The Last Wolf

by Stephen Ward

  They approached an empty slip and Keller stopped to lean on a rail. “The boats from this yard have always done well before. They'll be OK with a few flawed rivets, won't they?” queried Nikolaus.

  “That's not the point. It's bad enough that anyone on either side has to be killed but to send men out to die in a sub-standard boat is even worse than putting a gun to their heads.”

  Ahead of them lay the large K2 building, an imposing structure rising high above their heads. As they got nearer, the bustle of activity got less and less. The action happened inside these pens away from the bombers and Allied aircraft. As the men drew closer to the rampway, the creaking of metal and the screech of wheels on rails could be heard. A large shadow emerged from the cavernous expanse ahead, “I believe one of our wolves is back for repair, Nikolaus,” groaned Keller. They watched as the cradle carrying the submarine passed them, dripping with rusty water from its hull. “She's had a bad time. Look at that plate buckling.”

  “I see it, Nikolaus, but the Type 10 is large and slow. What use is a boat like that during this war?” replied Keller with a sigh. “Anyway, next week all will be different. In this dock we'll make history –our boat will change everything. Just think, a boat that takes less crew. The height of innovation will be laid right here in this very building. She won't need a pack to sail in, she will be the lone wolf. So terrified will the Allies be that they won't want to fight. They will know it's useless.”

  Chapter 3

  1985

  Admiral Turnbull walked briskly across the dockside away from the staff car parked outside the small office building overlooking Lorient Harbour. He gazed across the open water towards the estuary, taking in the cool sea air. Dressed in his full uniform, Turnbull, though nearing retirement age, still looked impressively fit. His rigorous exercise regime had left him without an ounce of excess fat on his stocky frame. With a reputation for being firm but fair, he was respected and well-liked by both the men who served under him and also by his superiors at the Admiralty.

  The docks were totally quiet, the silence only interrupted by the sound of an occasional seagull’s cry and the waves lapping against the dock piles. Three destroyers sat close to each other, two didn't interest him. To his mind they were all the same except for the third. This had a special place in his heart, HMS Talisman, his old ship, the best in the fleet, in his eyes. She hadn't changed a bit in the fifteen years since he had last seen her, yes a little rust along her bowline perhaps, but her grey dated outline was quite distinguishable from her modern counterparts. He couldn't wait to make an inspection. Turnbull wasn't normally a nostalgic man but this was different. Having watched her being built from the keel up he could still remember the smell of the fresh paint on the day he took her out on sea trials.

  Turnbull's tour on her had been largely uneventful except for the collision with a Spanish freighter in heavy fog. Suffice it to say it had left Talisman in dry dock for three months so badly damaged that the navy board had given serious consideration to scrapping her. Memories both painful and vivid came flooding back. He would much prefer to forget that particular incident but was under no illusions that it would become increasingly difficult over the next few days.

  In many respects he regretted not fighting harder to keep his command and couldn't help but feel that his resultant Admiralty promotion upstairs had been a convenient solution to an embarrassing problem. Whilst the Spanish freighter had been carrying illegal goods, and shouldn't have been there in the first place, that hadn't been the real issue. No - Turnbull's main issue was presently sat in his chair in the Captain's cabin. His fists clenched at his sides as he felt anger rising just thinking about that time.

  Never mind, he was now nearing his seventieth birthday and all good things had to come to an end someday. He was a sailor at heart, but now the only ships he commanded were the models that he built with his grandsons and sailed on the lake back home.

  Off in the distance he could see the motor launch making its way across from Talisman to collect him from the quayside for his meeting with Captain Wilkes. He couldn't wait to see the ship but he could wait at least another fifteen years to see that arrogant fool. Turnbull had managed to avoid Wilkes most of the time but command promotions required them both to be in attendance. It was, however, the first time they had been held aboard ship, so at least he could look around and maybe get some of that home brew from Doctor Moorhouse who he had met along with Commander Forrester at a function in Plymouth two years earlier. Thankfully, at that time, Wilkes had had a prior engagement. It had been an eventful evening, if only for the home brew which he was sure he could still feel the effects of to this day! But it was also the day he witnessed a young officer face down a large group of squaddies by himself despite knowing the probable outcome. For this had been his first encounter with Forrester. Given his rank, Turnbull couldn't be seen to give any help during the fracas that ensued or for that matter be seen in the kind of bar which Moorhouse had convinced him to go to. He could, however, sit back unseen and observe enough to know that the young man was captain material. It had been for this reason he had pulled some strings and managed to get both Forrester and Moorehouse transferred to Talisman. If it had been up to him, Forrester would have had his Command the first time, but Wilkes kept holding him back. Turnbull knew the reason now. Captain Wilkes was a lazy fool who was happy to sit in the big chair and allow his younger officers do all the work, only stepping up his game when officials came on board, a fact that had been duly noted at the Admiralty. In fact, this was the reason that Talisman was on this exercise in the first place and also why he had made up his mind that he was going to stay on board throughout.

