“Yes, sir,” Cole said.
Moore gave Cole a warning glance. “I think that was meant to be a rhetorical question, old man.”
“Yes, sir,” Cole said. “I do.”
“Very well,” Hamilton said calmly, sitting down. “Where is it now?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Hamilton glanced at Moore for his answer.
“That is the question, isn’t it, Uncle Harry?”
“There are regular reconnaissance flights over those waters by Coastal Command. If this ship exists”—his eyes dropped to the folder—“if she exists, she will not remain unobserved for long.”
“Sir, may I suggest—” Cole began.
“No, Lieutenant Cole,” Hamilton said. “You may not. You will return to your duties in Photo Ops. You will make no unauthorized journeys, nor will you exceed in any way those orders that bind you to this command. You may be young, Cole, but I expect mature decisions from the officers under my command. Sublieutenant Moore, you will do the same. I don’t want to hear any more ridiculous nonsense of phantom ships and mysterious islands. Dismissed.”
Both Moore and Cole saluted, but before Cole left, Hamilton said, “Cole. I had high hopes for you. I still do. But if you persist in unmilitary-like behavior I shall have no choice but to contact your superiors in America. They will, I’m sure, view this behavior rather unfavorably.”
“Yes, sir,” Cole said. He closed the office door behind him and met Moore in the hallway. They let a Wren pass before they spoke. Dickie took time to admire the slender figure of the young lady.
“Well,” Moore said.
“I hate being dismissed like I’m some sort of fucking idiot,” Cole said.
“Yes, it is all rather frustrating, isn’t it, old boy? I’ve gotten used to it over the years so that I hardly ever let it concern me. Still, you haven’t been cashiered or made to walk the plank or any of that nonsense.”
Cole said nothing.
“Cheer up,” Moore said. “Uncle Harry is generally right about things like this. I’m sure that our chaps in Coastal Command will find this blighter, and when they do, they’ll dispatch her posthaste.”
“Yeah,” Cole said.
“Righto,” Moore said cheerfully. He looked at his watch. “Party at Beth and Marie’s. Mustn’t be late for this one. Bound to be an available young lady or two about. Perhaps I should tag along after that Wren and invite her.”
Moore was nearly at the double doors, swaying uncertainly on his crutches, when Cole called after him.
“Dickie?” he said. “What if they don’t find her? What if she gets out in the Convoy Routes?”
Sublieutenant Richard Moore grew very serious and his voice took on a plaintive tone. “I suppose it will be a slaughter and thousands of men will die.”
Kapitan zur See Mahlberg rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The 2,365 officers and men aboard Sea Lion were divided into sixteen divisions—everything from personnel for the main and secondary batteries to engineers, technicians, and stokers. Administratively, the workload was at times overwhelming, often boring, but always necessary. Even with his three office stewards, Mahlberg felt that he spent more time reading reports than commanding the ship. His Erster Offizier, I.O., Freganttenkapitan Werner Kadow, was a godsend. The man’s memory and organizational abilities saved Mahlberg from having to do anything but the most critical administrative duties. Yet to Mahlberg, these were too much. He longed to be, he belonged on the bridge with the long graceful bow of Sea Lion spread out before him, gently falling and rising as she bit into the gray sea. He lost himself in the sight of plumes of white spray exploding over the North Atlantic bow, reaching well past Anton, the first of the four turrets bearing the mighty main armament of Sea Lion.
Cadence. That was the word. A relentless, inevitable cadence that drove Sea Lion through the narrow waters between Fjellsund and Norway; blasting through thick, heavy waves that came at her as if they were sent by the Norse gods themselves. But they did not stop her, they didn’t even slow her as her three mighty screws dug into the depths and propelled the huge vessel forward. Rise and fall—as gently as if Sea Lion were a wooden steed on a carousel at a seaside resort; bit in her mouth, teeth bared, and colorful, carved mane frozen in imaginary motion.
And Mahlberg on the bridge.
There was a knock on the door.
Mahlberg, stood, shook himself out of his revelry, and made certain that his tunic buttons were properly fastened. “Come,” he said, his voice crisp and commanding.
