Sins of the Fatherland (Scott Jarvis Investigations Book 6)

by Scott Cook

  I felt heat rise into my face, “Uhm… yeah…”

  She giggled, “Are you inviting me to sleep with you, detective?”

  I cleared my throat, “Well… I have a guest room, Ms. Lambert. I wasn’t suggesting… that is… we only met yesterday…”

  She laughed out loud now, “Oh, look at this. The big strong tough guy is embarrassed! And a bit of a prude, too. Technically, we’ve had at least two dates, Scott. Or are you one of those ninety day assholes?”

  I chuckled, “What?”

  She grinned, “You know, that crazy notion that you shouldn’t have sex for 3 months if you ever want your relationship to succeed. I think it’s a Doctor Phil thing. Or some pop psychology bullshit that’s going around. I’m no floozy believe me, but ninety fucking days? What am I a nun?”

  We both laughed uproariously.

  “I’m no prude, Madame,” I said when the laughter stopped, “But I’m no man whore either.”

  She finished her glass of wine and set it on the mirrored coffee table top, “Good. ‘Then I’ll accept your platonic invitation to make use of your guest facilities. Safe in the notion that no monkey business shall occur.”

  She stood and stretched her arms over her head, which pulled the dress she was wearing up to about mid-thigh. Again I marveled at the length of her shapely and toned legs and the way her breasts pushed at the fabric that contained them.

  “Great,” I said, picking up her glass and heading into the kitchen, “It’s to the left of the head. The bed’s made up with clean linens and there are several new toothbrushes in the bathroom drawer.”

  She walked into the kitchen and put her arms around me. We were both barefoot and she was nearly as tall as me. She hugged me and pecked me on the cheek, “thanks. For letting me stay, for not making a pass at me while I’m a little tipsy… for being a gentleman… and most of all for helping granddad and me.”

  “You’re welcome, shorty,” I said with a wry grin.

  She laughed, “Not used to a girl being almost as tall as you, huh? I bet I put on four inch heels and I’m taller.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, “I’d feel safe.”

  She laughed and took herself off into the bathroom. I went out back with Morgan.

  “Kind of weird, huh, pal?” I asked him after he did his business.

  He looked up at me expectantly.

  “I mean having another woman in the house,” I mused, “We haven’t had an overnight female guest since… well, you know since when.”

  Morgan commiserated. He felt Lisa’s loss as much as I did. And we both missed Rocky, too.

  We went back inside and Audrey was just coming out of the bathroom, “Your house is as neat as a pin. Are you sure you’re a bachelor?”

  I chuckled, “Why? Because I’m a dude and dudes don’t clean? That’s a gross generalization and not true in my case. I am a sailor, after all.”

  She smiled, “Well, I’m definitely feeling the wine and the drinks. I think I’ll say good night.”

  She came over and patted Morgan and then patted me. I chuckled, said good night and then went into my bedroom. As I got undressed and slid into the sheets, I wondered about this case. There were some odd things to consider. That and what I’d say to Brody in the morning.

  Sleep must have crept up on me because I was surprised to find myself waking up some time later. I came awake rather abruptly, and I realized that something had roused me from sleep.

  It took a moment to gather my wits. I lay in the darkness, my eyes closed, listening. Then I knew what it was. Someone had opened my bedroom door.

  I was just about to leap up when a hand softly brushed my face and pulled the comforter and blanket down. A warm and naked body slid into the bed beside me and a pair of full lips pressed up against mine. The lips were hot, already flushed with passion.

  “It’s only me,” Audrey whispered as she slid her silken skin next to mine. She eased one of her long legs over my hip and I could feel a nexus of damp warmth against my upper right thigh.

  “Audrey…” I said uncertainly, my mind still trying to grasp the situation.

  Her tongue slid from between her lips and she used it to caress mine. As she did, her right hand slid down my body, softly caressing me until she found my already turgid flesh and gripped me. She moved her hand gently up and down as she kissed me more urgently and moaned.