  Just then a quiet ringing broke the silence from the direction of the staff car. The driver answered it and called to him. Turnbull took the phone. “Admiral Turnbull speaking,” he said clearly.

  “Hello dear, how are you?” came a quiet voice, “Have you boarded yet?”spoke his wife.

  “No, darling. I'm waiting for the launch. It's so good to see the old girl after all these years. I just need to get through this week with that oaf and I'll be home.”

  His wife laughed quietly, “You just make sure you play nicely. Actually, I was thinking of bringing Michael and Stephen over to see the exercise for a few days. Would that be alright?”

  Turnbull hesitated, “I don't know. I won't be able to spend much time with them as I'll be on ship most of the time.”

  There was a muffled exchange of words from the other end of the phone, then two little voices spoke pleadingly, “Please, Grandad. We'll be good for Nana. We promise to be good!”

  A smile spread over his face and with a soft laugh, “I guess I can't say no to that then, can I?” He heard a very loud “Yes!” and “Love you, Grandad.”

  “I'll be there tomorrow. I'll ring you from the hotel,” his wife answered.

  “OK Ali. The launch is here so I'll have to go.” They exchanged their goodbyes and with a flick of his finger hung up the phone.

  The launch bumped against the pontoon and the two sailors saluted as Turnbull walked down the ramp. The first sailor reached out his hand and assisted the Admiral aboard the small motor launch and pushed away across the swell of the outgoing tide towards Talisman. Turnbull thought to himself, “God. I've got flutters in my stomach. It can't be seasickness can it. Has it been so long?” Of course he put it down to excitement just as the launch approached Talisman's port side and immediately saw a muster of officers and men lined up for his arrival.

  Even without his glasses on, Turnbull could see that Wilkes wasn't among the welcome party. Walking up the steep ramp, he realised he would recognise that beard anywhere, Doctor Moorhouse, and next to him, Commander Forrester. A shrill whistle followed by “Admiral on deck” as the company saluted. He responded and put the men “At ease.”

  Forrester dismissed the men and saluted again, “Welcome on board, Admiral. It's good to see you, sir. Captain Wilkes is expecting you. Right thi
s way, sir.”

  Moorhouse smiled at Turnbull, half saluted and shuffled in behind as they made their way below decks. After polite exchanges of a general nature, Moorhouse slipped into the Medical Bay as they passed. “Please excuse me a minute, sir. I have a gift for you.” He returned moments later with a large, transparent medical bottle filled with a slightly cloudy liquid. “For you, sir. Try not to drink it all at once and if you can, sir, don't drink it alone.”

  Turnbull returned a huge grin and Forrester tried hard not to laugh. Stopping briefly, the Admiral opened his holdall and carefully placed the bottle in the bottom and covered it. “You boys sure know how to make an old sea dog happy, don't you?”

  “We try, sir.” replied Forrester.

  “Permission to speak, sir,” asked Moorhouse.

  “What is it, Doctor?”

  “Do be careful with that bottle, sir. If it leaks, it'll burn a hole through that bag. It's a strong brew.”

  Smiling, Turnbull patted him on the shoulder and continued down the maze of corridors. “So, gentlemen, the ship is looking well for her age. I trust she's looking after you?”

  “She's fine, Admiral. Same old Talisman, leaky, rusty and shaking.” laughed Forrester.

  The doctor grinned, “Say, Admiral, you wouldn't happen to know why she does the twenty five knot shimmy, would you?”

  Blustering, Turnbull quickly changed the subject. “Er... that floor needs polishing over there. It's looking a little streaky. See to it that it's done ASAP.”

  After a few moments more, the group descended a set of stairs and came in sight of Captain Wilkes' office, the scarred wooden door flanked on either side by a chair.

  “Now, gentlemen, shall we put on our Game faces?” grinned the Admiral.

  Forrester knocked once loudly, a curt voice came from within and “Who is it?”

  “Forrester, sir. Admiral Turnbull has arrived.” There was silence for what seemed an age. Turnbull shook his head, “You are dismissed, gentlemen, and thank you.” He opened the door, walked into the room and closed the door sharply behind him.

  Rounding the corner, Forrester and Moorhouse smirked at each other, snickering quietly as they each returned to their duties.

  Chapter 4

  Turnbull walked into Captain Wilkes' office finding a small untidy room with worn-fronted cabinets and a strange odour something akin to rotten vegetables. Making his way towards what he assumed was the desk, as it was totally covered in papers files and other assorted items, he wondered what this slob had done to his office. Despite the mess, Turnbull could see furniture and some pictures he still remembered with particular fondness. Wilkes had clearly never changed it even after all this time. Sat in a worn black leather chair was a small, stocky man, with unkempt greasy brown hair and a badly creased uniform. Captain Wilkes!

  “Hands off your cock Wilkes,”

  A rather sarcastic, “Do come in, won't you, Admiral. Oh and I do hope that was your idea of humour.”

