The Golden U-Boat

by Richard P. Henrick

  Looking up to the conning tower, the Captain added, “Siggy, quit scaring this poor defenseless creature so!”

  Chief Sigmund Dortmund stiffly saluted and proceeded to do his best to wipe the black grease off of his face with a stained rag. He only needed to expose his forehead and eyes for the German shepherd to finally stop his incessant yelping.

  Kromer couldn’t help but laugh as he looked back to Otto Koch.

  “I guess poor Beowulf didn’t know what to make of our esteemed chief engineer. I’ve got to admit that I sure was pleasantly surprised when I learned that Sigmund Dortmund had signed on with us. We sailed together on many a patrol, and they don’t come any better than good old Siggy.”

  “I was hoping that you’d be satisfied with our selection,” said Koch.

  “Actually, you can thank your senior lieutenant for going out and recruiting Chief Dortmund for us. He’s been a hard worker, and already seems to know every square inch ofU-3313, from her bow to her stern.”

  Siggy managed to have his whole face wiped clean by the time he climbed off the gangplank and joined them beside the torpedoes. Even then, Beowulf snarled at the newcomer.

  “Beowulf, behave!” chided the dog’s master.

  Siggy wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the snarling German shepherd, and as he got within touching distance of the dog, he kneeled down and held out his hand. Beowulf cautiously sniffed the stranger’s skin, and after determining that this creature was human after all, returned to his master’s side and obediently sat down.

  “I’m sorry to have scared your dog, Herr Director,” apologized Siggy.

  “But in a way I can’t blame him.

  Once after a hard day working in the bilges, I passed by a mirror and when I accidentally caught my reflection, I even managed to scare myself!”

  The group laughed and even Otto Koch managed a grin, as Siggy continued.

  “I was just coming up to get some fresh air after patching up that little hydraulics leak that we found during this afternoon’s test. As I was passing the radio room, I was asked to pass the following news to you, Herr Director. Several minutes ago, a helicopter belonging to the Norwegian state oil service contacted the harbormaster’s office requesting permission to land here at North Cape. Apparently they’re having some sort of engine trouble, and don’t have enough fuel to reach Longyearben.”

  Otto Koch thought a moment before replying.

  “Well, under the circumstances, I guess the only thing we can do is let them land here. After all, we can’t go and get the landlord mad at us, can we?”

  “By all means not” concurred Kromer.

  “To deny them access would immediately arouse their suspicions.

  And before we knew it, they’d have that Coast Guard cutter that I saw back in Longyearben snooping around up here.”

  “So get on with it, Chief,” ordered Koch.

  “And make sure that the harbormaster treats our new guests cordially.”

  As Siggy turned back for the sub to inform the radio operator of this directive, he asked one more question.

  “What if the repairs on this helicopter require parts that are not available here?”

  “Then those parts will just have to be flown up here as soon as they can be found,” returned Otto Koch.

  “Meanwhile, the crew can have the services of one of our dormitories. But they’ll be under surveillance twenty-four hours a day, and under no circumstances will they be allowed near this mountain.”

  “I understand, Herr Director,” said Chief Dortmund as he climbed up onto the sub’s deck and headed for its sail-mounted forward hatchway.

  It was as Siggy disappeared inside the conning tower that Beowulf started barking again.

  “Good heavens, Beowulf. What’s gotten into you this evening?” asked the dog’s irritated master.

  “He probably just misses his new friend,” offered Charles Kromer.

  “Or maybe he has something against our new Norwegian visitors,” joked Hans Kurtz, who eventually turned his attention back to the torpedoes, and the briefing their captain had been in the midst of when they were initially interrupted.

  Noroil One swept in low over the waters that bordered Svalbard’s North Cape, its course rough and erratic.

  “Hang on tight, guys!” warned Karl Skollevoll from the cockpit.

  “I’m going to put us into a tailspin just as we cross over the coast. If they’re watching down below, that will really convince them that we’re in trouble”

  Beside the pilot, Mikhail Kuznetsov warmly grinned.

