[Miss Behavin]

Hello again!

While playing overat Wolves at War They have one section in their forums called "War Diary." This is where one can post their boat's logs, tell an "in character" story, etc.

On Marlena Hessler's third patrol, she ran into a bit of a problem. After an air attack in the Denmark Strait, the flooding was at a higher level than the pumps could handle; therefor, after blowing ballast three times, she was able to surface her boat and abandon it.

At WAW, when you're in trouble, your flottille commander will make every effort possible to get other boats to your area to effect a rescue; so basically, you are interacting with other players.

I started writing in the War Diaries, what was intended to be a very short story about the demise of U-406 and subsequent rescue of her crew. Well, once I got started I was on a roll and it is now at page 84 in my 'Word' documents.

This has been an ongoing story as it has had to be written as the actions of others took place. When you see radio messages in the story, those from other boats or FdU, are the actual messages from them, not written by myself. You may see reference to a bar in the story called the Drakkar. This is the Flotille forum where one can enter 'in character' posts. I only mention that now as reference to it will come up in the story that I am about to post.

My reason for posting it here is that there have been some WAW members greatly enjoying it and I have been PM'd and asked to post it over here as well.

I welcome comments but for those would-be critics, bear in mind that much of this was written in haste as sometimes the other players involved had to wait on messages from U-406 before they could play their mission in SH3 appropriately.

The end of the story is on hold because I have reached the point where I must now wait on the actions of another player to see what will happen. For the most part, it is complete and i hope that you enjoy it.

Cheers!

Miss Behavin'

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And now, the story:


Chapter One – Her Last Dive

At 15.11 hours, on the 30th of March, the watch spotted an enemy aircraft approaching from the southeast. By my standing orders, an alarm was immediately given to crash dive to seventy meters, simultaneously with a turn hard to port to throw off the approaching aircraft’s aim; more commonly know as a ‘knuckle’ maneuver.

Since the 17th, we had received such attacks on an almost daily basis, sometimes twice in the same day. It was almost becoming routine. This time it wasn’t.

We had a good twenty meters of water above us and still diving rapidly when a large explosion sounded and rocked the boat, throwing many of us to the deck, despite how much we were hanging on in preparation. Fuses blew, and numerous seals were leaking but all that was forgotten beneath the ominous sound of men screaming orders and the sound of inrushing water in the forward compartment; and no small amount at that.

The repair crew, headed by Leutnant (j.g.) Willi Niebling, was immediately moving into the stricken compartment. In the meantime we listened as other depth-charges detonated; fortunately, not as close as the one that pounded us just a moment ago.

Within a few minutes, Niebling had rushed back to the command room, a look of dread on his face and before even speaking, I could tell by his entire demeanor that he bore no good news. “Kaleu Hessler, we must stop diving immediately and prepare to abandon the boat!” he exclaimed.

For a fraction of a second I looked at him incredulously, wanting so much for this to be some form of crude joke. I knew better though, even as the thought crossed my mind. Willi, wizard that he is in the quick repair of the boats various systems, would never be known for a thriving sense of humor. By then we were at fifty meters and still diving. I immediately ordered trim to level the boat and bring her back toward the surface.

In less than a minute he explained the situation; the main cause for alarm being a breach in the pressure hull itself. The incoming volume of water was at least twice what the pumps could handle and within minutes there would be no saving the men forward. On that note I gave the command for all men forward of the radio room to abandon those compartments. They wasted little time doing so and as the last one came into the command room, the hatch was closed and sealed.

In that short amount of time, we were now at seventy meters. The boat had leveled out to some extent but was still resisting our attempts to begin ascending. I ordered the ballast tanks blown which was immediately done but no visible effect took place. Two more applications of pressurized air were required before the boats nose was pointed at the surface and we began rising. I knew that little pressurized air remained to be able to do so again, and how long we would have on the surface would, most likely, be quite minimal.

