by Stephen Ward
“Donald Winters. Well, well, well. It's been a long time.”
“Hello, Violet, is he in?”
“Yes, but he isn't taking any appointments today.”
“Does he ever? Is he aware that you tell everyone to go away or does he really ask you to say he's busy?”
She looked at him scornfully, “What do you want, Winters?”
“That actually, is none of your concern. Now go and tell him I'm here.” After five long minutes of arguing, Winters had made up his mind that he was going in. Fuming he headed towards the main door, “Thank you for your help.” Then at the last moment, he whirled on his heels and made for the door. He got through just in time as the words of protest were silenced behind the frosted glass. Doctor Filmore sat at his worn desk with a leather photograph album opened in front of him.
“Well James, good to see your guard dog is still around.”
Filmore looked up. “Donald, how are you? I wasn't expecting any visitors today. Then again, I don't seem to get any these days.”
Winters raised an eyebrow but thought better than to say anything.
Filmore gestured for him to sit. “What brings you here?”
“I've found it. James. Remember there were rumours of a missing prototype U-boat? Well, I've found the proof.” Winters laid out his notes and the pictures. He explained in detail everything he'd found out. The other man sat, listening intently and taking it all in.
After Winters had finished, Filmore sat staring at the photograph. “So what brings you here? It's an interesting story and there does now seem to be some kind of proof but I fail to see what I can do for you”
Winters realised that it wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped. “I want you to help me find it.”
“Me? I'm just an old man. The days of us swanning around treasure hunting are gone. Even if we could, the boat could be anywhere.”
Winters showed his frustration and lent forward on the desk, “The evidence I have here will lead us right to it, surely we can scrounge together a few boats and a search team?”
Filmore's look softened, “I'd like nothing more but I carry very little clout these days. Our kind are left to our dusty books while the new generation are more interested in the Russians and modern mysteries. I can't see us getting the go ahead, budgets are stretched too thin.”
“Damn it, James please try. Are you going to rot in this office allowing your secretary to keep you hostage or are you going to go out with a bang and make headlines again? What do you say, for old times' sake. You still have the same clout as before and just haven't used it. Come on, what do you say?”
Filmore sighed, “Okay! I will try. Go and wait in the records room whilst I make some calls. No promises, though, the Admiralty has little interest in WW2 history these days but I'll give it my best shot.”
“Thank you, James, it means a lot to me,” Winters rose to his feet, “We'll show this younger lot how it's done.”
“Yes, yes,” replied Filmore, “Now go and wait out there while I make some calls.”
Winters turned and walked out of the door smiling broadly at Violet who was sitting angrily filing her nails. His excitement was such that he wanted to burst. It was a lot to expect, but the maybe from Filmore kept his hopes alive. He made his way into the records room through the double doors and sat at a vacant table.
Chapter 12
Weib sat in his office, the silence punctuated only by the ticking of the wall clock. Picking up a bottle of cognac with his aged, liver spotted hand he half filled the glass and took a long swig. Huber had left him the new plans earlier that morning and on examination it soon became apparent that they were ambitious to say the least. Such designs would test the resources of a fully manned and equipped shipyard, let alone a mere maintenance facility like this.
Outside, a disturbance broke out, interrupting the usual bustle. Walking over to the window, he saw a large group of people standing beside one of the bays. Amidst the group he could make out Keller, Huber and Fritz Wilhelm, the crew's foreman. Weib drank the rest of his cognac, replaced the bottle in his top drawer, and quickly headed down the stairs in the direction of the incident. As he approached he could hear complaints and raised voices. Small fragments of conversation could be made out. “It's not possible. There's already so much work required to repair this boat,” Fritz had obviously been told about the task that was to be undertaken and the news hadn't gone down well. As he neared, the crowd hushed and moved aside to allow him access to the front where Fritz and Keller were standing.
“What seems to be the problem here?” he asked. Shouts rose up again and he raised his hand looking towards Keller. “Explain this and make it quick,” he demanded. Keller spoke clearly so that the crowd could hear him, “The staff don't want to undertake the work on this boat. It seems they want to know why such a large reconstruction is necessary.”
Weib paused for a moment and cleared his throat. He realised that the men had every right to be worried as this was a much larger project than they had expected. He also had his own reservations and was uncertain that Keller could deliver something of such scope. Harshly he grated, “I've never explained the reason for any work that we undertake here and I'm not going to start now” Then, his tone mellowing said, “What I will say is that this project is vital for the survival of Germany and is being observed from the top.. I know you have your concerns but I ask you to trust Herr Keller. Gentlemen, I don't doubt the quality of any of the work you do and although this task is a lot different from the work we normally tackle here, I'm confident that we can step up. Any problems or complaints should be put to your section leaders as usual.”