  “That was some idea that you came up with, Miss Skollevoll. And of course, this whole ride is most appreciated. Why I even enjoyed hearing Peer Gynt once again. It’s been much too long since I’ve sat back and really listened to a piece of music.”

  “Well, after all this is over, you’ve got to make a promise to yourself to take some time out of each day just to sit down and listen to some music. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no better relaxation in all the world. And please, call me Karl.”

  “Very well, Karl,” returned Mikhail with a smile.

  “I promise to give your therapy a try. You know, when I was a boy growing up in Kirov, my father used to take me and my twin brother Alexander to the symphony, whenever his naval duty allowed. My, those were magical moments. I enjoyed the works of Tchaikovsky the best, though both Borodin and Rimsky Korsakoff were my second favorites.”

  “Is your twin brother still alive?” asked Karl as she forcefully pushed the Bell’s control stick hard to the side, causing the helicopter to veer off abruptly to the left.

  Holding onto his harness for dear life, Mikhail held back his answer until the helicopter stabilized.

  “Alexander is an Admiral in the People’s Navy. The ministry has been after him to retire for the past five years now, but he won’t even think about such a thing. His whole life’s been his work, and without it he’d probably shrivel up and die.”

  “It sounds like you and your brother have a lot in common in that respect,” observed Karl, who sighted the flashing lights of the coastline up ahead, and proceeded to rock the helicopter back and forth with a wild, vibrating gyration.

  “You are most observant,” managed Mikhail as he re gripped his harness and did his best to ride out the series of aerial acrobatics that soon followed.

  For a sickening moment, the helicopter seemed to lose all power, and it plummeted downward. The flashing lights of the small Arctic outpost down below grew larger with an alarming swiftness, and Karl waited until the very last moment before engaging the throttle and regaining control.

  Only when this maneuver succeeded in re stabilizing them did Mikhail manage to find his tongue once more.

  “Not only are you observant and have excellent taste in music, but you are also one of the most daring pilots that I have ever met. And I’ve been up in MIG’s!”

  “Hey hotshot, enough of the amateur theatrics!” cried a voice from the main cabin.

  “Arne’s turned white as a ghost after that last maneuver, and even Knut’s starting to look a little pale.”

  Karl recognized this voice as belonging to NUEX’s photographer.

  “But I haven’t even attempted the tail spin yet, Jon,” returned the pilot.

  “The hell with that tailspin, just get us down!” screamed the shaken photographer.

  “You asked for it,” muttered Karl as she pushed down on the stick and sent the Bell 212 on its steepest dive yet.

  Mikhail could actually feel the harness as it cut into his shoulders, so steep was their angle of descent. Just when he was about to call out to the young pilot to pull up, he spotted the bright circle of lights down below, belonging to the outpost’s helipad. A flashing strobe lay in the center of this circle, and Karl put the helicopter down squarely on top of it.

  They landed with a jolt, and Karl quickly switched off the engines and then bent over to reach under the dashboard. Seconds later, she re-emerged with
a tiny fuse in one hand and a devilish gleam in her eyes.

  “This should keep those engines from turning over until I want them to,” said Karl as she securely buttoned away the fuse in the breast pocket of her jumpsuit.

  “Jesus Karl, are you trying to get us all killed?”

  rasped Jon Huslid as he poked his head into the cock Pit. Karl replied nonchalantly.

  “Come off it, Jon. I was only trying to make that little air emergency look authentic.”

  “Well, you did that all right,” returned the pale-faced photographer.

  “And poor Arne’s still puking his guts out for the sake of authenticity.”

  “I told him not to eat those two raw herring and onion sandwiches when we were leaving Tromso,” said Karl as she helped Mikhail unbuckle his harness.

  Knut Haugen’s deep voice broke from the main cabin, “Hey Jon, our reception committee is on the way. Wait until you get a load of these goons. They look like a bunch of Swedish dockworkers with toothaches.”

