by Bobby Akart
“Hostages secured. Repeat, hostages secured.”
“Thirty minutes out,” announced Bear.
“We’ve got some mop-up to do on the lower decks. Maybe two hostiles and then we’ll call it.”
“No unfinished business, people,” reminded Ghost.
Chapter Twenty-One
Aboard the Victory Casino Cruise Ship
One Hundred Miles East of Carvajal, Tamaulipas, Mexico
Gulf of Mexico
As the back side of Hurricane Archie roared over the Victory, Gunner and Cam expertly eliminated the last two pirates on the ship. It took them several hours, along with the help of Captain Garland, to search the ship. Once they were satisfied the vessel was clear of the threat, everyone was encouraged to come out of their staterooms and crew quarters to get some fresh air. It was a party atmosphere on board as Gunner and Cam accepted thanks from the ship’s passengers and crew.
Diplomatically, there was still some work to be done. Mexican officials, despite the success of the Gray Fox team, took issue with Gunner and Cam operating in their territorial waters without prior notice. The U.S. State Department in conjunction with the Coast Guard sent medical choppers to the scene to tend to the passengers and crew.
Cruise officials sent their own form of diplomats, all of whom happened to be attorneys, to console the passengers and offer free passage on a cruise of their choice in exchange for them signing a waiver of liability.
The Navy also was on the scene with a cutter to ward off any attempt by the Mexican government to board the Victory and retrieve the bodies. The DEA wanted to process the dead pirates and use the information in their ongoing war against the Los Zetas cartel.
Two Navy seaman were instructed to return the Mako MK to NAS Corpus Christi once the storm passed. The Coast Guard offered to take Gunner and his team so they could arrange transportation back to Fort Belvoir. Bear, however, had a much better idea.
While Gunner and Cam spent time on the ship with Captain Garland and the freed hostages, Bear became acquainted with Abduwali’s Baja Outlaw powerboats. After a careful inspection, he declared one of them to be in like-new condition. Then, with the assistance of a couple of crew members from the Victory, he topped off their fuel tanks and filled the fast boat with beer. Just as he finished his preparations, Gunner and Cam appeared on the transom.
“What are you doing?” Cam demanded to know.
“Um, well, they want their Mako back. And, hey, like you said, Cam, the insurance is probably too high.”
“You’re out of your mind!” she shouted at him as she discerned Bear’s alternative. “You can’t steal that boat. It belongs to …” Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure whom it belonged to at this point, but it had to belong to someone besides man-child Barrett King.
Bear playfully pointed at her. “Yeah! See? Exactly. Are you comin’ or not?”
“No.” Cam refused to be a part of his shenanigans.
“I’ve got beer,” he said teasingly.
“Shit,” she muttered, turning away from him towards Gunner. She rolled her eyes.
“C’mon, Cam. Who gives a shit? It’s a Los Zetas boat. And the damn INL will probably just give them right back to the cartel.” The Mexican INL was comparable to the U.S. DEA.
“Gunner, he can’t just claim a toy every time we complete a mission.”
“Sure he can. It’s one of those unwritten rules. Besides, now you guys will have a way to get out to the island so I don’t have to pick you up every time.”
Cam stood back. Now she was really against the idea. “Hold up! That means I have to ride with him out to your place? No freakin’ way!”
Bear, who was standing in the boat barely fifteen feet away, overheard the entire conversation. “Hey, Cam. You can always take the other one. Hold on. I’ll get you fueled up.”
“No!”
“Come on,” Bear persisted. “We can be twinkies.”
Gunner burst out laughing at Bear’s intentional dig at their partner.
“Screw you, asshole,” she growled back. “Come on, Gunner. I’m only going because he promised beer. Otherwise, I’d sit here ’til hell freezes over.”
Gunner laughed and motioned for her to board first. “That could happen, you know.”
“Shut up,” she mumbled.
