Napalmdoctor556

*Note:Everything on this page will change overtime as I learn to format/develop my plot/develop my themes. Expect many changes as time goes on.

Open Memorandum 10/15/1962

DATE: October 15, 1962

MEMORANDUM TO: Ray S. Cline (Directorate of Intelligence)

FROM: Jay Wozniak (Pentagram-CIA Liaison)

SUBJECT: Potential Soviet use of Para-Scientific weaponry on the Island of Cuba.

As you know from the photographs obtained by Maj. Heyser via U-2 Spy Plane, our suspicions have been visually confirmed. The USSR has successfully transported nuclear weapons to the Island of Cuba. While the threat of nuclear annihilation looms, recently examined photographs cross referenced with HUMINT resources in-country confirm our suspicions of Soviet Para-Scientific weaponry also being present on the Island. The amount and capabilities of this weaponry remain unconfirmed. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that this is as serious of a threat to National Security as nuclear weapons, and should the Foundation receive word of these weapons' presence, it would only further complicate things.

However, it is Para-natural Warfare Command's belief that securing such weaponry would not only reveal the true Para-Scientific weapons capabilities of the Soviet Union, it could potentially serve as leverage in negotiations; be it with the USSR or the Foundation. I have attached a dossier of two potential PWC Agent's that could handle such a task. I do not doubt that an operation would succeed should the CIA be able to assist with transportation to the Island. I look forward to your response on these matters.

October 22. 0930

"The Foundation knows about this?"

Michael Dunphy sat in a slate black leather office chair in a tucked away briefing room of the Pentagon. The pasty man in front of him was pacing back and forth, the sleeves of his white button down folded up to the elbow, a heavily redacted packet of intelligence reports in his hand. Beads of sweat were forming on his bald head as his eyes scanned the pictures clipped to the top of the documents. He tossed the packet to Dunphy, the slab of papers smacking onto the wooden table with a pop.

"Yea. The Foundation knows, and they sure as shit aren't going to help us get it. They know, we know, and we're sure the Soviets know that we all know." He anxiously chuckled, wiping away the sweat on his brow.

Michael took the packet into his hands. He looked at one of the black and white images paper clipped to the top, a birds eye shot of the ocean with coordinates marked in ink at the bottom. There was a timestamp beside the row of numbers, "0900". The picture clipped just under it was taken a week prior, the same coordinates marked on the bottom, except this picture showed a small island. The timestamp next to the coordinates read "1045". He sighed, and set the stack of papers down on the desk in front of him. Michael looked up to the overweight man in front of him, his hands again wiping the sweat from his cue ball head. A wall of clocks were hung up behind him. New York, Los Angeles, Moscow, Havana, Saigon. A seal sat at the center of the wood paneled wall above them all. A pentagram within a pentagon, and an eagle on top of both. A seal that very few had the privilege of laying eyes upon.

"Your pal, Charlie Hatcher. He was in D.C. when your presence was requested, he's already been briefed. He'll be your second set of eyes on this one, Mike." Dunphy smirked as he heard the name, though his eyes hadn't moved from the documents resting on the table in front of him.
"CIA has arranged transport. He's a Cuban expat. Doesn't speak a lick of English but he knows the waters better than anyone. Better yet, he fits in. You'll be snakin' right through our blockade on a fishing boat. At least that’s what the Company report says.”

Michael had stayed silent for most of the briefing. A man of few words, he found it better to listen. There were very few people he was open with, and this bald headed suit was not one of them. Charlie, on the other hand. There was not much Charlie didn’t know about Mike. He trusted Charlie with his life. This operation would be no different.

October 26. 0300

The cream colored fishing boat that the trio had been on for what felt like days finally moored on the northern shore of Cuba. The old Cuban boat captain waved to the pair of Agents after they set foot onto dry land, and retreated to the bunks. Charlie was the first to speak after hours at sea.

“Shit, they weren’t kidding. He didn’t speak a damned lick of English.”
Michael chuckled, throwing his M-1956 pack over his shoulders. The rustle of the straps was barely audible over the crashing of the waves and chirping of the thousands of insects on the Island.
"Alright Charlie, we better beat feet.” Micheal looked back to see the silhouette of his friend toying with his hair.
“You can mourn the loss of your jelly roll later." Michael couldn't see Charlie rolling his eyes as he was unholstering his service pistol and racking the slide.

"Ah, whatever. Takes me as long as that boat ride to get it perfect anyway. You're just jealous." Charlie smugly grinned, throwing his own pack over his shoulders.

Michael shook his head, stuffing his sidearm back into its holster. "Too bad for those knock-out girls in Havana we won't be sticking around long. Now cut the gas. We got a lot of walking ahead of us."

Charlie paused for a moment, and the pair began walking along the shore. The stars and moonlight the only thing keeping them from tripping and face planting on the sand. it didn't take but a few seconds for Charlie to pipe up again.
"You know something, Mike…I really hope this one doesn't end up being a major bust like back in '61. I don't want to end up in some pinko cooler or worse."

Micheal quickly interjected. "Cool it with that, Charlie. Let's just get this over and done with."

“I know, I know. That shit show was a bunch of expats anyway. I heard there were even a few of those gang members.”***(Chicago Spirit link here) Charlie emphasized.
“Heard we lost a few guys in the 388th too. Probably only there to keep tabs on…”
He was cut off by Michael, stopping in his tracks.

“Check. Lights ahead. Hit the deck.” Both Micheal and Charlie fell flat to the ground. The two observed a pair of flashlights in the distance slowly growing closer.

“Could be Cuban Police.” Charlie whispered, low crawling closer to his partner.

Micheal looked back at Charlie, and back to the lights. “Police? This far out? No chance. We’re still a few miles out from the target. Unless it’s a….”

“Soviet patrol?” Charlie interjected.
“If it is, we shouldn’t engage."