  “Now what?” asked Karl a bit apprehensively.

  Mikhail Kuznetsov was quick to take over.

  “We’ve accomplished our first goal, and we’ve made it to North Cape. Ifjakob’s source proves to be accurate, and I hope to God it does, the trawler with the heavy water on board will be docking here in another twenty-four hours. We’ve got to extend our welcome at least that long, so that we can follow those cannisters to their final destination.”

  “Hopefully, this is it,” remarked the photographer.

  “I’m not so sure of that, comrade,” returned the Russian.

  “But I do think that we’re getting close.”

  Jon shook his head.

  “Well, you can’t go much further north than Svalbard. From here, practically everywhere’s south, even Siberia!”

  Mikhail noted a little tension in the young Norwegian’s voice and he spoke compassionately.

  “I owe all of you so much already. A few hours ago, we were total strangers. Now the hand of fate has brought us together, and our destinies are one. I can only hope that the black cloud that has followed me all of my life will spare you the bitter rains of sorrow.”

  Karl already felt close to the white-haired Russian and softly caressed his weathered neck.

  “Don’t worry about bringing down troubles with NUEX around.

  They’re very adept at doing just that all on their own.”

  Jon took a deep breath and squared back his shoulders.

  “Here it goes, kids. I’ll go and see what our greeting party has to say and see about getting us some accommodations for the night. We can work on extending our stay tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Jon Huslid,” said the old Russian almost tenderly.

  The photographer winked and turned for the main cabin. As it turned out, the reception committee that was waiting for Jon outside the helicopter proved to be most cooperative. A van and driver were provided for them and they were soon whisked off up into the black hills.

  They spent the night in a cold, drab dormitory building. Constructed much like an Army barracks, the structure had a large common room filled with dozens of empty bunks. Adjoining this area was a communal bathroom. For safety concerns, a guard was stationed in the hallway that led to the building’s only exit. This individual curtly explained that lights out was at ten p.m. sharp, then left them alone to get settled.

  It was Arne who pointed out the large black and white pennant that was mounted on the wall at the head of the room. It showed the earth with a golden star crowning the North Pole.

  Karl did a swift inspection of the barracks, and mentioned that from the dust that had accumulated inside, the room hadn’t been occupied for quite sometime.

  Because of the late hour, and the sentry that remained stationed outside, they decided to wait until morning to initiate their investigation. The bunks were cramped and far from comfortable, but they were tired after their long day of travelling and all slept soundly.

  The group awoke at seven a.m. when the sentry came into the room, turned on the lights, and blew loudly on a small plastic whistle. This shrill blast served to get everyone’s attention, and as they groggily stirred, the guard announced that breakfast would be served in the mess hall in one-half hour. This left them little time to tarry, and as they slowly climbed out from under their blankets, they graciously allowed Karl the first use of the bathroom.

  The mess hall turned out to be in a large wooden building directly across from their barracks. As they were escorted to it, they were greeted by a frigid gust of Arctic air. It was a gray, overcast morning, that fit in well with the bleak range of black mountains that encircled them. As they crossed the narrow asphalt roadway, each of them got a brief glimpse of the bay that the outpost was built around. It lay to their right, approximately three kilometers distant.

  The bay was a desolate body of water that was ringed by a collection of glacial mountains. A small wharf could be seen on the shoreline, along with several other lowlying structures. The helipad was also situated here, and Karl could just view the array of antennaes that she had spotted last night as she was preparing to put the chopper down.

  Except for their escort, who remained with them while they ate, the mess hall was completely vacant. A cold buffet table had been set up inside this barn-like room that was filled with several rows of spartan wooden tables and chairs. Their meal was as simple as the furnishings that surrounded them — cheese, bread, liver spread and tea, yet they were hungry and ate heartily.

