by Nigel Seed
“I must apologize for the mystery,” he said, “but my client is a very private person. Until you accept the proposition I am about to put to you, there is no need for names. I do apologize, but my client was very clear on that point.”
“Well if your client is trying to intrigue me, it’s working. So make your pitch and we’ll see where it takes us.”
The anonymous man nodded, “Have you done much sailing in your time in the Army?”
“A reasonable amount when I could. I found being out on the water was a damned fine way to relieve stress.”
“Did you ever sail round the Baltic from the British Kiel Yacht Club, which I understand was an Army-run club in Germany?”
Jim thought that an odd question, but said “Well, yes I did. BKYC was a very pleasant place to sail from, especially around the Danish islands.”
“Indeed. I don’t like the water much myself. However, while you were there did you hear the legend of the lost U-Boat base?”
“I did, but you have to realize that there are legends of mysterious hidden bases all over Germany and soldiers love tall tales. So I wouldn’t put much credence in it. Why do you ask?”
“Could you tell me which version of the legend you heard?”
Jim cast his mind back. He recalled sitting in the bar, nursing a cold beer, looking out over the yacht club moorings talking to the club coxswain one summer evening when life in the British Army was simple and pleasant. He repeated the old story he had been told about the Germans taking a number of their bases underground to avoid the intense allied bombing. The huge U-Boat pens on the French coast had been bombed heavily and severely damaged by larger and larger bombs. As those bases were liable to be overrun or at least cut off after any invasion, a base had been ordered near to the main Kriegsmarine naval base in Kiel.
This one was to be concealed by being dug out under a hill rather than being built of huge concrete blocks, that could be seen through a bomb aimer’s sight. To aid the camouflage, the entrance was to be beneath the water so boats could only enter and exit when submerged. Kiel was in the British occupation sector after the war and considerable effort had been put into finding the base. None of the locals knew anything definite although there was much speculation and the entrance was never found. The legend was that the entrance had been collapsed as the war ended to prevent the Allies gaining the technology and secrets that the base contained. The British Military authorities had decided it was all wishful thinking and had forgotten about it.
The undistinguished man was taking notes. “And how do you feel about the legend?”
“As I told you, soldiers tell tall stories about hidden bases and secret weapons factories all over Germany. When I was stationed in Detmold a supposedly secret room was found in one of the barrack blocks. It had been walled off because the floor beams were damaged, but the discovery fueled an epidemic of rumors for months and stories about the artifacts found in there got wilder and wilder with every telling.”
“So do you believe the story of the U-Boat base?”
“Well the Germans are a very industrious people and they did construct underground factories, but to house U-Boats the place would have to be huge and should have been well known to local people. So no, I don’t believe it.”
“Logically you are right of course, but my client has come into possession of some wartime German military documents that indicate this base is a reality.”
“Really? Fascinating, but what has that to do with me?”
The gray man looked out of the window then turned back to him. “My client is a collector of sorts and he is fascinated by that period. Luckily for him he has the money to indulge his interests. He wants to find that base. More accurately, he wants you to find it for him and if possible, to recover any interesting finds for him.”
Jim sat back in his chair and studied the man opposite him. “Why me?”
“We have been looking for a particular type of man for this job. I have read your record. You have all the experience we would need for a task of this sort. A tour in command of an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle troop, commanding a Tank Landing Ship and a lot of time in units using heavy plant, which I assume means big diesel engines and generators. Ideal for our needs. Your annual reports indicate that, as well as being a good engineer, you are a determined and effective officer although on occasion you have had some difficulties with authority. You have just been badly treated by the British government and would probably not object to recovering the artifacts without troubling the German government. Plus, you need a job. Running through the damp fens of East Anglia every morning cannot be very satisfying for a recently retired Army officer of your quality.”
“How the hell did you get hold of my records? And how do you know what I do at home?”
The anonymous man smiled. “Oh dear, Major, you are still a little naïve. Money can buy anything in this world and there are still people in the Army who admire you and have your best interests at heart. The two things combined produced the records for me. Checking up on you and how you pass your time was the matter of a couple of phone calls and a little observation by people who make a point of not being noticed.”
Jim was quiet, thinking about what he had just heard. He suspected the story was still nonsense, but being paid to work on a search project in that part of Northern Germany was attractive. He had a great affection for German food and beer and he might even manage a little sailing round the islands. Plus, the gray man was right, sitting on his backside in the fens of East Anglia was doing nothing for his self-esteem, almost any job was better than imposing any further on his sister and her damned husband any longer. The spirit sapping boredom persuaded him to take the plunge.
“I’m interested. So what does this job pay? And how are we going to handle the legalities of removing this equipment? Some of this stuff, if we find it, could be quite big.”
“At the end of the war the Allied Powers deployed teams across Germany to search out equipment and technology that they commandeered as part of war reparations. The British team was called ‘T Force’ and Kiel was in the British area. If they had found the base they would have stripped it bare. You will just be finishing their work for them. The German government would probably argue so we do not intend to tell them until the artifacts we find are out of their territory.”