With that he gestured to the still muttering men to return to their duties. Keller stood beside Nikolaus, waiting for Weib to speak. After a moment, he turned and leant on the low rail overlooking the boat's hull sat in the dock below them. “Gentlemen, I fear there will be similar incidents like this in the future before she is complete. These men are workers not the military. They need to be kept busy. I suggest a very heavy schedule of tasks. Keep those hands moving and the slack tongues at bay. You both know what's at stake here. Let's not disappoint.”
Keller knew that better than any of them and Richter's words were still ringing in his ears.
“I'd like to thank you for helping settle today's dispute, sir. I'll draft the schedules this afternoon and have them with the section heads before the end of the day.”
Weib smiled, “Very good. Let's get to it then, gentlemen,” and then turned to make his way back to his office. As he arrived at his office door he could hear, to his consternation, the sound of a telephone ringing from inside. With an uncharacteristic burst of speed he made it to his desk and picked up the receiver, “Hello.”
A voice that he knew answered. It was Richter. “I want you to go to your safe. In there I have left an envelope. Open it, read the contents and then destroy the note.” The line immediately went dead.
Replacing the handset, Weib rose unsteadily to his feet and made his way to his safe which was a heavy duty model with a black door, its gold gilding worn in places. After turning the combination dial he produced a brass key from his pocket watch chain and unlocked it. A clunk resonating from somewhere inside the safe could be heard as the door latch disengaged. The sinister nature of the phone call had made him uneasy but this was now compounded by the fact that Richter clearly knew the combination of his safe and that he also had a key to it. Inside, he found an official looking envelope bearing a swastika. Returning to his desk, he reached for a letter opener which sliced through the seam with ease. He unfolded the dated letter and sat back uneasily. The letter signed by Richter requested a meeting with both himself and the Chief of Staff. The meeting was to be held at 0800 hours at the Manoir de Belon. A car would collect him at 0700 hours.
This wasn't good. Any official meeting with Richter and other SS officers would certainly not be a pleasurable experience and also Manoir de Belon was only twenty mile
s away. Richter was meant to be in Germany. What was he up to? In his heart, Weib wanted to warn Keller that Richter could appear at any time The designer had crossed Richter and was now fearful of the consequences. However, TOP SECRET was just that. Opening the desk drawer Weib retrieved his bottle of cognac and refilled his glass. With a kick of his foot, he pulled the metal waste paper bin towards him and with a flick of his desk lighter ignited a corner of Richter's note. As he held it the flames licked up, the paper turning yellow then brown and finally black, words disappearing slowly. He dropped the remaining corner into the bin and the small flames sparked as he did so. Staring at the charred remains, his eyes seemed transfixed on the last visible word, 'Richter'. All this was an ominous sign of things to come. Weib sat back in his chair still cradling his glass. What could they possibly want him for? He was of no military importance. His only military work had been at the beginning of the war on torpedo prototypes but his designs had been deemed to be too ambitious for what had been needed. No. It had to be about the project. He stood up and stared out of the window losing himself in his thoughts.
Chapter 13
Rain lashed hard against the small leaded windows, streaks running down the outside of the glass in what seemed like an endless stream. Lightning flashed through the gothic stained glass illuminating the dimly lit room, the occasional thunderclap breaking the incessant patter of rain.
The Manoir de Belon, despite its aged and imposing structure, had a welcoming feel. Ornate tapestries hung from the walls celebrating the lives of a very well-to-do French family, long gone. Faded rugs covered the flagstone floor worn smooth by hundreds of years of footfalls. A large map was pinned to the far wall and above the fireplace hung a red flag emblazoned with an imposing black swastika emblem.
Richter sat in his red winged-back chair set back from a crackling fire. He flicked his lighter and a strong smell of expensive cigar smoke filled the room, the smoke spiralling up towards the high vaulted ceiling. Settling back comfortably, he turned over some pages and read them, eyes darting from left to right as he scanned the contents. Pausing to pour a measure of excellent brandy culled from the manoir’s wine cellar into a beautifully etched glass he sipped meditatively for what seemed an age as he stared intently at the page he held. Standing abruptly, he crossed to the stone fireplace and decisively screwed the paper before tossing it into the grate. His concentration was interrupted by the sound of a bell coming from the main entrance. Distant footsteps could be heard clipping across the parquet flooring, followed by the sound of the oaken door being opened. The sound of the wind and rain intensified while the tapestries rippled in a draught.
Moments later an elderly man tapped at his door and whispered, “Herr Richter, they're ready for you now.”
Straightening his uniform he followed the man through the vestibule into a large well-lit hall, its domed painted ceilings coloured a faded pale blue. The contrast between this room and the one he had just left was striking with its highly polished marble floor and a glittering chandelier sparkling above. Ahead of him was a long, beeswaxed table with six uniformed men seated around it. As Richter entered the room, they all stood and saluted “Heil Hitler”. After he had returned the salute, they reseated themselves whilst Richter took his place at the head of the table. Motioning towards a vacant seat, he said “Gentlemen, I see we are missing one of our number. Hasn't Captain Stein arrived yet?”