  Turnbull smiled to himself and replied, “Well, you must have been doing something like that as, firstly, it took an age for you to summon me into the office, secondly, you certainly weren't cleaning, and thirdly where's the damn salute for a senior officer? This place is a fucking disgrace. Just look at this desk. If I searched for long enough on there, I might possibly find that Harrier we lost last month. I'm glad to see your First Officer is doing a better job of keeping the ship itself spick and span. Maybe you need to go back through basic training for a month.”

  “With all due respect, Admiral, I've been busy with other matters, and may I remind you, the ship is no longer your responsibility, it's mine.” replied Wilkes in a slow sneering tone.

  “Busy! Busy doing what, man? We've been in port for three weeks with nothing to do. Your ship outside is spotless and I know who's to thank for that!”

  “I assume you mean Forrester. You like him, don't you? In my experience he's an arrogant little bastard. He's too young and too cocky. I don't like the way he looks at me when we're around the ship. If I had the chance I'd bust him down to junior grade and see how he likes that.”

  Feeling irritation building up inside of him, Turnbull composed himself with an effort and took a deep breath, “So you do actually go out and about ship so that the crew know you exist. Do you give small things like orders while you're out there or leave all that sort of thing to the other officers while you rot in here? Your officers out there need guidance and they only appear to be getting it from their first officer. The sooner he's away from you, the better. He could be a first rate captain but you've quite deliberately held him back – which in a sense may have been lucky, or otherwise, this ship would've been at the bottom of the sea by now. For that reason, I have decided to stay on board during the upcoming exercise to observe proceedings.”

  With that, an air of tension fell on the office. Wilkes looked decidedly uneasy, his face reddened and took on a scornful look, “As you wish, Admiral. Your quarters will be prepared.”

  Turnbull pulled his chair closer, and snarled, “You listen to me, Wilkes. You have twenty four hours to get your shit together and start acting like a captain or I will personally bust you down to junior and see how you like it! We'll meet tomorrow morning at 11OO hours ship time to discuss Forrester's promotion.” With that, he stood and turned to walk out of the door but just before it slammed behind him, Wilkes heard one last comment, “and for fuck's sake tidy that desk.”

  Then he was gone and silence fell over the office save for Wilkes' heavy breathing, “Who the fuck did he think he was? How dare he be so fucking offensive? So what if his office was somewhat untidy. His ship was clean, regardless of who told the crew what to do!” Wilkes thought long and hard about the words still ringing in his ears and ideas whirling around his head. Forrester was an upstart, no better than any other first officer and should think himself lucky he was a first officer at all. Slipping his hand into his top drawer, Wilkes pulled out a quarter bottle of gin, took a swig and relaxed back into his chair. Forrester wasn't getting this promotion. Deep down, Wilkes knew that without the man, his own command would be taken away for sure. He was staying. Old Bully couldn't do anything about it. They both had to be in agreement so all he had to do was show his face around the ship sometimes and otherwise, sit tight and get through these war games.

  Chapter 5

  Donald Winters had just finished drafting yet another letter to the Admiralty, his third this year. It seemed they just weren't interested in History any more. Twenty five years of hard research and legwork dismissed. Just like that. Even his letter to his old friend Admiral Turnbull had gone unanswered. Dr. Winters was one of the most respected naval historians in the world having been instrumental in tracking down countless numbers of wrecks. He used to be the Admiralty's 'go-to-man'. Well, he'd thought he was, but given recent events he was no longer quite so sure. His reverie was interrupted by the sound of his study door opening and the slight clink of china.

  “Hello dear,” came a soft whisper, “I've brought you a cup of tea and a sandwich. You missed dinner again, though I did call you several times. Why don't you come and relax for a while? You've been beavering away in here for days with little to eat and even less sleep.”

  Winters smiled. His beloved Jean, so understanding, and in his eyes, just as pretty as the day they had met. Her greying hair was tied neatly in a bun but even that could not disguise the fineness of her features despite the advancing years. She was, as ever, concerned for him. He'd been spending a lot of time continuing his research. But he was so close and the numbers and dates didn't lie. It had to be somewhere according to this. It was built, but where did it go?

  “Are you coming or do I have to drag you out of here?”

  “Yes, love. I'll come out in a moment,” he replied still daydreaming, not hearing the soft sigh and click of the door closing once more. Settling back into his chair eating his sandwich, he began to read through his letter once more.

  To Whom It Ma
y Concern:

  With regards to my previous two letters which still remain unanswered, it is of the utmost importance that I have an immediate interview with you. During my recent research I have made a discovery which could be of the greatest historical significance. You continue to fund my work, but with respect, my requests for a meeting are persistently ignored.

  As you may know we hold records of every type of German U-boat ever built and believe we know the locations of almost all of them. However, I think I have found one which may be of interest to the Admiralty. I am of he opinion that this advanced prototype disappeared shortly after completion. I therefore request the loan of a survey vessel for a short time in order to search the area in which I suspect she disappeared. The submarine designated UX-505 seems to be a variation of the Type 10 but something about the descriptions in notes I have discovered, do not match a standard boat of that class.

  It is for this reason, it is imperative I meet with you to discuss the finding of this vessel It may be a matter of national importance.

  Yours sincerely,

  Dr. Donald Winters Ph.D