“That’s theft.”
“Not really. The people who owned the equipment we hope to find are long dead and the present government knows nothing about it. In any case I will be handling the legalities with a team of very expensive lawyers, so you have nothing to worry about.”
The salary on offer was generous and all expenses would be met. He could hardly refuse, particularly since this was probably a wild goose chase anyway. Besides, how could the loss of obsolete wartime equipment bother the Germans of today?
“I’m not sure you’re right about the Germans, but we’ll let that slide until I’ve found the base shall we? When do you want me to start and what do we do about a team to work with me?”
“We thought you might like to start immediately and the team is up to you. Make it a small team of people you can trust implicitly to keep their mouths shut. The salary for them will be almost as good as yours. We will pay you monthly, in advance, so there is no suggestion of you being let down. How many people will you need?”
Jim thought for a moment about what the search might entail and said, “Just two and I know who the first one is. What about specialist equipment? I don’t know what I will need yet, we might even need ground penetrating radar or something similar.”
“Whatever you need will be supplied. I am your logistic support, if you will, if you phone me and tell me what you need I will tell you where to collect it from.” He stood and held out a hand. “Do we have an agreement?”
“We do, but who am I working for?”
“I think the Army has an expression for that being on a ‘Need to Know’ basis. When you need to know you will be told.”
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br /> They shook hands and Jim started to leave. He was still a little surprised at suddenly being plunged into this adventure, but very glad to have something useful to do, at least for a while.
“One moment, Major. This is the phone you need to contact me. It has my number programed in. I will answer it day or night. You will find that it is something called a Tri-Band phone and works anywhere in the world. There is also an anonymous email address in there for you to use if you need it.”
Jim took the box with the phone and turned to leave still wondering quite what he had got himself into. He paused in the doorway and looked back.
“You do realize this is all fantasy and legend, don’t you?”
“Possibly, but indulging rich men’s fantasies can still be profitable don’t you think?”
Chapter 3
Back in the Fens his sister tried hard to disguise her relief that he would be moving out. She was OK, but he suspected that fat insurance salesman she married had been bitching about him again and making her life more of a misery than usual.
A call to the chief clerk back at the barracks got him the address for Ivan Thomas and confirmation that he had been discharged from the Army three weeks previously. He was living up a mountain in North Wales on a small sheep farm he had inherited from his parents. Directory enquiries could find no phone number for the address so he would have to go himself.
The drive to North Wales was long and tedious, although once he got off the motorways and on to the winding Welsh roads he could appreciate the handling of the old Austin Healey sports car he had inherited from his father and which had become his pride and joy. It was all that was left of the old man’s life after all the debts were settled.
He was quite cheered up by the time he arrived in the small slate gray village at the foot of the mountain. He took a room in the pub rather than try and find Ivan’s place in the dark. He asked around the bar for directions to the Thomas place and was rewarded by gales of laughter. He had forgotten for a second quite how common a name Thomas was in Wales. He described Ivan. In a small place like this everyone knew everyone else’s business and they all knew about Ivan coming home. Over a couple of pints of good Welsh beer he even found out that he had originally been called Ivor, a good Welsh name. He wondered what that story was.
There was no road up to the farm, just a rough track. A Land Rover in four wheel drive might make it, but the dips and rocks would have the oil pan out of the low slung sports car in seconds. The walk would do him good after the long drive yesterday so he set off up the hill. It was a long steep climb and despite his recent efforts to keep fit, he was starting to breathe a little deeply as he rounded a bend and came in sight of the house.
It was a small building with a couple of even smaller sheep barns alongside it, all made out of the local gray slate. Tucked back into the hillside it was sheltered from the worst of the wind, but as he looked it over he thought it must be bleak in the winter when the snows came. The path sloped gently up to a gate into the yard and as he walked on, he saw smoke from the chimney. Ivan was at the gate as he reached it. Even in the grubby blue farmer’s clothes and rubber wellington boots he had the clear eyes and bearing of a professional soldier.
“Morning sir, what brings you to this center of vice and depravity?”
They shook hands, “Hello Ivan, I’ve got a job offer for you.”
They went into the farmhouse. It was small and sparsely furnished. Ivan’s parents had lived very simply. The big, chipped, brown enamel kettle was heating up on the wood-burning stove. The gleaming stainless steel weight bench in the corner struck a jarring note, but Ivan, it seemed, was not going to let the remarkable power in his arms fade.
“Thought you would like a brew when you got here. I was expecting you a bit later. The big breakfast at the pub usually slows people down a bit.”
Jim looked around, there was no phone. “How did you know I was coming?”
“This is North Wales boss; there are no secrets up here. Particularly when an Englishman arrives asking for me.”