Ringlemann, my XO, was given orders to prepare the crew to abandon the boat. Meanwhile, I headed to the radio room to prepare an SOS for Seaman 1st class Wiese to get out immediately upon surfacing. The fear was quite evident on his face and I gave his shoulder a firm grip as I assured him that I would not leave his side until he went out ahead of me. I had no intention of any of my crew leaving this boat after myself. I would be the last.

We did not have long to wait. I could hear the crew getting ready as they began crowding toward the control room. I found myself focusing on the myriad sounds of the boat that had become home to me. I could not help but wonder if it would be the last time I heard them for the sea was rough above us and I knew our chances for rescue would be slim at best. I could only hope that the aircraft that had attacked us would radio our position to a nearby enemy destroyer; and even then, would they be able to mount a rescue, or even try in such heavy seas. I hoped so. Lasting out the remainder of the war in a POW camp would be much more preferable to slowly succumbing to the cold of these Icelandic waters.

It was only minutes before we broke surface but it seemed like an eternity. Many thoughts and memories came to mind during the interlude. I wondered if my picture would soon join those on the memorial wall at the Drakkar. A gnawing feeling of despair began settling over me like a death shroud and I tried to fight it off, attempting to keep my wits about me to do all until my last breathe to save these men; men who so desperately depended upon me to bring them home. It was at that moment that a calm befell me and I would be told later that a warm smile came to my face. I was remembering a warm hand squeezing mine as we parted company to prepare for war. Were his feelings the same? Would he think of me much after I was gone? I could not say, but I knew then that I was not going to give up without a fight.

At that moment, hatches were thrown open and the crew were making good their escape, safety lines lashing them together once on deck as they inflated the rafts. Escape to what fate we did not know, the only certain thing being a cold watery grave if we remained with the boat too much longer.

Wiese was already pounding away on the telegrapher’s key. I willed him to move faster as water could now be seen trickling under the hatch between us and the forward compartment. My subconscious wanted to panic and flee yet at the same time I could feel a non-present hand holding my own as if assuring me that there would be enough time. “Done!”, Wiese exclaimed, jumping up from his seat to race toward escape. Another explosion rocked the boat and from above I could hear the screams of injured and terrified men. For a moment, ridiculous as it was, I thought that somehow one of the forward torpedoes had detonated. Then the sound of an aircraft reached my ears through the open hatch and I knew that the enemy aircraft had come back to finish the job. Could he not see that the job was already done; that we were abandoning the vessel?

Rage made a red haze fill my vision as I followed on the heels of the radioman. The second explosion had apparently hit alongside the command room as I could see water streaming in through multiple gashes in the hull and in the short time it took me to grab the rungs of the ladder, the frigid water was up to my knees.

As I came onto the tower, the carnage that greeted me put a knot in my stomach. I could see at least four men dead, their bodies ripped asunder, and I suspected there were more I did not immediately see. Blood was everywhere and crewmen were yelling at me from the life rafts. On the heavy swells they were struggling to keep the raft in position, while at the same time the u-boat was rapidly settling beneath my feet.

As I climbed over the railing to leap to the relative safety of the flimsy raft, my ears were filled with the roar of the bombers engines and my skin crawled with fear, expecting any moment for another bomb to make mincemeat of all of us, or to be chewed up by bullets from the aircrafts gunners. I landed half in, half out of the raft and got thoroughly soaked by icy water before numerous hands grabbed hold of me and pulled me the rest of the way in. The feared rending of jagged shrapnel or searing hot lead did not come however. Apparently the bomber crew could see that we were finished and circled us a number of times as we did our best to stay together; struggling in the heavy seas to lash the rafts together and take care of our wounded. I turned to look back at the 406 just in time to see the tower slip below the crest of a wave, never to be seen again by the eyes of man.

I could not say exactly how long the plane circled us but eventually it turned and headed off to disappear to the east; most likely heading to a base in Iceland. Had they radioed our position? Had anyone picked up our transmission? There was no way of knowing. All I knew for sure is that if rescue did not come soon, only by a miracle would they find us in these seas; and then would we even be alive. I could already see many of the men shivering and I realized that my teeth were chattering too as I tried to help comfort one of the wounded men that was aboard our raft.