It was Ingrid May. She closed the door behind her and looked about casually.
“So this is where the Kapitan zur See finds sanctuary?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, hardly surprised to see her. He had avoided any contact with Ingrid except when they were in the company of others. In some aspects it was a very large ship—but as rumors went it might as well have been a tiny village in some remote province. People had a way of finding out things. But Ingrid would not be denied anything that she sought.
“No?” she said. “I was told by the Fuehrer that there were to be no restrictions applied to my visit.”
“With all respect to the Fuehrer,” Mahlberg said, “he has never before seen the disruptive power of a woman aboard ship. Especially a woman such as yourself.”
“What a kind thing to say, Kapitan zur See,” Ingrid said as she studied the cabin. “Couldn’t the Kriegsmarine have provided one of their most illustrious Kapitans with accommodations more befitting his stature?”
“This suits me,” Mahlberg said. “What is the purpose of your visit?”
“‘What is the purpose of your visit?’” Ingrid echoed. She studied the cabin. “I was certain that your tastes ran to something a little more luxurious. Exciting, perhaps.”
“That was some time ago. In another place.”
“Not so long ago, I should say.” She was wearing a heavy wool coat, which she unbuttoned and dropped on the chair, revealing a thin white blouse underneath. She wore no bra and her ample breasts filled the material. Black, tailored wool slacks contrasted starkly with the blouse.
“Have you anything to drink?” she said as she sat on the corner of his desk. “Or have you given that comfort up as well?”
He moved to a cabinet and filled a tumbler with schnapps. He handed it to her and watched as she examined it critically.
“Not even crystal,” she said. She waved the tumbler under her nose and looked at Mahlberg with mild disdain. “Diesel fuel?”
“Siphoned from the tanks just for this occasion,” he said, watching her carefully, calculating how he might take advantage of her presence in his cabin. He would lock the door of course, and leave orders that he was not to be disturbed, but that would do nothing to quell the talk about her visit. It had been some time since he had been in a woman’s arms; his wife’s in fact. She had performed her service enthusiastically but with little talent. Her duty to the Fatherland, he liked to think—keep her husband happy, provide him with the carnal pleasures that a Kapitan zur See required. Afterward she had made him a splendid meal.
Ingrid sipped the schnapps delicately and placed the tumbler on the desk. Mahlberg had always admired that about Ingrid May—every movement was graceful, unhurried, as if some abnormal machinery in her brain calculated each motion before it was made. His wife lacked grace, but she was, after all, dependable.
“You recall our previous conversation,” she said, wiping a drop of liquid from the corner of her mouth, “about your future.”
Mahlberg offered her a cigarette from a teak box on the desk. He was curious but made every effort to appear disinterested. She selected a cigarette as if one were placed especially for her, her eyes never leaving his as he lit it with a silver lighter. He chose a cigarette for himself. She would take this as a signal to continue, which it was. He decided to let her speak.
“It seems that your Admiral Raeder,” she said, “is closer to … ‘retirement’ than I anticipa
ted.” She shook her head and repeated tsk, tsk, tsk, as if she were truly sorry to be the bearer of such news. “How difficult it must be to command at times such as these. There are so many casualties in war. And not all on the battlefield.”
Raeder’s probable fate was apparent to Mahlberg and was well known in the service. The surface fleet had yet to demonstrate that they could meet and defeat the British. Hood had been their one great triumph but that at the cost of the supposedly invincible Bismarck.
“Doenitz,” she continued, “he is a rather short man, isn’t he? I find short men distasteful. They appear always to be staring at my breasts and yet trying to appear as if they aren’t. Goebbel’s excepted of course. He is only interested in his wife’s breasts.” She changed subjects. “Doenitz and the efforts of his U-boats are well received.”
“Vice Admiral Doenitz is a very capable man,” Mahlberg said. “I would not be surprised if he were to succeed Grand Admiral Raeder at the appropriate time.”
“But he is short,” Ingrid said. She downed the contents of the tumbler and winced. “Disgusting. Your name continues to be mentioned as a potential replacement for Admiral Raeder.” She examined the remnants of the glass and made a face. “Should circumstances require his retirement.”
