by Stephen Ward
“Sometimes I think you're right!”, said the young man reaching for his mug of cooling tea.
“Listen to me, lad. Your class mates might be having an easier time but you're learning systems that none of them will ever get the chance to use and you never know when that'll come in handy. I'm showing you the old ways because I want you to stand out. You're doing me proud. I don’t want another yes man I want an engineer who can do as I do and have his own ideas.”
Craig took a sip of his brew and nodded. “Yes, Chief, thanks. It means a lot. I just get frustrated.”
The conversation was cut short by a crackling voice coming from the tannoy .
“This is Captain Wilkes. Full power, if you please.”
“Ay sir!” answered Chief putting down the receiver.
Chief turned and looked at Craig who was still drinking his tea “Well! You heard the Captain, so go kiss and make up. Tell her she's a beautiful boat and that you love her. She'll help you if you do!” He walked away laughing to himself leaving Craig to get back to his repair.
Dropping to his knees the young fellow slid himself back under the access panel and began again this time a little more carefully. Shaking his head he found himself talking to the boat as he did so and surprisingly the rest of the repair became a little easier.
Meanwhile, Chief stood before the large panel which controlled the engine revs and speed monitoring them carefully as the controls moved from the bridge. The revs grew slowly and the hum from the engines became audibly louder. Taking a sip from his cup he placed it down on the side and flicked some switches and tapped some gauges. The powerful turbines whirred away behind him and the two shafts rotated simultaneously and disappeared off out of sight.
“How are you getting on, Chief?” came a voice from behind him.
Startled, he turned to see Admiral Turnbull some three feet away from him. How did the man manage to do that when there were two doors to get through to enter the engineering section and he hadn't heard a thing? It was uncanny, the chief smiled fondly, remembering well how quiet Turnbull could be when he had served with him as Captain some years earlier.
“Admiral.” with a salute.
“Please, that isn’t necessary, Chief, not while I’m down here. I'm here to see you as a friend.”
Chief instantly relaxed, “How are you, sir? It's good to see you back on board.”
“It's good to be back. I just wish Talisman was in better shape.” replied Turnbull.
Chief nodded. He knew it must be hard for the Admiral when Talisman was his ship. She'd been spotless but had gone downhill rapidly after his departure. “I know, sir. I can't say much but you know that the departments do their best despite the current situation.”
“I know, I know, Chief. Forrester does a good job. He's very able.”
Chief looked at the floor, his mood darkening. “Have we heard anything?” he asked, looking up at the admiral hopefully.
“No sign!” Turnbull answered, “I fear we may not either. The coast guard are still looking for him as we speak.”
The two men went silent and Turnbull began walking around running his fingers over dials and switch panels as he did so.
“You won't find any dust over there, Admiral,” came a rather amused voice.
“I have to try, don’t I?” replied Turnbull.
Every panel was familiar. Turnbull enjoyed being at home with Alison but part of him wanted to be back out travelling the seas. This was where he belonged and he knew it but…
“Are you OK, Admiral?” the chief stood behind him “Yes, Sorry, I was miles away.”
“You miss it, don’t you?” said Chief. “Out here, I mean, out at sea with your own command? It's not too late. With your record you could get any boat you wanted. Maybe you could even keep your rank if you wanted to still be at sea.”
Turnbull had thought it over many times, “I do, Chief, but the Admiralty won't budge on their decision. I'm to stay behind a desk.. It took me long enough to arrange this exercise. Age has caught me up Chief and that's one thing I definitely can't change. “
“We had some adventures though, didn’t we? said Chief.
“Oh yes!” smiled the Admiral, his mood instantly lightening. The pair laughed and joked for a while longer until Craig arrived to inform the Chief he had completed the repair. Craig stiffly saluted “Admiral.
“This is Alex Craig” said the Chief. “He's the best engineer I have.”
Turnbull nodded, “Nice to see Chief is keeping you busy, son. You listen to him. He's the best engineer in the navy and he'll always steer you right.”
The chief beamed and gestured for Craig to continue with his duties.
Just then, a crackle came again from the overhead speaker “Increase speed to flank, if you please.”
Chief looked over to the control desk to see the instruments dancing and lights blinking. The engine drone changed noticeably as the revs needle inched passed thirty knots.
He watched the oil pressure slowly rise then settle before looking back at Turnbull.
“Captain Wilkes is driving her hard to keep up with those new ships, Admiral.”
“She'll be fine, Chief. She still has it in her, I know she has.”
The Chief's cup which was on top of the console began to shake gently as the speed increased and he caught it as it slid off the edge. Turnbull was trying his very best not to say or make eye contact with Chief who was aware of the Admiral's personal embarrassment, but he couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. Clearing his throat Turnbull looked at the Chief.
“Well! I have to get back to the bridge. It's been good catching up, Chief. Keep up the hard work.” and with that he turned and briskly walked away. Chief looked over from the panel and caught the gaze of Craig who was grinning from ear to ear.