  I couldn’t help but respond to her. Even as I ran my left hand over her body, exploring the tight muscles of her back and the round firmness of her buttocks, I felt my own heart begin to race and a further tightening beneath her busy hand. It had been four months since I’d been with a woman and the surge of excitement was almost overpowering. Made morso by her boldness.

  In one swift motion, she threw back the covers and straddled me. She slid upward, placing the nipple of her left breast in my mouth. Again, I reacted instinctively, suckling and biting gently on the erect tissue as she gasped and dug her nails into my shoulders. I felt her hips moving and the center of hot wetness slide above my hardness.

  That’s when the guilt kicked in.

  Like a freight train smashing through a wall, my stomach suddenly tightened and my heart began to ache. I pulled my mouth away and put a hand on her hip to stop her.

  “Wait…” I gasped, “Audrey…”

  “It’s all right,” She whispered into my ear, “I know you want this as much as I do…”

  I did, or at least part of me did, but my mind protested, “You’re a client…”

  She chuckled, “Henry Lambert is your client. We’re more like… co-workers.”

  “That’s not all…” I protested further, if a bit weakly.

  She looked down at me and kissed me softly, “It’s her. Lisa, your ex. She still has a hold on you.”

  I nodded. I was partly angry at myself. For allowing the guilt to drive me once again.

  “Scott…” Audrey whispered, “I understand. But let me say something… she left you. You don’t owe her anything. You can’t put your life on hold forever. I’m not asking you to marry me, here. This is just one of those moments. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than what it is. If something happens afterward, fine… but if not, that’s okay too. I just want you right now. It feels right, doesn’t it?”

  Physically, yes. But emotionally, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Just tell me to stop,” She said gently.

  I couldn’t quite get the words out. She didn’t give me much time to think about it, either.

  After only a few seconds, she raised herself up on her knees, pivoted her hips and slid down on me. That center of warm wetness enveloped me and drew an involuntary gasp. Audrey cried out in pleasure and as she gripped me and began to move, I resigned myself to the fact that my mind had been made up for me.

  Chapter 11

  Eastern Gulf of Mexico

  October 11th, 1945, 00:50 local time

  “Full reverse!” Elmer Williams shouted over the diving alarms and the alert sirens, “And kill that fucking noise!”

  The control room was in shambles. Blood dripped down from the conning tower and men were scrambling to and fro, trying to get to their stations or get out of the way. Slowly, ever so slowly at least to the XO now Captain, the deck gun crews exited toward their respective stations.

  “Maneuvering answering full reverse!” The relief helmsman, a second class petty officer named Arnie Jacobs reported.

  ‘Phone talker!” He hollered to the white-faced seaman at the set, “Ship wide alert. Battle stations torpedo! All stations check.”

  The skipper was dead, or dying, lying on the flooding deck as the Bull Shark vented her ballast tanks. He’d be floating up there, in a pool of his own blood… Was he still alive? Was he even now crawling painfully toward the hatch, feebly reaching out for salvation before the sea closed over him?

  Jesus Christ… Williams thought with a shudder, I’m gonna lose it…

  “Dutch,” Williams said in a more even tone. He wa
s the captain now and had to act like one, even if his guts were in knots and his mind was reeling, “Update the plot on that son of a bitch and get me a firing solution! Phone talker, forward torpedo! Sparky, standby to fire.”

  “Forward torpedo, Chief Sparks stand by to fire!” The young phone talker repeated in a shaky voice.

  “The German boat is going down, sir!” Dutch called from the DRT, “his depth now about thirty feet… we’re gonna lose him…”

  “Forward torpedo reports ready!” The Phone talker reported.

  The other ship was right in front of them. Williams knew he had one shot at this, “Helm, all stop.”

  “Bearing on enemy?” Williams asked, “Give me a direct hands free line to the forward room.”

  “Right in front of us, sir!” Dutch called.

  “Torpedo!” Williams shouted, “Set weapons in tubes one and two to sixty feet, zero degree gyro.”

