by Stephen Ward
Somehow, this failed to fill Huber with confidence and the journey didn't pass any faster as the car wended its way around the twisting roads of the Breton countryside.
Daylight had begun to wane as the car suddenly pulled off the road onto a rutted track. A thick canopy of trees enabled very little sunshine to penetrate and what little did, cast a strange dappling effect that danced as they drove through. A lorry, surrounded by other vehicles, was already parked in a clearing at the end of the lane. Huber recognised Richter's car partially obscured by the truck, its windscreen dusty and its black body paint extremely mud-spattered. The car stopped and the officer stepped out, gesturing for them to alight also. Their feet sank into deep churned up mud before they were frog marched away from the vehicles.
Richter stood waiting, his black boots still somehow shining immaculately. “Welcome, gentlemen, thank you for coming. I believe we have much to celebrate, but for now I thought perhaps you may like to see something.” He gestured towards two figures kneeling in the mud, their heads covered with hoods. These scum are your saboteurs from the explosion at the base – French Resistance, I thought you'd enjoy witnessing their demise.
Huber stuttered, “This really isn't necessary. It was just a minor setback.”
“No, I insist.” smiled Richter, as he pulled out his side arm and cocked it with an ominous click. “In fact, I feel it's important that you do it personally.”
Huber's blood ran cold as the officer pressed the pistol into his hand.
“Please, no more words” said Richter, “It's not fair to let your victim hear doubt.”
His guards closed behind Huber and Adlar. “Step forward and fire.” They were pushed nearer. Huber took aim, his hand shaking violently, the soldier's gun barrel dug into his back. Tears ran freely down his cheeks. “I can't.” but as he dropped the gun, was dealt a sudden painful blow under the chin from a rifle butt.
“Weak! You're so weak.”
Now Adlar was forced to take aim instead. The officer and soldiers laughed as the young man stood crying and shaking. “If you don't pull the trigger, you'll share the same fate.” Adlar swallowed and looked away from the first prisoner. Then with a bang, there was one shot, then another. Warm blood splattered on his face and the figures slumped to the floor. Clapping could be heard all around the clearing. “Well done! At least one of you has some spirit. Very well done, young Adlar. I didn't think you had it in you.” grinned Richter. “Take them back to Lorient,” he barked at the car driver.
“What about the bodies, sir?” asked a guard.
Richter looked back, “Let the birds have them,” and with that, he walked away.
Chapter 54
Forrester couldn't believe this was happening. Not only was he stuck on this submarine with ghosts or whatever the hell they were, but now torpedoes were being fired at his shipmates! Desperately needing to see what was happening, he made his way up to the control room. Now that the lights were all on backtracking his steps up the ladder was easy. He hoped that whatever was firing it would be too busy to notice him opening that hatch. To his surprise, he found it open anyway and taking less time than expected to race upwards, he found the captain pointing towards the control room.
Somehow, the commander had become accustomed to the captain's presence so he wasn't at all fazed to find him standing beside him as he studied the dive plane console. The controls turned gently as if manned. All of the discoloured panel lights blinked as they had sprung to life despite its rust stained state and many dots became detectable on the screen.
He had to see what was going on. The motion of engines revving up through the deck became noticeable and he could tell that the vessel was submerged and running at 35 feet but a quick glance round at the gauges made it readily apparent that it was deep for a periscope sighting but he had to try. Reaching up he found the scope difficult to budge so using all his strength he pulled again until it suddenly released, sending a torrent of water spilling out and soaking him. That didn't matter, he didn't care. He'd managed to see out when he first came on board but now hoped that the mirrors were still in working order when the periscope was extended. Peering through the scope he was confronted with a blurry view but it was enough to scan the horizon. Kentucky and Aconite were off in the far distance although Talisman appeared to be shielding another vessel. Forrester could see smoke beyond but that was all. It could only have been Roma that had been hit.