The old man who stood at the door stuttered, “He's just arrived, sir, and was soaked through. He won't be more than a moment.”
Richter sighed heavily. Just then a man wearing a black uniform strode into the room. All the men stood quickly and again gave the Nazi salute. Stein returned the salutation in the old German Navy style. Richter, looking up, was not impressed. Stein was older, a highly decorated captain, a real German patriot who had served with distinction in the Great War. He was a valued member of the old guard but not someone who necessarily espoused Nazi ideals.
Richter scowled, “You're late, Captain.”
“Yes, the allies have bombed the Riec road about a mile away. I had to walk.”
The other man nodded and continued, “Well, Gentlemen. I assume you wish to know why I've called you here?”
All of the others save Captain Stein nodded or grunted almost in unison, “By now you know that the war is at a critical stage. It could be won or lost at any moment so it's time for us to tip the scales in our favour. I've asked you here to show you plans of something which may well do just that. As most of you know, I've been tasked with overseeing the U-boat pens at Lorient. I've initiated a project which is of the utmost importance. However, the reason you're here is simple. The French Resistance have been causing havoc in this area and I require your reassurances that all is being done to control these criminals.”
The others all began to talk at once. Richter raised his hand for silence and gestured at one of them. “The fact is that they are everywhere and their attacks are clearly well co-ordinated. We think we have them under control and then they spring up from somewhere else!”
Richter spoke candidly, “I don't want your excuses. Are you trying to tell me that despite all your battalions the German army can't gain control over some onion farmers with pitchforks?”
The other men laughed but the first man continued, “I tell you that they are well-organised with eyes and ears in every single village and town and their Intelligence is excellent.”
Slamming his palm onto the desk, Richter snarled, “If you can't do the job then perhaps I should find someone else who can. I could arrange for the transfer of an SS officer who will be well-suited to the job. One of the SS squads could come over and loosen some tongues in those villages you mentioned. Perhaps that would solve your little problem!”
Shaking his head the man sat down, shoulders slumped, looking down at the table.
“So, gentlemen, do I have your assurances that security will be increased around the pens for the next few months?”
Not a word was spoken but the atmosphere told Richter everything he wanted to know, “Gentlemen, this meeting is concluded for now. I suggest we get some rest. Rooms have been provided for the night. Good Evening. Captain Stein, may I have a word with you?”
Standing, the two men walked off in the direction of Richter's room across the hall. Stepping through the door, Richter turned on the light and gestured the captain towards a seat near the fire. Closing the heavy door, Richter smiled, “It's been a while, old friend.”
“Indeed it has. I see you are still striking fear into all who cross your path!”
“Please, Walther, don't give me that attitude again. It's all for the good of the Reich and you know it.”
“I know only what is good for Germany, Richter, not what's good for Hitler!”
“Walther, I wish you wouldn't talk that way. You put me in a bad position.”
Captain Stein stared at Richter, “I only care about my country. I do not care about the rantings of a mad man and his brain-washed sycophants. I am a German Navy officer, not SS.”
Richter sighed heavily, “I fear I'll never persuade you to embrace Nazi ideals. We'll just have to agree to differ. However, I've brought you here for a specific purpose. There is a way you can fight back and make the German navy great again.
Stein raised an eyebrow and smiled, “What do you want?”
Richter rolled out a draft, anchored it down and set about explaining about the plans for the submarine.
After an hour or so, Richter and Stein sat back in their chairs rubbing their lower backs. “So you see. This could all revolutionise warfare at sea. Here's a chance to tilt the balance of power in our favour once again.”
Stein understood the significance of what he'd seen and was well aware of what Richter was asking of him but just for clarification, he asked, “So, what do you want from me?”
For a long time Richter said nothing, then, “It isn't me that requires something from you, Walther, but Germany. I want you to take command
when the boat is ready. Her first mission is going to be of the utmost importance and I've had orders from the top directing me to 'encourage' you to accept the command.”
Stein spoke bluntly, “Well, I don't seem to have a choice though I'd like to see more information on her mission.”
“That isn't possible at present. What I need right now is for you to begin to close affairs on your current command. You will be re-posted closer to the time.” Stein nodded in agreement.
“But for this evening, I've arranged for you stay here. I trust your ship can survive one night in port without you? Off you go, my friend. Pierre will show you to your room.”
Chapter 14
Moorhouse watched as the little inflatable raft bounced over the sea towards the dilapidated submarine anchored a few hundred yards away, waves lapping against its rust-stained sides. Its sheer size was amazing. Like Forrester, he'd read about them at the Academy but never had he thought he'd actually see one up close. Even after forty years on the bottom, she still looked menacing. The deck gun rusted and silent made him nervous and he couldn't help but worry about his friend who now was well on his way towards the sleeping monster. He knew better than to argue with Forrester although he was possibly the only one who could talk sense into him. This time, though, he had the feeling Forrester certainly wouldn't have listened.