The three shoved off. Bear set his course on the dash-mounted Garmin global positioning device and sat atop the seat while the Baja cruised along the now-still water. They enjoyed retelling the mission to Bear, especially the part about Gunner’s ride along Hurricane Archie’s eye wall. As they zipped across the Gulf of Mexico, neither Gunner nor Cam asked where they were headed. It was an opportunity to relax that they’d earned. They even turned off their comms to Ghost and the Den, a decision they’d get reamed out over later.
After Gunner relieved himself in the portable head tucked into the bow, he emerged and slapped Bear on the back. “Great idea, buddy.”
“Yeah, big guy. I thought so, too.”
Gunner squinted and looked ahead. “Say, Bear, where exactly are we going? Seems like an awful long ride to Galveston.”
Bear stood, and his six-foot-five-inch frame towered over the powerboat’s short windshield. He pointed toward land. “See for yourself.”
“Wait. That’s SGI. There’s the Cut.” SGI was an abbreviation for Saint George Island. The Cut was the nickname for the narrow pass between Dog Island and Saint George Island leading to Apalachicola.
“Sure enough. I was gonna surprise you and stop by Pop’s, but it turns out he went to an Air Force convention in Utah.”
“Yeah, it would’ve been good to see him. He’s on the go. You know, my mom loved slot machines. She would’ve enjoyed something like the Victory cruise. Well, not this one, anyway.”
“I wish I could’ve met her,” said Bear. “Pop told me she had a huge impact on your life.”
“She did.” Gunner smiled and nodded before changing the subject. He actually was relieved that he didn’t have to return to Dog Island right away. He’d felt guilty the moment the decision was made for him to move out of the house he’d built with Heather. Somehow, he felt she’d given him approval. Nonetheless, he didn’t want to return. Not yet, anyway.
“Sooo, I was thinkin’,” Bear began as he glanced down at his watch. He turned to Cam. “Why don’t we throw down some oysters at the Tap Room. Whadya think?”
“Hell yeah! I’m in!”
Gunner smiled at his best friend. She was drinking on an empty stomach, and that led her to being tipsy on the verge of drunk. She needed oysters and a burger to soak up the alcohol.
“Let’s do it. I miss Sammy. He was kinda down when I broke the news that we were moving. I promised I’d come by to see him, but you know how that goes.”
Bear agreed. “I was thinkin’ the same thing. While we’re in Apalach, I’ll talk to that boat-moving company you used. They can bring this baby to Virginia for me.”
Gunner looked at Bear. “Okay, all kidding aside. Are you gonna clear it with Ghost?”
“Nope. What the man doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”
“That’s not how the saying goes, idiot,” said Cam with a laugh. She’d been eavesdropping on the guys. “But you’re right.”
Twenty minutes later, Bear had pulled the Baja up to the City Dock just two blocks from the Tap Room. They locked their gear and weapons in the hull of the boat and walked toward the restaurant Gunner had frequented so often over the years.
The locals and tourists alike stared at the trio. Gunner and Cam were still dressed in their sleek, skintight black dive suits, and Bear was wearing an all-black combination of cargo pants and a tee shirt that revealed every ripped muscle above his waist. A couple of tourists rounded the corner and immediately turned and walked swiftly in the other direction, drawing laughs from the Gray Fox team.
Buoyant excitement over seeing Sammy Hart in their old stomping grounds was dashed when they walked into the bar and saw that a young woman
was serving beer to the handful of patrons. Their spirits were totally destroyed when they learned Sammy had quit without telling anyone his plans. The bartender explained there had been a run-in with his ex-wife’s husband or something to that effect. Sammy had said goodbye and nobody had seen him since.
Morose and tired from the exhausting two days of action, they split a couple of dozen raw on the half shell and switched to sweet tea. As Bear paid the tab, Gunner looked around the Tap Room, wondering if he’d ever return. Without Sammy, it wouldn’t be the same.
Chapter Twenty-Two
September 30, 1944
11th U-boat Flotilla
Bunker Bruno
Bergen, Norway
Himmler’s mood was dour by the time he arrived at Bunker Bruno just after the break of dawn. He’d accepted that the last few nights with the Jorgenson sisters would probably be his last. He’d done everything possible to set them up for a life away from the war and the crumbling Reich. His opportunity to see them again rested solely on the success of Project Tabun, the second phase of which was set to begin.