“I am sure that the Fuehrer will choose the ideal candidate.”
She offered Mahlberg a look of mild disbelief. “Spoken like a loyal officer. Unfortunately loyalty is not the only ingredient needed to advance. Well, you have loyalty. That is in our favor.”
“Our favor?”
Ingrid ignored his comment. “That does not change the situation, however. Positions must be cultivated, nourished. You, Kapitan zur See Mahlberg, are marked for high command,” she said. She stood and moved closer to him. “I told you that I can help you. You need my help, in fact.”
He could smell her expensive perfume and he noticed that the top buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned, exposing the deep valley of her breasts. She wanted to advance at his side, silently, steadily, until she joined the sacred inner circle of Nazi officialdom. She would do it too, if she demanded it as her due. She would not stop until she was truly satisfied. He knew that—he had seen it firsthand. If she wasn’t satisfied after making love with Mahlberg she would ring up one of her girlfriends to join in their unrestrained lovemaking. A bitch in heat, his wife had said of her, looking at him as if she knew every detail about his affair with Ingrid May. She probably did—Kriegsmarine wives were horrible gossips.
She was that, Mahlberg had thought as his wife eyed him accusingly, and dangerous as well.
Need. The word stuck in his mind. Do I “need” you? “You think that I cannot achieve what is rightfully mine on my own?”
She smiled. “Eventually, perhaps. But why postpone triumph? Especially since it need not be so. I have much to offer.”
“What do you expect in return, Ingrid?” Mahlberg said.
“Everything,” she said.
Anger swept over him but he did his best to control it. She forgets herself, he thought. She forgets who is in command aboard this vessel and the power that I possess. She forgets that woman is subservient to man. He forced his anger to dissipate.
The telephone on Mahlberg’s desk rang urgently, its red light blinking. He picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear as Ingrid placed his hand near her lips and began to kiss his fingers seductively.
“Kapitan.” It was Kadow. He had the bridge watch. “We’re approximately eighteen kilometers from Kalvenes.” Kalvenes was where they were to meet the refueling vessel and pick up the destroyers.
Ingrid looked up at Mahlberg expectantly, rubbing her body against his.
“I’ll be right up,” Mahlberg said, and replaced the receiver in its cradle. He gently pushed Ingrid back. “Duty calls,” he said evenly.
“You can’t delay it, Kapitan zur See?”
He picked up her coat and draped it over her shoulders, guiding her to the door. “Unfortunately not,” he said.
“When can I see you again?” she said, expectation written on her face. “We have much to talk about.” She suddenly grew petulant. “And I’m lonely. It’ll be such a long voyage.”
“Socially?” he said. “When we are again in port.”
“But—”
“I have but one mistress at sea and she demands all of my attention.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she said. He could see that she didn’t believe him.
“I am being quite honest, Ingrid,” Mahlberg said. “I have no time for frivolity and I will not undermine the morale of this ship by engaging in unprofessional activities.” Need you? Do you really think that I need a whore to vouch for my capabilities? This voyage will decide who succeeds Raeder—not your disgusting talents.
“Who do you think you are?” she snapped. “You can’t toss me aside. You had more than enough time before—”
“Before, I was not aboard ship.”
“You think that makes a difference? I can have any man I want. Now the great Kapitan zur See suddenly has developed morals. What was it? Did you remember that you had a wife? Is it the children?”
“In the future,” he said calmly, “you will be prohibited from entering all living quarters aboard ship. On any tour of the vessel you will be accompanied at all times by Korvettenkapitan Eich, our chief medical officer. He is short, fat, and has bad breath.”
“You arrogant—”
“Yes,” Mahlberg said. “I am. Now, if you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to.” He pushed her through the door and closed it behind her.
