by Stephen Ward
Short, but to the point, he thought as he folded the letter and placed it into an expensive-looking, cream envelope printed with his return address on the reverse. The set had been a present from Jean last year. She always did know how to make a good first impression though at this moment in time, Winters couldn't care less about how nice the paper or envelope was. He just wanted a damn reply.
Looking around his study, he noted the mess of papers, files and maps, all yellowing with age. It had been a tough job looking through all of it, but intensely satisfying. If the evidence he'd discovered was correct, this boat could have changed the war. The question was, why didn't it and where was she now? With a flurry and a quick pat on the arms of his chair, he rose to his feet knocking over a pile of documents that had been carefully sequenced for future examination but was so tired that he couldn't even muster the energy to bend down and pick them up.
Suddenly something caught his eye, a photograph, old and dog-eared, the red stamp marked TOP SECRET just about visible from among the other papers that were obscuring it. The papers had been sent from a friend in Berlin and had only recently been declassified. Reaching down he began sifting through an odd assortment of what looked like invoices, schedules and other documentation until he carefully retrieved the picture. The yellowing hue of the old image made it difficult to see at first but as the moments passed, his tired eyes managed to focus, scanning every inch of the picture through his grease-smudged spectacles. After polishing the lenses, he continued his examination. Very slowly, a feeling of excitement grew from within him. It felt as though it began at his feet and continued through his body prickling the nerves at the top of his head and culminating in a huge grin. This was surely the proof he was looking for but then he doubted his eyes and brain, it must be a different boat. Without shifting his focus from the photo for a second, he felt blindly down the side of his chair's cushion for his large microscope. “Come on, where the devil is it?” His right hand quickly located what he wanted. “Ah! Got it!” Placing the picture flat on the table he pulled over his angled desk lamp. His hands shook with anticipation as he peered carefully through the magnifying glass, eyes widening as the image of a submarine came into focus. Winters' trained eyes scanned the boat from bow to stern. It was a Type10 but she seemed larger, somehow wider. Maybe her deck gun was also lower mounted. It was unusual for a boat to have one at that stage of the war as they rarely surfaced. The photograph was stained and dusty. He needed a clearer look. Reaching into his top pocket, he pulled out the white cotton handkerchief which Jean always insisted he carry. Going against everything he'd ever been taught, he set about cleaning away the dirt. As he did so, the boat's conning tower became easier to make out. The standard logo came into view, then a letter U and an X. By this point Winters was almost jumping out of his chair in excitement, but no, he thought to himself, this evidence is compelling. One slip here could destroy the photograph and along with it, any hopes of getting help from the Admiralty. So he continued to gently dab away decades of dust and grime. 505. UX 505. That's it. Proof at last. Physical, credible proof. There was no doubt now. This boat wasn't just designed. She'd been built.
Standing, he tottered over to his briefcase forced it open and stuffed a rather messy file of papers into it. Then he carefully sealed the photograph in a brown envelope and also put that into his case. “Damn the letter,” he thought, “if they won't reply to me, I'm going to them.” Closing the briefcase with a reassuring clunk he grabbed his dictaphone from the worn wooden bookshelf and headed to the study's heavy panelled door. Opening it a strong smell of fresh flowers and beeswax polish filled his nostrils as he walked up the lightly coloured hallway which was flanked on either side with low bookcases full of old-looking books, towards the back of the house.
Rushing into the large open kitchen, he blinked momentarily as the bright evening sunshine shone through the patio doors. Jean was sitting at sturdy pine country table, the remains of her dinner set to one side and the cutlery still lying neatly in his place. She'd been reading but looked up, startled, at his entry, “Oh darling! Good, you're here. I was thinking we could go for a drink in the village this evening.”
“No time, love. I have to go to London,”
Jean looked up puzzled with just a tinge of frustration, “Right now? But Donald, it's five o'clock. You won't get there until ten. Why ever do you need to go to London?”