He did not elaborate and Jim thought it best to leave it at that. Over the steaming mug of tea he looked at Ivan. Even in the dirty overalls he was wearing to renovate the farm, there was an air of authority and confidence about the man. The twenty years of soldiering was deeply embedded in him.
Jim explained the job he had been given and asked Ivan to join him. The Welshman was just as bored as Jim had been and was probably starting to feel lonely stuck up on the windswept hillside. It took only a moment for Ivan to say yes.
“But you do know this is a wild goose chase don’t you?”
“Probably, but the money is good and we get to work in the fresh air in Germany, all expenses paid.”
“Fair enough, when do we start?”
“As soon as we find another team member. I think three of us should do and if we are going to be digging into a hill we need someone with the right experience. Any ideas?”
Ivan thought for a while “Quite a few spring to mind. Pete Magee for one, he is a hell of a guy with a bull dozer if we need to do some digging. Andy Davidson knows that area well, I think his wife is from Kiel. But I think there is one man who might suit us down to the ground. Do you remember Geordie Peters? A sergeant in 4 Troop, in A Company.”
“Was he the black guy who pulled the stunt with the bulldozer during that ambush?”
“That’s him. Every man in the regiment wanted to buy him a beer after that one.”
Jim nodded. “Apart from raw guts, what’s so special about him?”
“He’s a qualified welder, he did tours on the heavy plant teams, driving and maintaining every kind of heavy construction vehicle and he did four years as a coal miner round Newcastle before his pit was closed down and he joined up. Bit of an expert on controlled explosions too, if I recall rightly. He was the one that got sent on the intensive Arabic course before our last tour in Iraq. In six months we never found an Arab who could understand Arabic with a Geordie accent.”
Jim recognized the description of the big troop sergeant. “Oh yeah, got him for sure now. Can we get him?”
“I think we can. He was discharged at the same time as me, so unless he has been very lucky he will be borderline suicidal with boredom by now.”
Ivan paused and looked at Jim. “Look, before I ring Geordie, are you sure this isn’t going to be just a glorious waste of time? Are we being paid up front or only on results?”
“It may well be a waste of time, but we are being paid monthly in advance. So win, lose or draw we don’t lose out.”
“That’ll do for me. I just hope they have Herforder Bier where we are going.”
Despite being halfway up a Welsh mountain, Jim’s mobile phone picked up a weak signal. Checks with directory enquiries revealed that around the city of Newcastle phones were far more common and they had Geordie’s number in minutes.
Ivan used the company phone Jim had been given and called the Newcastle number. Geordie was in the house watching a daytime TV chat show and bored out of his skull, especially as his actress girlfriend, Sam, had been working abroad in a successful stage play for the last three weeks and would be away for at least the next three months. Ivan had hardly finished outlining the job before Geordie agreed to be part of it. Jim had his team.
Ivan packed up his old Army rucksack and was ready to go within the hour. He had made it clear that farming sheep on a mountainside had little attraction for him. He tidied round the house, washed the tea mugs and they stepped outside.
“Aren’t you going to lock the door?”
Ivan shook his head. “There hasn’t been a lock on that door since the house was built by my great, great Grandfather. Besides it would make it awkward for people to check on the place.”
As they walked down the hill toward the village Jim said, “So how did you become Ivan instead of Ivor?”
“Originally it was a nickname from when I got back to the regiment, after I did my Russian language
course at Beaconsfield, but after a while I got to like it and made it official. Makes me quite exotic around here.”
“I would have thought just joining the Army would make you exotic here?”
“No, not really. This is hard country; the farms can’t support many people, so the men from here have been going off to the Army for hundreds of years just to make a living.”
They walked on. As they came in sight of the village Ivan said, “The acoustics in this part of the hill are famous here, just listen.”
He launched into a very competent rendering of the great Welsh anthem “Men of Harlech.” His powerful voice echoed off the rocks and cliffs and sounded like a platoon of men walking with them. Jim couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but appreciated the fine Welsh voice beside him. He smiled; it felt comfortable being back with this highly capable soldier. Even if the search was fruitless, this was going to be fun.
Chapter 4
They drove back to his sister’s house to leave his precious Austin Healey sports car in the back of her garage. Before he covered it with the tailor-made cover he gave the white and red bodywork a wash down to remove the splattered insects and polished the chrome detailing. They spent the night in the two single beds in the guest room. His brother-in-law was as welcoming as ever despite knowing it was only for one night. Having two military men in the house gave him even more excuse for his customary snide remarks about the Army during dinner, while resting his fat belly on the table end.
As they arrived at the train station in the morning Ivan said, “So tell me boss, what stopped you from giving that unpleasant git your sister married a good smacking?”
They were still smiling about that as they got on the London train. They met up with Geordie on the platform at Kings Cross station. Jim recognized the ex-Sergeant from halfway up the platform, leaning up against one of the large stone roof supports, scanning the sweating, pushing crowd rushing past him to the underground station entrance and managing to look relaxed and alert at the same time.