Time seemed to have come to a standstill. Minutes dragged on into what felt like hours yet, checking my watch with numbed fingers, only one hour had passed since our attacker had disappeared. This was the worst part now, the waiting, utterly helpless to do anything as the bitter cold seeped deeper into our bones. As I listened to the keening wind, one could imagine how ancient mariners came to believe in the sirens that lured unwary sailors to their deaths. We had all become quieter, each crewman turning within himself as though to conserve that last bit of energy and internal warmth that bred life. I was struggling to keep my eyes open, the cold sapping away my strength and the wind singing to me as a lullaby beckons one to sleep; a sleep from which one would not wake.

A hand shook my arm and I struggled to be free from it, resenting its intrusion into the peaceful calm that was settling over me. Then I could hear others crying out and as the hand shook me again, someone calling my name, I forced my eyes open and shook my head to clear it. The hand that had forced me awake was that of the radioman, Wiese, and with effusive gesturing, I realized he was pointing at something. I squinted to look in the direction he was indicating and though my face was numb from the cold, I knew that I smiled for I saw the green eyes of the man in my thoughts. I yearned to feel his touch once more. Then my vision cleared and the eyes became one, and it grew nearer. In a moment the single glowing eye became that of the green starboard navigation lamp of a trawler that came looming into view, riding the swell of a wave. Many of the crew were crying out to get their attention, although I knew that they would not be heard over the wind and roar of the sea. Despite that, even I cried out with joy that we were to be clutched from the jaws of what just a moment ago was certain death.

A few of the crewmen had flashlights and were waving them about. Those on the trawler evidently saw them as its bow soon swung in our direction and slowed, the vessel making just enough headway to maneuver closer; crewmen gathering on her rolling deck as lifelines were being prepared.

Within minutes we were being assisted aboard. For many of us, including myself, quite literally as we had become too cold and lethargic to be able to do much of anything. It was no mean feat by far as the heaving sea made it difficult to keep one’s footing, let alone do much else. Under different circumstances and were my spirits in better condition, I would have been amused by the look of shock when the fisherman helping me aboard realized that the U-boat commander was a woman! As cold and tired as I was, my mind was still working and I could not help but wonder if I could work that to our advantage.

The crew were being led below but I refused to leave the deck until I saw the last of my crewmen brought aboard. The look in my eyes must have told the fishermen that I meant business and rather than have an undesirable scene on a pitching deck, they decided to leave me be whilst they retrieved the rest of my crew. Turning my attention back to the proceedings, it was then, to my horror, that I realized one of the rafts was missing. Apparently the lashings had given way in the rough seas and the raft drifted silently away from the main group, nobody the wiser in their cold, huddle state. My eyes scanned the horizon and claws of doom clutched at my heart when no sign of it could be seen.

We had been drifting for almost two hours before the trawler found us. Seven of my men had been killed during the second attack of the enemy aircraft and it was quite likely that more would succumb to their wounds before they could receive proper medical attention. If this missing raft were not found, and soon, there would be eight more added to that list. I wished to stay topside while the vessel searched for them, but the authority of a British Sten gun cradled in the arms of an insistent fisherman turned guard overrode my wishes and I was escorted inside.

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Chapter Two – It’s Not the Queen Mary?

Unlike the rest of my crew, I was led up to the bridge to meet Captain Gestur Þór
Jóhannsson, master of the vessel. His age was hard to determine as he bore the weathered look of one who has spent many years at sea. Forced to guess I would have put him in his forties somewhere as he was developing a bit of a paunch, which age was making more difficult to avoid. So far I had seen no one wearing a uniform of any kind and the captain was no exception, dressed in somewhat rumpled slacks and a heavy, grey, pull-over sweater. The Sten-gun held by my escort had been the only thing of a military nature I had yet seen.