The 11th U-boat flotilla and much of the city of Bruno had come under attack by Royal Air Force Spitfires overnight. It would be the first of many air raids conducted on coastal military facilities the Reich had built along the Atlantic Wall.
Himmler paused to take in the view as the sun brightened the landscape. Buildings were reduced to rubble. Homes occupied by Norwegians were still ablaze. A windowless, roofless church lay open to the elements as its insides smoldered. The Allied bomb blasts had cruelly upended the tall, mature Norway spruce trees that filled the slopes leading to the fjord where Bunker Bruno was nestled. They’d burned, leaving charred trunks resembling matchsticks.
He shook his head in disappointment. It would’ve been disingenuous for Himmler to chastise the Brits for attacking the civilian neighborhoods surrounding Bunker Bruno. One of the reasons he’d chosen the location in 1940 was to use the small city as protective cover against air attacks.
As the sun rose further, it cast a grayish light across Bunker Bruno. The cloud cover obscured the sun, in part. So did the thick black smoke drifting across the ruins of several destroyed buildings and pen number six, which had just been emptied as another U-boat was sent on patrol.
Himmler led his small group of officers closer to the U-boat pens. He glanced to the top of the concrete structures, where Luftwaffe 88-millimeter anti-aircraft guns, their impressive telephone-pole-sized barrels, were pointed skyward in search of another bomber raid. As he approached, he got a closer look at the soldiers who operated the defensive weapons. They appeared to be teenagers wearing secondhand uniforms far too large for their undernourished bodies.
Himmler rubbed his temples and repositioned his hat. The madness of the war was truly approaching its final days. He’d thought he had a year or more to implement Project Tabun. To change the course of the war. He knew he was wrong.
Marching up a steep incline leading to the water, Oberleutnant zue See August Wilhelm Claussen had a determined look on his face. The relatively young thirty-five-year-old U-boat commander had achieved his commander rank just months before. He’d only undertaken a single patrol of four days the prior week as full commander of his own vessel. This would be his second and his last.
To be sure, Himmler had every possible commander at his disposal. Kretshmer. Topp. Liebe. Schutze. All capable commanders with a stellar record for the Kriegsmarine, the German Navy. However, there was something in the eyes of Lieutenant Claussen that convinced Himmler he was the man to command this important mission. There was a fierce loyalty about him. One that was absolutely required to achieve their goal.
The mission was risky and not just because of the attack that Himmler planned. U-1226 would be required to evade the increasingly dense blockade of Allied naval vessels established off the Atlantic coast of Europe. Several U-boats had been destroyed in recent months. This mission would require Claussen to sail at depth for much of the initial journey until he reached the North Atlantic. Then he could proceed on the surface if necessary once he was out of range of British reconnaissance aircraft.
“Heil Hitler!” greeted Claussen as he arrived in front of Himmler.
“Heil Hitler! Is she ready?”
“Jah wohl, Reichsführer. The cargo is loaded, and the crew of fifty-six, including myself, are standing by for your final inspection.”
“Good. Good. And your personnel?”
“The seaman were chosen and interviewed by me, Reichsführer. The individual officers requested by your assistant have been included except for one, sir.”
“Who and why?” asked Himmler.
“The executive officer, my second-in-command, sir. He failed his medical evaluation. It appears he has tuberculosis, sir.” The disease was highly contagious and easily spread from one person to the next through the air. It would’ve been devastating for the sailor to be on board U-1226 while at sea.
Himmler frowned. He didn’t like surprises. “Who is his replacement?”
“He was a former executive officer transferred here from the 9th Flotilla—Lieutenant Müller.”
Himmler pressed his commander. “What do you know of him?”
“Very little, Reichsführer, other than by reputation through the comments of those under his command. He is most certainly capable. In fact, he was assigned to U-1226 before it was brought over from the 9th Flotilla.”