He donned his cap and overcoat, stopping in front of the full-length mirror to consider his appearance. He was pleased with the reflection. Of course he was arrogant—he had every right to be. He was also confident, professional, and the finest officer in the Kriegsmarine. His arrogance was well founded and entirely appropriate—he commanded Sea Lion. Ingrid May simply did not understand. Ashore he had time for their assignations, but aboard his vessel his time, his energy, his interests were reserved for his vessel. He removed an errant piece of dust from the shoulder of his deep blue coat. He was God on Sea Lion: unapproachable, unassailable, unmistakably a deity. He was, he knew deep in his heart as he stared into the blue eyes in the mirror, infallible.
Chapter 13
Aboard H.M.S. Firedancer, Scapa Flow
Hardy, in as foul a mood as Number One had ever seen him, gave the order: “Close all watertight doors and scuttles. Hands to station for leaving harbor.” Number One passed on the order to a chief bo’swain’s mate, a three-badger with thirteen years of good service, who sounded the bugle over the intercom and announced: “Do you hear there? Do you hear there? The ship is under sailing orders. Special sea-duty men to their stations.”
Number One followed Hardy’s cold gaze as Prometheus swung into the Flow, preparing to take her place along with her three destroyers: Eskimo, Windsor, and Firedancer. The majestic Prince of Wales was astern of them.
“Depth Charge at Cruising Stations, at the stern to set the depth charges with the special key and do any electrical work necessary,” the voice crackled over the speaker.
“Stand by, Engine Room, stand by, Wheelhouse,” Hardy said without emotion. “Ready, Number One? Half ahead port.”
“Half ahead port, yes, sir,” Number One repeated and then called the order into the engine room voice tube. “Half ahead port,” he confirmed to Hardy.
“Starboard twenty,” Hardy ordered.
“Starboard twenty, sir,” Number One said and passed on the course to the wheelhouse. They were pulling away from the buoy next to the filthy oiling jetty that they had sucked life from earlier that morning.
“Wheel amidships. Half ahead starboard,” Hardy ordered and walked from one side of the bridge to the other, noting Firedancer’s station as they took position prior to entering Hoxa Sound.
Number One watched Hardy skillfully guide his ship to the entrance of the sound and wondered if he would ever have the
ability to do the same. However querulous Hardy could be, and lately it seemed as if nothing were right enough for him, he was a superb sailor. But there were demons eating away at him, Number One decided, gnawing at his guts so that the only way he could find release was to unleash his anger on others.
Torps Baird waited with his party at the two TSDS Davits and three-ton winches that rose above Firedancer’s stern on either side of the depth charge rack.
“All right, Engleman. What’s it to be? Hoxa, Hoy, or Switha? Here’s a chance to make a quid. Simple as that. Here. Here’s three witnesses. Let the boy seaman hold the money until we’re through.”
“Sod off.”
“Here now! You’re as cold as charity, you are. Begrudge a mate the chance to make a bit. You’d stand a better chance with me than you would playing crown and anchor.”
“Hoy!” Blessing said excitedly. “I bet we’re going through Hoy.”
“That’s it, lad,” Baird said. “He’s got the spirit of it.”
Engleman turned to Blessing in disgust. “It’s Hoxa Sound, you daft child. Can’t you see the channel markers?”
“Why, bless my soul,” Baird said. “So it is. Let that be a lesson to you, Boy Seaman,” he said to Blessing. “You’ll thank me for showing you the evils of gambling when you hand over that quid.”
“Depth Charge Party, close up,” Sublieutenant Morrison ordered. “Man the TSDS Davits.”
Baird and his party took their stations, hooking the steel leads and cables into the eyes of the squat streaming paravanes—torpedolike devices that trailed the destroyer, snagging and cutting the suspension wires of anchored mines. Once cut, the mines would float to the surface and be detonated with gunfire.
The telephone rang shrilly, two rapid bursts, and Morrison pulled the receiver from its protective box.
Baird heard him say, “Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” He turned to Baird and ordered, “Draw up the paravanes.”
Baird nodded and a man on each winch cranked the handles quickly in a clockwise motion. The reduction gears spun rapidly and the paravanes, guided by other members of the crew, slowly rose and hung above the deck. Two men, one to each paravane, used cables to keep the paravanes from swinging with the motion of Firedancer. If they got away and fell over the side they could foul the ship’s screws.
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