Even though he had already been informed that one of those rescued was a woman, there must have resided some doubt for he was obviously taken aback as he turned to look at me. His eyes were of a piercing Nordic blue and I could not say that I was overly pleased with the way he was looking me over. My chin was lifted in a defiant state and I gave him my name,

“I am Oberleutnant Marlena Hessler, commander of the U-406. I have men who are hurt and I would be appreciative if you could provide any medical supplies that you may have on board. There is also another raft with eight men aboard. I am hoping that you will be continuing your search for them as well.”

For a moment, he continued to silently look me over in a speculative way. I returned his gaze with an equal air of quiescence. After a moment he spoke and I was fortunate that German is a predominant language in Iceland. The dialect was different, more of the ‘Old Norse’ but I was accustomed to this from having grown up around my grandfather who sometimes spoke in a similar way.

“So, Germany is getting so desperate that they are now sending women to sea, eh?”

I did not care for the haughty tone of his voice and had to bite my tongue to stifle the reply that immediately came to mind. I chose a better path of discretion to answer instead with a repeat of request of aid for my wounded and continued search for the missing raft.

With an air of impatience, he informed me that they would indeed continue to look for the other raft, albeit, with little chance of finding it in these sea. The rolling deck beneath my feet reminded me of the conditions outside and with a sinking feeling I had to mentally concede that he was right. There was little hope for my missing crewmen.

He followed with, “We will continue to look, at least until you and your crew are handed over to the British or the Americans, whichever comes first.”

He turned his attention momentarily to a another of his crew on the bridge to order him below with their medical kit for the prisoners. For this I thanked him. All the while, my mind was racing in search of some advantage. It could only be a matter of hours at the most before a destroyer or the like could rendezvous with the trawler. Looking out the forward windows at the condition of the sea, however, made me wonder how on earth they hoped to be able to transfer us to the larger vessel. As it was I was still impressed with their skill in plucking us out of the water without anyone getting hurt or lost overboard.

I was opening my mouth to request to be taken to my crew when another fellow entered, a look of hesitation as he glanced first at me and then the captain. Impatiently the Captain asked, “Well? What is it?”

The one who had just entered hesitated, as is wont to do for bearers with bad news.

“It is the American destroyer Captain. They claim that they will be unable to conduct the transfer of prisoners in these seas. We are to take them to their military facility at Hvalfjordur.”

You could almost see the poor fellow cringe. Looking at the captain, I could see why, as a vivid red climbed up his neck and into his face like a rising thermometer.

“What,” he bellowed! “And how do they expect me to profit from a load of German prisoners. A fine price THEY will bring at the fish market! This is outrageous!”

The young man, who must fill in as their radio operator, chose that moment to make good his escape. I am certain that a corner of my mouth lifted in a smirk. The vessel could be making no more than six knots and at that speed it would be a good six days to Hvalfjordur, plenty of time for us to take advantage of any opportunity should it arise. The captain was now pacing, at least as much as the small confines of the bridge would allow. As looked back at me I quickly forced any look of smugness from my face, replacing it with one of sincere commiseration. Actually, I did feel a little sorry for him, but in light of my situation and that of my crew, was thankful for the extra time before we were turned over to the allies.

“I am sorry for your inconvenience Captain. I suppose that it is little consolation that you have my gratitude for rescuing myself and my crew.”

Flinging up his hands with an exasperated, “Bah!” he wheels about to face me.

“Did they not already know that I have you aboard, I swear to God I would be tempted to cast you all back into the sea. This is disgraceful! Coming back with empty holds. I suppose there will be some compensation, but nothing to what a hold full of fish would have brought.”

For a moment he stood there and glared at me, his countenance one of contemplation. In the meantime, I watched his heightened pulse rate in the bulging blood-vessels at his temples while wondering how many more years would go by before this man suffered a massive stroke.

After a moment, his rage began to subside and his shoulders took a slight slump. I mentally relaxed for I could tell that he had just become resigned to returning home empty-handed, so to speak.

He removed his cap to run a hand through his hair and with a sigh,

“Alright then, nothing to be done for it. How much trouble are you and your bunch going to be to me?”

At this point, I offered him a reassuring smile.

“None at all Captain; providing, that is, that we are treated within the mandates as called out by the Geneva Convention for prisoners of war.”