  It took forever, or seemed to, before the fire control board lit with two green lights. Williams gritted his teeth, “Fire one… fire two!”

  The ship shuddered as two three thousand pound torpedoes were ejected from the bow by a heavy fist of compressed air. Lieutenant Dutch, now acting XO as well as diving officer and fire control reported, “Tubes one and two fired electrically. Fish running hot, straight and normal!”

  “Sonar, go active!” Williams shouted.

  “Hydrophone readings coming in!” The sonarman in the conning tower called down, “Pinging shows Aspect change on target. She’s engaging electric and heading left, sir!”

  Although the ship’s hydrophones and even active sonar pings could locate the other submarine, the gear wasn’t sophisticated enough to determine exact depth except at very shallow levels. Without a precise depth return from the target, the odds that an unguided torpedo could find its mark was virtually zero. Even if they could’ve gotten a firing solution, water pressure became an ever increasing issue with the outer doors open. Once the German dived, it would therefore be next to impossible to hit him.

  Hopefully that wouldn’t matter. If his fish were in time, they’d strike. Williams thought for what seemed like the millionth time that submarine fired torpedoes should have some way to track a target or at least be guided. It was one thing to shoot a spread at a big surface target like a tin can or even a battle wagon, but shooting at another submarine, especially when the other sub was underwater was next to impossible in terms of scoring a hit.

  Up in the forward torpedo room, Chief Sparks was bawling his men out, “Let’s go! The XO is gonna call down for more fuckin’ fish, and you slow asses are just standing around. Let’s get these goddamned doors closed and stand by on tubes three, four, five and six! Lambert, good work on tube one. You get ready on three…”

  Hank Lambert had been responsible for adjusting the depth setting on his torpedo as well as the gyro settings, which really weren’t needed as the ship was firing straight ahead. He didn’t know the whole story, but what he’d heard from men rushing forward was that the German’s had opened up on the deck crew with machine guns and fragged the skipper and the Cob’s boarding party.

  He felt numb all over. He couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Yet deep down, he hoped against hope that the torpedoes they’d just fired would find their marks.

  Arthur Turner had been a good man and a good skipper. He’d taken the time and patience to help a young kid just out of enlistment to get used to serving aboard a submarine. And now that the war was over and peace was supposed to rein… that good man had been murdered in cold blood by those evil Nazi bastards.

  And then there was Eddie Carlson, who’d been like an older brother… and the Cob… and Pat O’Neil, a carroty haired Irish kid from Boston who always had a joke and a smile… in a matter of moments, the world had gone ass over tea kettle…

  Even as he hit the deck in the control room, a fist having punched into his belly, Kapitan Zur Se Karl Reinhardt knew all was lost. His ruse to lull the Americans into complacency had worked, but not in the way he’d hoped.

  Deep down, he wanted to surrender to Turner. To end this madness before it could play out.

  But somebody’s bullet had killed his hopes before they’d even had a chance to flower. Above him, the men who’d opened fire dropped down and slammed the outer hatch closed.

  Reinhardt found it hard to breath and the world seemed to dim. Yet when Gunter Bausch’s sneering face appeared over him, he knew at once what had really happened.

  “So much for your plans, Kapitan,” Bausch mocked, “Now we do things my way.”

  Reinhardt tried to speak but found that he couldn’t draw sufficient breath. He wanted to shout for Yohan or another of his officers to stop this madness. But it was too late and he knew it. He’d heard the sounds of automatic fire and the screams of the American boarding party as they were cut to pieces. He’d heard the shouts and alarms from the American submarine as well.

  His only hope now was that Bausch’s arrogance would allow the American captain to blow Ariovistus out of the water. Because if not… if not… then millions would die.

  “Ahead flank!” Bausch barked, “Thirty degrees down on the planes! Flood all tanks. Make your depth two hundred meters. Left full rudder! Yohan, Get a firing solution on the American, now!”

  Verschmidt looked down at his captain who lay on the deck, bleeding profusely from a bullet wound in his belly. Yohan had watched in stunned amazement as Bausch, the machine gunner and two other men had rushed into the control room. Bausch had drawn his sidearm and fired up into the conning tower.