A seaman came running from the operations building that had survived last night’s bombing raid. “Reichsführer, an urgent call for you.”
Himmler thought for a moment and then he turned to Claussen. “God be with you and your crew, Herr Oberleutnant.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
November 1944
Aboard the U-1226
North Atlantic Ocean
Claussen successfully navigated U-1226 out of the fjord and along the coastal shelf until they reached deep water. They departed on the surface waters, allowing the commander and crew to take one final look at the fjord and submarine pen. The fjord had been carved into its fingerlike shape over hundreds of thousands of years ago by the relentless power of towering glaciers.
Claussen took in the black, wide shape of U-1226 effortlessly cruising along the surface of the water. He wondered if he’d ever see Norway again. Would it be his last mission? Would the cargo and weapons he carried make a difference for Germany? There were so many questions, but the answers really didn’t matter. There was no turning back. He’d written his last letters to his parents in Hamburg. He’d said goodbye to his sweetheart in Bergen. He was doing his duty for the man he admired most in Germany—Reichsführer Himmler.
“Prepare to dive,” he ordered his helmsman.
“Depth under keel, sir?” the young man asked.
“One hundred meters,” replied Claussen, taking one final look at the cloudy sky and receding cliffs of the Norwegian coast. The sky was dull and gray. The waters were black except for the whitecaps caused by the ever-present northerly winds. Going to sea was exciting.
As planned, three additional U-boats accompanied the U-1226 on that day as part of a four-submarine squadron to patrol the North Sea. As the other three U-boats peeled off to approach the Netherlands and Germany’s northern coastline, Claussen led his sub deep toward the North Atlantic.
He’d successfully avoided the Allied countermeasures that had effectively stifled the Nazi submarine activity at that point in the war. Once he was beyond aircraft range for the British fighters, he ordered Müller to surface. It was October 23, 1944, and it would be the last communication between U-1226 and the German Navy.
Via radio communications, Claussen reported trouble with the U-boat’s snorkel, the device that allowed a submarine to operate partially submerged while still taking in air from the surface. Prior to this mission, there had been several documented problems with the snorkels.
Reduced speed was the biggest complaint of the commanders. When patrolling, the U-boat was sl
owed to a maximum speed of six knots. Safety was another. The snorkel, also used to dispose of garbage when at depth, often became clogged, forcing the crew to store the refuse on board.
The third issue was that the snorkel masts tended to spontaneously close up, resulting in the diesel engines being starved for air from above. The engines compensated by pulling air from the submarine’s interior, causing issues with atmospheric stabilization. The seaman suffered in agony, much like scuba divers who ascended to the surface too quickly. Ear pains could easily turn to damaged eardrums.
There were no actual issues with the snorkel of U-1226. However, it was considered a likely reason for a German submarine to suffer a catastrophic failure while at sea. When Claussen issued his Mayday and relayed the problems with the snorkel, Nazi communications specialists were not surprised. When they lost all contact with U-1226 for days thereafter, she was declared to be lost at sea. It was later officially determined that the sub, along with its fifty-six-member crew, had perished. In actuality, the submarine continued on its long journey toward the United States.
Soon after the planned Mayday, Claussen began to have issues with the morale of the men on board. Because of the secretive nature of the mission, each of the petty officers and the seamen understood they might be away from Bunker Bruno for a few months while patrolling. However, their specific mission was known only to Claussen and his most trusted officers.
When he wasn’t at the helm, his second-in-command, Müller, took pride in operating U-1226 as if he were in fact the commander. Ordinarily, his responsibilities were to shadow the commander and manage the sub’s weapon systems during an attack. The second watch officer, Lieutenant Schultze, a close friend of Claussen’s at the 11th Flotilla, generally manned the helm with Müller.
It was Schultze who first alerted Claussen to the change in demeanor of Müller. As the course of U-1226 set by Claussen strayed farther and farther away from the European continent, questions began to be raised by Müller. Whispers among the crew loyal to the former executive officer from the 9th Flotilla became increasingly hostile toward Himmler’s handpicked commander.