The exasperated look was beginning to return. The man was a fisherman and it was obvious that he was clueless as to what the Geneva Convention dictated. Seeing this, I then attempted to give a brief rundown of what, as our captor, was expected of him.

I couldn’t help but be a bit amused as his look of exasperation was quickly turning to one of astonishment.

“What do you think this is!?” he exclaimed, “some sort of luxury resort!? This is a fishing trawler, not the Queen Mary! How do you propose I am to provide these things that you say are in this Geneva Convention; and how do I know you are not just making all of that up?”

I was doing all that I could to keep the bemused smile from spreading across my face, but his arms were starting to wave up and down as he spoke and I could not help but be reminded of a little toy clown I had as a child. It was on a stick and its arms and legs would go up and down when you pulled on a string.

“No need to get excited Captain. I am not asking for all that. I am well aware of your limited resources. Anything you can do Captain, anything. Blankets. Some hot food perhaps? They will be grateful enough for that.”

With that he relaxed somewhat.

“Yeah? And what is in it for me if I do, eh?”

That ‘look’ was coming into his eyes again and I sighed to myself, thinking that this was going to be a very long six days if I did not play my cards right.

Letting all of my tiredness show, “My undying gratitude Captain, for one. But for right now, I too could use something to eat, not to mention a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. I am still cold, hungry, tired; I stink, and would like to see to the conditions of my crew. I assure you that at this moment I am the farthest thing away there is to being anything resembling social graces.”

This seemed to get through to him and he looked at me in a different light of awareness, finally realizing that I, as well as the rest of my crew, were exhausted from the hell we had been through over the last three hours.

“Alright then, I will see to these things, but don’t expect anything fancy.”

He then ordered my guard to take me to see my crew and afterwards to be ensconced in his quarters. As I was led away, I was hoping that the décor of his quarters did not include him.

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Chapter Three - Fish Stew and Sten Guns

I was led to the vessel’s mess room where I was greeted with the sight of twenty-nine men crammed into a space designed for half that. Perfect, I thought, they should all feel right at home. My XO, Leutnant Ringelmann, as efficient as ever, had the men arranged about the room in a fashion that, amazingly enough, still left just enough space where one man could maneuver about, either to disburse food or where one could get back and forth to the head.

The wounded were placed on the outer fringes nearer the door so as to ease Ringelmann’s access to them, a necessity, as he was also my boat medical officer. When the war started, he’d already had over a years worth of medical school under his belt so, by default, was elected to the position.

The space was small and the air stale, but it was relatively warm; and a palace when compared to being tossed about in a liferaft in freezing waters. Blankets had been distributed, albeit many had to serve for two, there just not being enough to go around, and some of the men were still finishing what smelled like some sort of a fish stew. It smelled wonderful. Others had already drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

So, Captain Jóhannsson was perhaps not the gruff and recalcitrant savior he made out to be. There had not been time enough for all of this to have been distributed after our discussion of the matter. I was grateful to realize that my men had been seen to as soon as they had been brought aboard.

As I stepped into the room, no more than two feet actually as any farther I would be in the way, Ringelmann, who was just finishing tending to one of the wounded, noticed my presence and rose to greet me, relieved to see that I was alright.

My first inquiry was to the condition of the wounded. Most would probably be alright with minor shrapnel wounds but two of them, Dorwald and Theil, he did not hold much optimism for. Medical supplies had been provided but even so, those were limited and there was only so much he could do under these circumstances. They needed a hospital. All of this, he explained to me under a lowered voice.

Looking over the men and the space available, of which I could see only enough for one, probably Ringelmann’s, he regretfully accounted as to how this was the best he could do in fitting them all in here. Gesturing to the one space left, next to the wounded, he offered to share with me as he would probably be up most of the time anyway.

Smiling and giving his shoulder a squeeze, “It is alright Albert. Captain Jóhannsson has insisted that I utilize his quarters.” Albert, to whom I will refer as such from here on, narrowed his eyes in suspicious inquiry.