“What're you looking at, seaman? Get back to work, lad”
Chapter 44
Huber had spent the morning going over the finer points of the design prior to the last part of the build being completed. The conning tower was now almost finished, but the same couldn't be said for the rest of the changes. Over the past few weeks, since taking over the project, the work had been plagued by delays and accidents. Two welders had been lost in a week. They'd been sent back into the pressure hull to repair a weld that had sheared shortly after being done. Three electricians had barely got out alive from the battery compartment after failing to connect a bank of batteries correctly. Only today, a young hydraulics fitter had been hit by one of the bow planes after it dropped, killing him instantly. The men were beginning to talk of curses. It was no secret what had happened to Keller and some of the older yard crews were a deeply superstitious lot. Huber also knew that it was only a matter of time before Richter, who'd been absent over the last few weeks, would arrive to check on progress. Despite all the drawbacks, Huber was determined to finish the boat on time, not only for Keller but for his own safety, as he had no intention of being sent to the front as Richter had threatened. The designer felt conflicted both missing and hating Keller for leaving him to finish the work alone.
Looking back at the plans spread across the table, he traced the outline of the drawing and referred to his notebook, marking crosses on points, denoting problem areas. He sighed. For every problem he fixed, another cropped up. If only the snags were all in one area but no such luck. They were spread about the submarine. Shoddy workmanship or second rate parts, he wasn't sure which, but he just had to make do. Settling back, he started to turn the pages. The well-worn jotter was almost full. Taking the stub of pencil, he ticked off the note he'd just made. He'd just transferred the modification to the designs, folded over the corner in his notepad and was about to move to the next, when he suddenly felt he was being watched. Looking up he saw Captain Stein, “Oh! Please don't let me stop you.”
The Captain was dressed down in dark blue pants and a white jumper, the thick wool of which was rolled down at the neck and slightly greyed - well-worn but obviously loved.
Rising to his feet, Huber said, “Please, come in, Captain. It's good to see you.” Offering his hand to shake, he continued, “What brings you here?”
“Well, I make a habit of keeping an eye on my next command and I was hoping she'd be looking more like a submarine by now.”
The designer could tell by the half smile on the Captain's face that he was joking. With anyone else, Huber would have been more annoyed, but he had the feeling that Stein wasn't like the other officers and realised that he was just here doing a job.
“We're on schedule. Next week the conning tower will be fitted and the sub will be watertight.”
“Good, very good. I'm looking forward to taking her out. How long after the tower is lifted will she be ready for trials?” asked Stein perching himself on the edge of Huber's desk and choosing one of the pencils from the tin.
“Around five weeks, though with painting and sealing, perhaps a little longer.”
Stein looked at Huber in amazement and shook his head. “Man, that isn't fast enough! Haven't you heard?”
“Heard what?” asked the other man.
“We're fighting near here now. The English and Americans landed not too long ago and the conflict is getting progressively closer each day. It won't be long before they arrive here looking for a deep water port. If we don't get her out of here soon, I fear she'll never see the open sea.”
Huber was shocked. He'd known things weren't going well and had heard that the fighting was now on French soil but the bulletins had still been saying that the lines were holding strong. Hearing this from Stein made all the pieces fall into place. It made complete sense now, all the air raids, not to mention the amounts of munitions and troops heading towards the Front line. For the first time, Huber realised that there was a distinct possibility that the War would come to him.
Stein continued, “You see how important it is that we get her finished and out to sea just in case they take Lorient.” Huber said that he would double the yard crews and work around the clock in order to complete the tasks in time.
The sound of footsteps approaching from down the corridor distracted the two men and they looked over towards the door as they stopped outside. The door handle turned and in walked Richter. Huber was horrified and quite relieved that the Captain was with him. The officer smiled and greeted Stein with the Nazi salute which the other man returned in the old German way.
“Walther! I had no idea you were in town. How have you been? It's good to know you have encountered our chief designer, Nikolaus Huber.”
“Yes. We've met twice now. He seems to know what he's doing,” replied Stein with a smile.
Huber's nerves settled. Richter appeared to be in a good mood and uncharacteristically jovial.
While Stein continued talking to Richter, Huber tried to carry on with his work. Attempting to look busy, he fervently hoped Richter would leave without talking to him. Stein rose to his feet and moved to the door saying his goodbyes with the Nazi officer. Hoping that they had both left, Nikolaus turned to see that Richter had come back into the room.
“Well, Huber. Now we have a little peace and quiet, I think we need to talk,” said Richter. Removing his hat and placing it on the table he proceeded to take off his leather gloves, finger by finger and put them down beside his hat. Then he perched on the table, uncomfortably close to Huber, crossing one booted leg over the other.
“It's been a few weeks hasn't it, since Keller's unfortunate accident. Yes? Very unfortunate” he sneered.
Feeling the anger build up inside him, Huber snarled, “That was no accident. You could have stopped him. I watched my friend throw himself into that vat, and I saw you just standing there. You could have saved him.”
“Now why would I have done that? The submarine would be completed either way, and let's say you were much more controllable than Keller, so saving him would have ultimately served no purpose!”
