaping under bizarre circumstances.
The Helmsman of Anthesis is a raw, close to the nerve, psychological
thriller about a mission gone wantonly mad.
Excerpt
They listened to what they knew was coming—
they were here to kill people. The starkness still came as an abominable commission, a heart in ice. They stared at a cartographer’s depiction of where two peasant nations met along a broad maze. The vague wilderness, a nameless swamp, could be covered with one hand. But in their overwhelmed minds it was a distant planet, a place where they were to do unimaginable things. In varying degrees, they tried to get past the moral shock, the yuk factor, or set it aside.
Yet there was something else realized, barely discernible, only subliminally noted. Or maybe, even forbidden to recognize, a sensation of heady sway, they didn’t analyze the feeling couched in the Kemo’s rote. His sweeping authorization, romanced with user-friendly history, vouchsafed by a homeland frolicking in certainty, with an omniscient overseer taking notes, won their high ground. For the only creature that existence is a question, they were handed a prepared answer, suitable for eternal framing.
Erickson rolled on, “In a remote possibility, what are you to do if you are sure people have come ashore? If you decide to leave your tree position, I want you to take two items with you. Unlatch the infrared unit and store it in your empty pack. Pull the bolt out of the rifle and secure it in a separate pouch. You may be in a hurry but check that the flaps are buckled up. Leave everything else.”
For a covert operation, somewhere between notional and nascent, his detailing was like a veteran Scout Master’s tenth summer camp. “With your pack on, descend, pulling the line down, take it with you for a way. Find the string you tied when you arrived, to the opposite side of the island.”
With meticulous visualizing, he finished how an escape would play out. “Once at the water’s edge, swim across to the next island. If you think it’s necessary, find your way across and swim to the next piece of land. I don’t foresee someone trying to follow you; remember, you still have your sidearm on your belt and three clips of ammo.”
Reassuringly, he tacked on, “You’ll have more problems with mosquitoes than with some barefoot fool trying to find you in the dark. After that, stay put, we’ll find you in the morning. You’ll hear the boat’s engines or horn. Use your whistle to help locate you.”
There it was, after five weeks of exclusion from a scheme, they were now privy to a grand mal of excitement. They never imagined this sobering now, as the night never suspects what day brings. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle came together; they were elevated to the inner sanctum, they were lofty.
A zephyr blurred the mirroring river, gently squeezing Apollyon against her rubber fenders with a moaning lament. Air flowed through the doorways and ports, unnoticed by a circle of conspirators.
Searching faces, Erickson said, “Any questions so far?”
One after another, he fended off what-if inquiries. His responses confirmed whoever claimed genesis for their plan had considered every possible hiccup.
“Keep your repellent in your pocket. If you have to swim, you can reapply later.”
“You’ll have a plastic bottle to pee in, so you don’t smell up the area under your position.”
“You’ll take a pill that will keep you alert all night.”
As the Q&A slowed, Valdes queried their leader’s sudden openness, “Why all this super secrecy? We’re all cleared to hug an atomic bomb.”
Up to then, his answers to their questions had been returned with ping-pong responses, but now he delayed. Gazing out the doorway into their sylvan seclusion, he momentarily drifted away.
Then he turned to Sukara, saying, “You once asked if the president knew about this operation.” Glancing at the others, he offered a hypothesis. “Well, let’s just say . . . if . . . he and a tight inner circle of advisers know. And . . . if . . . he authorized this and other covert assistance, and . . . if . . . he ordered he was to be kept abreast of all operations. Allowing all these ifs, then his exposure to introducing U.S. military personnel into an offensive role with a sovereign country without any clear and present danger could put him in an awkward position. It would be politically suicidal, both domestically and geopolitically. Congress could view the president’s actions as an impeachable offense. As I’ve said, if . . . this is the commander in chief’s show.”
The six riveted souls would never know to their dying day if what they just heard possessed any validity. But it didn’t matter; it had its desired effect. All through brunch they had been fed elitist words, energizing them to storm imagined threats to the sacred, state nation. Now with the addition of a wink-wink-nudge-nudge innuendo connecting them to the Oval Office, there was initiated a launch sequence, heading for antiquity.
It was all very well to be under the endorsement of the apparent creator of the universe. But He/She/It was invisible, not known for pinning on medals, handshakes, and photo ops. But for the president of the United States to be watching, who could even know them by name, was something else again. Or so it seemed.
About the Author
At age twenty, Lee Hodiak joined the Navy and spent most of his enlistment
attached to Underwater Demolition Team 12. After serving, he joined the San
Diego Police Department but realized he needed to follow his passion for
wilderness travel and adventure instead. He went on to backpack the Baja
California Peninsula, built a thirty-six-foot sloop, and lived in Australia
for twenty years.
Now a resident of Central California, Lee enjoys
birdwatching and living by the ocean. Sixty years in the making, The Helmsman
of Anthesis is his debut novel.
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