“I've done it, Jean. I've found proof the boat was built and now I have a photograph to prove it.”
“That's marvellous but even if you do go now, they won't see you until tomorrow morning. Why don't you just pack your case and get some sleep. You could catch a train to London at six then be there early and, most importantly, rested.”
Winters smiled, she was right as usual. Maybe after some rest he would be able to think clearly about what he wanted to say, assuming of course that he could stop his mind racing and actually get some sleep.
“You're right, love. Okay, after I've put my papers in order, we'll go for that drink and I'll explain in more detail about what I've found.”
Chapter 6
Keller made his way swiftly to the Drafts room, a large open area filled with tables. A big ship's diagram covered the wall behind his desk at the front of the room. Covering his desk were many rolls of heavy paper. Pausing for a moment, he selected two then opened his drawer and pulled out a brown string-bound file full of papers. He closed the drawer, re-locking it with the tiny brass key which he then placed in his breast pocket. Nikolaus stood in the doorway tapping his foot anxiously on the concrete floor.
“You look uneasy, Nikolaus. You can stay here if you want.”
The younger man looked up, surprised, “No, I'll be fine. I just don't like dealing with Richter, he worries me.”
Keller smiled reassuringly, “Nikolaus, my friend, Richter is the least of our worries. When he sees these designs he'll throw every resource at us.”
“I hope you're right,” Nikolaus said nervously.
“I am right.”
“He is SS. Anything for bloodshed and Hitler.”
“No, It's Weib you need to worry about.”
The pair moved off swiftly towards the main offices. Cranes were moving overhead with torpedoes and other major supplies waited on a submarine sitting quietly in a nearby bay. Welding sparks flying from a gas torch could be seen lighting up the dull concrete walls from an adjacent bay. “They didn't waste any time on that one, did they?” said Nikolaus.
Keller turned to look, “No, they didn't but that conning tower is going to need replacing,” he replied.
A large steel door headed off from the main floor up a steep set of steps. Closing the door behind them, the sound of the works outside became muffled. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they reached the top onto the main corridor running the length of K2. They had to walk for another minute through the huge complex before reaching Weib's office.
“Are you ready for this, Nikolaus?” who nodded. Just as Keller raised his fist to knock a voice from inside shouted, “Come in”
Puzzled, Nikolaus wondered out loud, “How does he do that?”
Opening the door, the pair walked in. Weib's office was utilitarian at best but it was worth noting it was the only office with a huge window from which he could see all the bays and workers below. Weib sat at his desk smoking a cigarette, “Gentlemen, how are you? Please come in. You know Herr Richter, don't you.”
“Yes sir, Good morning sir.” Richter said nothing but remained in position leaning against the window and looking out through the large window over the many bays. His presence, the worn leather coat and the lapel insignia made the atmosphere a lot more intense and Nikolaus felt his anxiety levels increase still further.
“Let's get down to business. I know we all have many things to do today,” Weib said, settling back in his chair.
Keller nodded, “May I use your board, sir?” Weib nodded and gestured open-handedly at the large wall-mounted board containing some
hastily pinned notices. Together, Keller and Nikolaus rolled out the design and pinned it to the board. Keller pulled out his pencil and cleared his throat before speaking, “As we all know, I've been working on this design to help solve a problem which has been dogging our current submarine fleet.” Weib raised an eyebrow but said nothing, “Our fleet requires a lot of upkeep, mainly of men, munitions and provisions. I've designed a submarine that can be manned by as few as five or seven men.”
“Ridiculous!” sneered Weib.
“No, sir. It's not. Allow me to show you.” Pointing at the drawing with his pencil, Keller indicated the enlarged conning tower, “The main problem on a standard boat is storage for provisions and torpedoes. My design makes it possible for the crew to live and work in the conning tower which leaves, excluding the engineering section in the rear compartment, solely for torpedo storage and provisions. With this design the tours could be a lot longer as water, food and munitions would last commensurately longer.”