  Exactly a quarter of an hour after they had sat down to eat, a tall, middle-aged, blond man dressed in a brown suit entered the mess hall. He carried an air of military authority that caused their sentry to stand stiffly at attention as the newcomer stood before the buffet table and addressed them.

  “On behalf of the Rio de la Plata consortium, welcome to North Cape. I am Klaus Dietricht, the settlement’s associate director. I was informed last evening of your arrival, and regret that business matters kept me from paying my respects until now. Please excuse these humble facilities. As you can imagine, we have few guests, and we are not usually accustomed to uninvited visitors. I have made a van available to convey you down to the helipad so that you can initiate repairs on your helicopter. If you’ll just follow me, I’ll accompany you to this vehicle.”

  Before any of the group stood up to obey this directive, Jon Huslid spoke up.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Dietricht. Would it be possible if four of us have a look around the settlement while our pilot and chief engineer work on the chopper? I’m afraid that all we’d do down there is get in the way.”

  The outpost’s associate director carefully studied the individual who made this request and replied.

  “To whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m Jon Huslid. I’m employed with Noroil as an underwater photographer.”

  “Mr. Huslid” returned Klaus Dietricht coldly.

  “Unfortunately, insurance concerns force me to deny this request. Because of the dangerous state of the coal reserves we are presently working, you are confined to either the helipad or your barracks.”

  “But we won’t be going into the mines, sir,” responded Jon.

  “Actually, we’re much more interested in just seeing how your settlement operates.”

  The associate director impatiently looked at his watch.

  “I would love to give you such a tour, Mr. Huslid. But today I just can’t spare the time.

  So if you’ll just follow me, you can either accept a ride down to the helipad or remain here at the barracks under the watchful eye of Karl here.”

  The sentry alertly nodded in acknowledgement of this mention and Jon could only shrug his shoulders.

  “Come on, gang,” said the irritated photographer.

  “Let’s all get down to the helipad and see what we can do to patch up the chopper and get to someplace a bit more hospitable.”

  Seemingly ignoring this hosti
le comment, Klaus Dietricht led the group outside. The van was a nine seater. Dietricht and a driver sat in the front, while the members of NUEX, Karl Skollevoll and Mikhail Kuznetsov piled into the back.

  The road that they were soon travelling followed the floor of the valley. On both sides of the narrow thoroughfare rose a desolate, mountainous plateau, whose black basalt rock was streaked with snow. They passed by several more dormitories that were conspicuously empty of any occupants. It was only as they got closer to the shoreline that they spotted several men gathered before a small corrugated steel warehouse, in the process of loading what appeared to be food into a compact delivery van.

  The helipad lay on an isolated clearing near the wharf area. As they exited the vehicle, two large panel trucks whizzed past them, headed toward the road that followed the coastline up ahead. Curious as to where these vehicles were headed, Jon tapped Dietricht on the shoulder and pointed.

  “Mr. Dietricht, where are those two trucks off to in such a hurry?”

  “To the mines,” spat the associate director, who was obviously pressed for time himself.

  “I’ve got to go now,” he added.

  “Two of my men are waiting for you down at the helicopter. Consider them at your disposal.

  They have been instructed to do whatever is necessary to help you get airborne once again. With that, I wish you good luck and good flying.”

  Klaus Dietricht turned back for the van, which wasted no time speeding off in the same direction as the two trucks. This left the group temporarily alone on the clearing.

  “General Kuznetsov, do you think he’s one of your Nazis?” asked Arne.

  The Russian thoughtfully replied.

  “It’s obvious he’s been trained in the military. And of course, there’s no doubt that he’s a German. As to being a Nazi…”

  Mikhail was cut short by Knut Huagen.

  “Excuse me, sir, but we’ve got visitors coming our way.”

  The two dour looking brutes who had originally greeted them last night could be seen quickly approaching.

  “Damn!” cursed the photographer.

  “We’ve got to find someplace where we can talk.”

  Karl pointed toward the nearby helicopter.