  Reinhardt had fallen to the deck and the machine gunners had raced upward. Then Bausch and his men had covered the rest of the personnel in the zentral with their weapons.

  “Do it, Yohan,” Bausch snarled, “Or I shoot someone else and their blood will be on your hands!”

  “Hydrophone effects!” The enlisted sonar man shouted from his sound gear, “Near field effects! Two torpedoes in the water!”

  It didn’t matter. The ship was already nosing down and rapidly diving.

  “Now passing ten meters,” the helmsman said dully.

  “Range to torpedoes?” Bausch asked.

  “Two hundred meters,” Yohan reported.

  “Depth?”

  “Nineteen meters,” Yohan stated.

  “What is our speed and the overtake rate of torpedoes?” Bausch snapped.

  “Fifteen knots,” The pilot reported, “Now passing fifteen meters.”

  “Overtake is fifteen knots and increasing,” Yohan reported. American mark fourteen torpedoes ran at forty-five knots at high speed. He seemed to have true regret in his voice when he said, “They’ll miss.”

  “Let us be sure of it,” Bausch snapped, “Pilot, left standard rudder.”

  “Left standard rudder, aye!”

  Yes, the American fish wouldn’t hit, but the other ship would still be a problem. Intelligence reports had informed Germany that the United States was developing newer and better acoustic systems. Although the odds that the other ship would be able to hit the U-boat underwater were extremely low, the American boat would hound them.

  They’d gotten the scent of their prey, and like the creature the American ship was named for, the Bull Shark would hunt the U-boat relentlessly.

  The Americans knew all too well what every man on Ariovistus knew. Sooner or later, the U-boat would have to surface.

  Yet Bausch wasn’t overly concerned. He knew that when underwater, his vessel had three distinct advantages over the Americans. First his test depth was deeper than that of the Balao-class. Second, his underwater endurance was nearly seventy-two hours at full charge. Of course, this meant very slow speeds.

  Finally, if needed, the U-2626 could travel at an unprecedented seventeen knots while submerged thanks to her innovative streamlined hull design. Not for long, but if both ships were underwater, this was more than twice the American’s top submerged speed. Ariovistus could outrun the other ship and then
come to the surface and recharge her batteries.

  Of course, the American’s advantage was that on top, she could run well over twenty knots. If the Bull Shark wanted, she could hound the Germans from the surface of the sea. From the surface, sonar readings on a submerged target were much more accurate. The American could simply rely on her powerful diesels for both propulsion and to maintain a constant charge on the battery bank. She could then stay on top of the U-boat and hit her when she came up for air.

  Of course, Bausch guessed that even with the latest in sound gear, the American submarine would have a hard time tracking any target at two hundred plus meters with diesel engines running at top speed.

  “It will be a contest of wills,” Bausch said, rubbing his hands together, “who has the strongest nerve? Who will blink first?”

  “What the hell do we do, XO?” Chief Sparks asked as he entered the control room.

  “We do whatever it takes to sink this cocksucker, that’s what,” Williams growled, “Sparky… The skipper and Cob are both dead. We lost them and a dozen more. We’re shorthanded. Who can you recommend to take over your room?”

  Chief Sparks looked dumbfounded. He’d heard the scuttlebutt too, but ignored most of it until now, “I… sir…?”

  Williams put a hand on the big man’s beefy shoulder, “I know, Chief… I know. But we ain’t got time to grieve now.”

  “Sir, I’m the best man for that room,” Sparks said.

  “I need you up here with me,” Williams said, “I’m the new skipper, I guess… so that makes you next in line, too. You’re the new Chief of the boat.”

  “Goddamn, sir…” Sparks had tears in his eyes. Not because he’d gotten a promotion that all sub chiefs hoped for… but it was the way he’d gotten it. For all his grumbling and swearing and bellowing, Sparks was a gentle giant. He loved his men and his job. He admired Turner immensely and he and Rogers had been like brothers.