Weib interrupted, “Impossible! It takes four men to load a torpedo into the tube. Who would run the rest of the boat during an engagement? Would she run herself?”
Realising that this demonstration wasn't going well, Keller cleared his throat before continuing, “Sir, taking into account our mine laying experience without the need for bulk head separation, it's possible to run the torpedoes on tracks the full length of the hull. This would then feed them into cradles in the tubes. The width of my design has allowed for two tracks, one to each forward tube, and enable torpedoes to be held on racks either side of the tracks as one is fired and the other moves over to take its place. Once the main cradles have been exhausted, rams will push the stored torpedoes onto the track and the procedure begins again.”
Richter chuckled quietly to himself. Weib stood and looked at the drawings, “It is a big boat, I will give you that, and the principle sounds promising. However, I still have my doubts that the automation of such systems would work.”
“We have all the technology in different applications all over the front. It's just a case of putting them into practice,” replied Keller quickly, not wanting to lose Weib's good will. He paused a moment to regroup his train of thought then continued, “The systems have been designed and bench tested in small scale. We've also worked out all the control issues. It will work. Given the resources, I can have the boat built and ready for sea trials in twelve months. The fire power this U-Boat will have is like nothing anyone has ever seen. She could destroy a whole fleet of vessels.”
Weib sat quietly, then spoke up, “I just don't think it's worth the man power and resources.”
“But...” started Keller.
Raising his hand, Weib said, “This facility is already stretched very thin and you want me to pull men and resources off other boats to build your dream? We're at war and this is a maintenance facility. We can't build prototypes out in the open! You know that has to be done in here and that takes up valuable space for any returning boat and crew. Our fabrication shops that could forge and shape the pieces necessary for a bespoke boat are extremely limited. Maybe it could be done in Hamburg, but this is Lorient.”
A silence fell over the office. Nikolaus, too scared to say anything, found an interesting notice on the wall and stared at it. A click and the smell of fresh smoke broke the silence. Richter, still facing the window, began to speak, “It is an interesting design, Keller. Who have you told about it other than us in this room?”
“No one, sir. Only myself and Nikolaus here, my draughtsman.”
Nikolaus felt even more uneasy at hearing his name mentioned and a cold bead of sweat rolled down his furrowed forehead.
“That is strange Herr Keller,” said Richter taking a very large drag of his cigarette. “Very strange indeed. I see you haven't altered the weakness of the design. It still runs one tube at the stern and one fish.”
Puzzled and amazed, Keller and Nikolaus looked at each other. How did he know? He hadn't looked at the drawing once during the meeting.
“There is a weak point as Grand Admiral Donitz noticed and it is not totally true that you have not told anyone else about the design. Is it, Keller?” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a letter slamming it down onto the table. “Did you forget about the letter you sent to Admiral Donitz' staff?”
Keller had forgotten how, in a temper, two months ago, he had mailed a letter and a copy of the designs after being refused an interview. Richter now looked stern and moved closer, his blond hair and piercing blue eyes burning into Keller's in a way he didn't like at all.
“It arrived two weeks ago and the Admiral's staff passed it onto him. He is very interested indeed. As am I, as in why I wasn't informed before you mailed it.”
“I'm sorry, Herr Richter. I really am. I was just trying to.....”
Slamming his palm onto the table, “Yes, you were just trying to make me look foolish. Is that what you were trying to do?” snarled Richter.
“N..no sir, stammered Keller. I was trying to do my bit for Germany.”
Richter turned back to the window and his voice changed back to its slow soft tone, “That is OK then. I have both good news and bad news for you, Keller. Herr Weib is correct. We don't have the facilities here at K2 for such a project, so a new class is out of the question.”
Keller's heart sank, “Two years of work wasted.”
“However, the project will go ahead. Out there we have a boat, that Type 10 should be fine for your needs. I will give you two maintenance crews and one of the reinforced warehouse near K4 for casting and forging.”