Turning towards aft he checked behind them, completing his sweep. Some 300 metres away he caught sight of two propellers sinking below the waves! It made no sense to him. Unless Berlin was early for the Games, another vessel had been caught up in this mess. He was able to see the sub was setting up for a run against Aconite. They had to be warned! Looking at the crude controls on the periscope, Forrester realised that maybe they had a chance if a morse code message could be flashed to them. Fumbling, he found the button and extended the periscope still further and flashed as fast as he could, “TORPEDO… ARMED… PREPARING… FIRE... RECOMMEND... ZIGZAG” He flashed the message again and watched as the plane control began to level off for firing depth. Praying Aconite had received the message, Forrester heard a muffled 'Whoosh!' and knew that the torpedo was away.
Watching in horror, he saw the vessel turn sharply almost at the last moment. A miss! Thank God. Almost collapsing with relief he now realised that the sub was under fire. Deck guns peppered the area but the boat was too deeply submerged. Furiously racking his brains, Forrester wondered how he could possibly inform Talisman that he was aboard. Swinging the periscope around, he flashed towards Talisman's bridge, UBOAT… ON… AUTOMATIC… HIGHLY… DANGEROUS… FORRESTER… ONBOARD. No sooner had he sent this message, when he felt a jolt of electricity arc through the scope forcing him to step back. Another jolt hit him from the nearby console. Looking up, he saw the suited figure standing nearby as clear as day, “Who are you?” grated Forrester, more annoyed than scared. “We've done nothing to you. First, you imprison me for no valid reason, and then you attack us. Why?”
The figure shifted on one foot and shocked Forrester as the voice he had heard from the tubes now came from the figure.
“I attack your vessels because it is what I am built for and because you are an enemy of the Fatherland.”
“Fatherland?” puzzled the commander, in surprise, “The war has been over for forty years. We're at peace!”
“Impossible! The Reich will prevail. Peace would only come with victory.”
Deeming it wise, at this juncture, not to mention the German defeat, Forrester changed tack knowing that the longer he kept the figure talking and occupied, the more chance the ships on the surface had to regroup. He continued, “You said 'What you are built for' but you're a ghost, a spectre, nothing more”.
“You are wrong. I may be a ghost to you but I am so much more. This submarine and I are one. We co-exist together and our sole purpose is one of vengeance!
“You're the last of your kind. How can you possibly succeed? The modern Navies on the surface are far superior. Your old torpedo and Wolf tactics won't work. You may well sink some of our vessels, but ultimately you'll be hunted down and destroyed.”
The suited figure disappeared and only the voice patched through the speakers, once again, remained. “We shall see how your navy survives when we launch our deadly payload into the home of your British fleet.”
Chapter 55
Walther Stein clutched his worn leather case as the staff car drove around the bay from Lorient to the Keremin Peninsula. Although he and his new crew had spent the past few nights being lavishly wined and dined at the table of Admiral Donitz, the sailor in him longed for the salted meats, stale water and the familiar movement of the sea.
Driven around a corner, the car stopped and the driver showed papers and documents to the Checkpoint sentry. The barrier was lifted and the guard waved them through. Military presence had increased dramatically in recent months but that was to be expected. The Allies were now less
than 128 kilometres away from them. Stopping at the side of K3, Captain Stein alighted, case in one hand and a white duffel bag over his shoulder. The guards at the entryway saluted him but Stein could not return them, not that he would have lowered himself to give that Nazi salute! Instead he nodded and smiled. He was well liked by all and had been known to share a cigarette with the enlisted men or even to tell a saucy tale. This popularity did not go down too well with some of his stricter contemporaries, but he didn't care. He felt excited. If this new boat could do half of the things they said, it would cause mayhem with the British convoys!
The steel door to the wet dock lay open. Beyond, the hustle and bustle became louder as he approached and walked along the dockside. He had never seen a sub so large. Her bow and stern almost reached the ends of the pen and she was so wide that there were only a few metres to spare on either side of the dock.