Unable to take anymore, Huber rose to his feet and looked Richter squarely in the eye. “If it wasn't for your rank and your troops, I would…”
Richter stood, “You would do what?” as he punched Huber in the gut. Huber folded in half. Richter grabbed him and then flung him over the desk, “If it wasn't for my rank you'd do… what? You're a small weak man. Be very careful, Huber. You're messing with people and forces well beyond your understanding or control.”
Managing to swallow the pain, Huber gasped, “You won't kill me, Richter because you need me to finish the work on the submarine. We're both aware that the tide has turned in the War and it's only a matter of time before the English and Americans overrun us.”
His grip loosening, Richter rasped, “How do you know that? What has Stein told you?”
“Enough! He's told me enough!” replied Huber managing to stagger to his feet.
“I would say you overestimate your importance. The work on the submarine is almost complete. I'm certain the yard crews could do your job without a problem and give me less trouble. Finishing the project or being sent to the Front will be the least of your worries. I'll make sure that you rot in a shallow hole and that your body is never found but not before you scream in pain and beg for your worthless little life. Your last thoughts will be of what I have done to your family back in Germany – yes I know about your mother and your two sisters!” Releasing his grip and straightening his uniform, he continued, “Time is ticking, Huber and I'm watching, I'm always watching!”
Chapter 45
Adlar had spent the first few weeks of his new position almost completely silent, thinking it best to keep his head down and work hard. Looking up he saw Huber sitting with a furrowed brow and an increasingly worried expression on his face as he perused a creased letter. Even from across the office Adlar could see the black lines of edited and censored text. Plucking up the courage, he spoke quietly asking “Huber, are you OK?”
After a long silence he repeated, “Huber, is everything alright?”
This time the other man raised his head and replied, “I beg your pardon. Yes, I'm fine.”
“It's just that you look so anxious,” said Adlar.
With a heavy sigh, Huber laid down the letter, removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is a letter from one of my sisters in Germany. From what I can make out, the raids are getting worse and our childhood home has been destroyed. Don't you ever get any mail from home?”
Adlar looked noticeably solemn. “My mother and sister were killed in an air raid during the first few weeks of the war. My Father and I spent every day at the car factory and when our home was destroyed we lived there working long hours.”
“Doesn't he write to you?” asked Huber.
“Father was very good at his job. One day some Nazi officers came and requested that he look at a set of plans. As I watched through a window, I saw that the meeting was becoming rather heated. He struggled with the men and then for no apparent reason was bundled into a car – a large black car. I haven't seen or heard from him since. Shortly after that day an order arrived to transfer me here. I believe it was because of my career background.”
“I'm truly sorry, young man,” said Huber softly, “I had no idea.”
“Why would you be sorry? You didn't know about my family. You've given me a chance to do what I love, what my father trained me to do and for that you have my gratitude.”
Now, Huber feeling it best to steer the conversation back towards their work, reached into
his pocket and produced his notebook. Thumbing through the pages he found a rough diagram and began again, “So have you sketched that mounting point for the tower?”
“I have. The seal and weld should be perfect.” responded Adlar producing a more precise diagram.
Holding it up and studying it closely, Huber nodded. “This should be fine although it may be necessary to ask the yard to increase the steel thickness in that area.
“But, if we do that, won't we have to save weight somewhere else?” worried Adlar.
&
nbsp; Huber was becoming increasingly impressed with how the younger man was gaining in confidence and expertise, despite working here for only a few short weeks. Nodding his head he returned to studying the plans.
Adlar flicked his notebook open to the second page showing the likeness of his father – the paper still clean and crisp, in no way as dog-eared as the rest of the jotter. It showed his father's concentration as he worked on designs for Hitler's Volkswagen Kafer project – a car for the people. That all seemed such a joke now - “Strength through Joy” - what a lie! A mad man's idea for motivating future soldiers. His attention was caught as he felt eyes watching him. He looked up and caught Huber's concerned stare. The young man lowered his head and continued his work. It had only been a few weeks since his father's abduction from the Volkswagen Factory at Fallersleben and he still found it extremely difficult to stop his mind wandering off, thinking about him. He’d sketched his father's likeness on the very day of his abduction attempting to capture everything that he loved about him.
Chapter 46
Weib had been working as quickly as possible so as not to draw any further attention from Richter or the other officers. It was clear that after overhearing what had been said, his position was anything but secure and was increasingly obvious that once his work was accomplished they'd have no further need for his services. He was also aware that the other team creating the chemical payload were very close to completion. The delivery of prisoners and transportation of bodies was now undertaken daily. His team consisted of himself and an electrical expert who had been reassigned earlier that week. There was also a designer called Horst Adlar, a man in his mid-fifties, who from the small amount of information Weib had managed to piece together, had been here a few weeks.
Walking down the hall, Weib emerged into a well-lit working area. At its centre, on heavy duty trestles sat two massive cylinder-shaped objects, roughly four metres in length. These were the torpedoes. Open access panels spread over their surface exposed internal wiring and pipes. The brass propeller gleamed under the bright lights. Over at the far side of the room, a man sat at a highly-angled desk checking the torpedoes over his shoulder and then referring to his papers before making delicate markings. This was Horst who acknowledged Weib as he crossed the room.