Keller spluttered, “But sir, it won't work. Those designs are for a ground-up build. It would take months to plan a retro fit.”
Richter lit another cigarette and turned slowly, “You had better make it work then. Admiral Donitz has plans for this boat. He wants progress reports sent every three days. Now, would you like to hear the bad news?”
Keller thought, “My God, if that was the good news what the hell is coming now?”
Richter dropped his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his boot, “You have six months. The Admiral wants her on sea trials in six months, no longer. It should not pose a problem. You said you could build a whole boat in twelve months. That is what he said, was it not, Nikolaus?” looking straight at him.
Nikolaus nodded, unable to speak as he was so terrified.
“Then let us get to it, shall we? You have some work to do. Oh and one last thing. You are not an enlisted man are you, Keller?”
“No sir. I'm a contractor. As a Naval architect, I'm exempt from being called up.”
Richter smiled in a way that none of them had seen before. “Then a word of warning. It had better work. And if you ever go over my head again, I hear the Eastern Front is quite invigorating at the moment.”
Keller and Nikolaus hastily rolled up the plans and papers and headed for the door. A voice called after them, “Six months, Keller, six months.” The door slammed behind them and with Richter's words still ringing in their ears, set off down the long corridor. The walk back was very quiet, full of anxiety and fear. Keller broke the silence, “It can't be done. It just can't. How are we going to do it?”
Nikolaus spoke up, “Twelve months! We could build a boat like that in twelve months! What were you thinking?”
Keller realised that he'd brought the fury of Richter down on them both. The letter, the lie and the unrealistic time frame had just made everything worse. “We've some work today. Nikolaus, go back to the drafts room, pull out all the designs for that Type 10 mine layer. I'll meet you over there shortly.”
Making his way over to Slip 3 Keller sat on the cold hard concrete ledge. He stared at the now tower-less submarine, a huge gaping hole where it once sat. How was he going to make it work? As he surveyed the hull in his mind, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Richter still looking down over the pens from the wide window, watching every move. Standing, he straightened his shirt and headed of
f towards the Drafts room.
Chapter 7
As Forrester walked through the door of Wilkes' office, a smell hit him, the same one that always did, a mix of body odour and dust. He saluted.
“At ease, Commander. Please take a seat.”
Forrester took off his hat and placed it on the empty chair beside him and neatly placed his hands on his lap. Wilkes and Turnbull sat on the opposite side of the desk to him. The desk, unusually clear of detritus, held a jug of water and three glasses.
Wilkes began, “We all know what you're here for, so let's start, shall we, then you can get back to your duties. Admiral, would you care to continue?”
Turnbull cleared his throat, “So, Commander, tell us why you should get a command of your own?”
Forrester sat calmly, collecting his thoughts for a moment, “Well, sir, I feel I've served this vessel well and done my best to keep morale and standards high. Captain Wilkes has encouraged me and given me the freedom necessary to learn what is expected of a First Officer.”
Turnbull nodded encouragingly, making short scrawled notes as he did so.
“A warship is a real challenge and a huge responsibility. You have children, don't you?” Wilkes asked curtly.
“I do, sir.”
“You could be stationed anywhere within a moment's notice. It's a risk for a family man and while they're not necessarily mutually exclusive, in my experience, you're either navy or family. The responsibility of command comes first. You have other priorities and the nature of our job means that you will inevitably be confronted with difficult choices.”
Turnbull grated, “That isn't true. I had young children when I was a Captain. It makes you stronger, gives you a sense of what you're fighting for. Isn't that right, Forrester?”
“Yes, Admiral. I'm here to protect England and safeguard my children's future.”
Wilkes sat uneasily in his chair, his face beginning to show some irritation.
“I have what it takes, sirs. I'm ready to strike out on my own and I'm perfectly confident that Peters will make an excellent First Officer.”