Huber stood on the dock, notebook in hand. “The torpedoes are being stowed safely?” asked Stein. There was no answer from the designer. “Nikolaus,”
The use of his first name made Huber snap out of his reverie. “I'm sorry. What?” he asked.
“I was wondering if the torpedoes were being stowed away correctly. Are you OK, my friend? You seem a little distant.”
Huber's face was ashen with reddened eyes. “I'm fine,” he replied swallowing hard and continuing “Yes! We're just finishing. You have a full complement.”
“Wait. Full? I thought we only required enough for a shake down cruise.”
“I'm sorry, Captain, Richter's orders. Those two crates are also to be loaded but we're to defer that until he arrives to supervise the task personally.”
Stein prowled around the crates looking puzzled. A sudden noise caused the pair to look upwards. One of the workers had allowed a torpedo to swing violently and it had hit the conning tower rail bending it before being brought back under control. The workman slipped and fell as the sub shifted at its mooring, pinning him between dock and the sub's hull. His mates worked feverishly to push the sub away so they could free the poor fellow, After the victim was pulled gently onto the dock, a few minutes passed as frantic efforts were made to revive him but it was too late as his chest had been crushed.
Stein glanced at Huber, “If I was a superstitious person, I'd be worried!”
Huber surveyed the bent rail, “I wish I could say it was the only incident, but the death and accident toll has been unnaturally high. Anyway, we can fix this rail by tomorrow, Captain.”
“No” replied Stein shaking his head, “we'll launch anyway. A rail won't affect her seaworthiness and it can easily be fixed on our return.”
“As you wish, Captain. Now perhaps it would be best if you run through these systems with me before setting out.”
Following Huber across the gangplank and up the conning tower, the captain could only marvel at the vessel's sheer size.
“As you see, she has many of the standard features that you're used to,” Huber pointed at the deck gun and the snorkel which had been lashed back on the deck in its storage position.
“I see we are still limited by that!”
Huber, who was mildly annoyed, tried not to show it, but instead continued on down the ladder. “Here's the control room, which could, if necessary, accommodate extra crew,” he said, gesturing towards the bunks “Now, over here is the dive control.
Stein nodded complacently, as so far he hadn't seen anything different to past commands. Yet walking over to the main control panel, he quickly noted a bank of switches and lights on an unfamiliar screen.
Huber smiled, “Yes. It works!” Gesturing towards a man who stood at the foot of the ladder he asked, “Captain, may I introduce your Communications Officer, Klaus Vermon.” The two shook hands, “Allow me to explain a little,” offered Vermon. “Each surface vessel emits a particular resonance frequency as its propellers turn. This system is able to recognise the individual frequencies of different vessel types, whether it be a destroyer, cruiser or liner, thus enabling us to respond appropriately to the level of threat it poses. The system won't show non-threats such as fishing boats. Each target will show as a light or dot on the screen. The lines are at eight kilometre intervals so would allow for a swift response when required.”
“Remarkable,” said Stein admiringly, as he found it impossible to contain his excitement. “Shall we continue, Huber?” The helm was manned by a very young seaman who looked nervous as Stein offered his hand to shake. “You must be Karl Heinrich?”
“Aye, sir,” he replied, “Weapons control can be operated manually from here as usual,” and the seaman gestured at the Firing control box on the wall above him, “but due to the nature of the new systems, you have a Weapons Officer.”
The two men descended the ladder and emerged into a generous living space. The galley and more bunks came into view. “No cabin?” grinned Stein.
“Of course, Captain,” and Huber pulled a curtain around one of the bunks. “We thought of everything”
After a few more minutes, they moved into the banks of the ship. “Here is where she shows the most differences, sir.” Stein was in awe. Another crew member introduced himself as Otto Wilhelm, the Weapons Officer. “As you can see all the space stretching back to the engine compartment is totally dedicated to weapons. Multiple racks of torpedoes feed four forward tubes and one aft. All the ...”
Stein held up his hand, “Only one tube aft on a vessel of this size?”
Huber felt uncomfortable. He could see Stein's displeasure.
Wilhelm continued, “These carriages on rails and belts automatically slide a fresh torpedo into the tube after one has been fired. This means that no crew are needed to load the tubes.”
“I see. However, I notice there is no loading system for the aft torpedo tube.”
“No, sir. It's possible to load the aft tube manually, using the block and tackle.”
“Still, the automated service runs only to the forward tubes,” grizzled Stein, removing his hat and running his hand through his hair. He knew immediately the implications of this problem. Having only six crew to move a torpedo was a major challenge.
“Here is the engineering space,” said Huber. A sweating individual lay on his back under one of the huge engines, “Shite! Total shite! New sub – larger sub but shite engines. Worn out engines!” He threw the oily part he had been studying into a bucket next to the captain's foot.
“ Erm! This is Chief Engineer Ernst Gunt.”
“Pleased to meet you,” grinned Stein.
“Likewise, and now if you don't mind I have work to do. The engines are the same diesels. We have slightly better generators and more batteries,” said Gunt adding quickly, “but still the same total shite otherwise, Captain!”
“No problem, Chief. Get her to work as best you can. Let me know when we're ready to go.”
Huber began to lead the captain back to the upper level.
“All compartments are linked by a tannoy, controlled by anywhere in the sub, as usual.
Also we can use a new form of communication. Low band radio signals which can pick up vocal or morse traffic and this can be piped into any part of the ship via a control box on the bridge.
Emerging onto the deck, Stein smiled, “Well, you and Keller have delivered a very fine boat. Now it remains to be seen if can she handle herself OK out there.”
A stentorian shout from the dock startled them both, “Walther!” It was Richter making his way up the gang plank.
Chapter 56
Taking the opportunity to spread out their papers on one of the larger tables, the two men began to pour over the information which Winters had been busy collecting. Until the fifty year secrecy act disclosed them, a lot of relevant data was still filed away. Despite this, however, he'd managed to amass photographs and snippets of text.
“Let's be logical and start at the beginning,” suggested Filmore as he tucked into his third piece of toast. “Is it possible that we've been looking in the wrong place?
You've been searching for a newly-built submarine but what if it was a refit? Do you have a list of work done at Keremin?”
Donald nodded and from a large yellowed file, he pulled out several sheets of paper. His German was poor at best so he handed them over to Filmore who put on his reading glasses before perusing the papers carefully. “I notice that everything in this section is signed W. Keller, then N. Huber. Didn't I see a photograph of someone named Huber?”
“Yes! Wasn't he one of the prisoners detained at the base. Look, this must be him,” handing the photo to Filmore.
Using a paperclip, Filmore attached the photo to the list. “Now, do you have anything about Keller?”
“There's no photo and his name doesn't crop up on any of my lists.”
“Okay, but look at this! All of these signatures are on work done to this Type 10. Didn't you say that the vessel on that photo you'd found looked like a larger Type 10 variant?”
“Yes!” replied Winters, producing another snap which he clipped to the list.
“Donald, don't you think that six months is rather a long time for a repair to be carried out? And then there's nothing written up until 5th May when N. Huber signs off on some work on a conning tower rail. There's no boat number, just Type 10 again!”
“So, for one whole week no repairs were carried out?” Winters checked his notes. “The pens lay under siege until 10th May when they surrendered, so nothing would have been done during the fighting. Therefore, the boat either put to sea or she must have been stuck in the port when it was liberated. Right! We need a list of all the equipment the Americans found after the surrender.”
Winters paused for a moment. Reaching into his briefcase, he retrieved another Log. Using a pencil as a guide, he read off the items listed. “No, nothing!” he said. “Tanks inoperable, guns, bikes, cars...” he flicked over the page and continued scanning. Suddenly, a huge grin spread across his face, “… submarine damaged – inoperable - lost in a storm somewhere in the Bay area”