I shrugged my shoulders, knowing where his thoughts were going, “I don’t know, perhaps. We’ll just have to hope that he is a proper gentleman and merely being a good host, no?” Albert didn’t look convinced.

Aware that our guards, fishermen turned soldiers, were only a few feet behind me just outside the open door, I switched to French, knowing that Albert spoke it fluently. With a sly smile, I winked at him and said, “Have you seen that horrible thing on the side of that fisherman’s neck?”

Albert glanced past my shoulder then smiled. In French he replied, ”Not a flutter of an eyelid. In fact, they seem more interested in keeping their distance, at least as much as they can on this small tub.”

For a moment, I could see a longing look in Alberts eyes as he watched them and the scent of cigarette smoke reached my nose. Albert was a smoking man and one didn’t get to enjoy them very much when aboard a consistently damp and enclosed U-boat. Reverting back to German, I turned to my captors. “Gentlemen. Is it possible that I could persuade you to part with some of those for my men?”

Our guard with the cigarette paused, looking past me at all of my men then, with a begrudging but conscientious expression, produced from a pocket an almost full pack. Taking it, I gave him the most charming smile I could muster and beseeched, “Two? Please?”

Seeing him balk at that, I reached up and unfastened the top button of my blouse. A startled look came across the guards face and I realized that he thought that I was up to something else entirely. Men! From around my neck I removed a delicate gold chain that supported a small gold crucifix and extended it to him in offering.

He was lifting his hand to take it when Albert stated with a bit of alarm, “Kaleun Hessler! Did you not tell me that your mother gave that to you as a gift when you graduated the academy?”

”Yes Albert,” I replied. ”But that’s not important right now.”

The guard’s hand has frozen in midair and a guilty look had come to his expression. Withdrawing his hand, he told me to keep the cross. He could not take that, but would get my men more cigarettes. I graciously thanked him then turned back to Albert, handing him the pack of smokes. “Do you still have your lighter?” I inquired.

”Of course,” he answered. ”You should not have done that; and I am glad that he refused it. I know how much that means to you. I would not have felt comfortable in taking them.”

Gesturing to the men then looking back at him, ”Albert, right now, you and these men are what is important.” Switching back to French, ”Know this, that should the opportunity arise, I will do whatever I have to do to secure our escape and return home.” Like a good chess-player, I was already thinking six moves ahead and told him, ”If one of the guards comes and asks for my headache medicine, be prepared for anything and ready to move. Be sure to inform the men. Until then, sit tight and look as harmless as possible.”

We both looked at the men, all of them either prostrate or sitting, many of them asleep, then at each other with a smile. Albert exclaimed, ”I don’t think that will be too hard to accomplish. Headache medicine?”

With a bit of an embarrassed smile, “Oh shut up. I had to think of some sort of signal didn’t I? You want better than that, go hire some spy from Etappendienst. We’re not finished yet.”

Alberts expression turned to one of concern. ”Be careful, okay?”

I tried to reassure him with a smile, unsuccessfully I think. Inclining my head toward our guards, ”These are fisherman Albert, not soldiers, but even then, yes, I will be careful.”

Before I could turn to leave, he grasped my arm. ”Fishermen, yes, but just remember, those Sten-guns are not fishing hooks.”

I nodded and with that, turned back to my captors. Reverting back to German, “I am finished now. Thank you for looking after them.”

They looked almost embarrassed by my gratitude, rough men accustomed to an even rougher life, but I suppose that to them, regardless of whose flag we sailed under, we were all sailors in one fashion or another. I was relieved with the conviction that my crew would not be mistreated. The one who had escorted me to the mess room, motioned ahead with the wicked-looking muzzle of his weapon and I stepped out of the room to retrace our path.

Along the way, trying to sound casual, ”So many prisoners. Don’t you think you should break out more weapons?”

”Two are all that we have,” he replied, a trace of disgust in his voice. ”The British weren’t very generous in giving them out to civilians.”

To belay any fears he may have had in this regard, I stated, ”Well, no worries Leifur. I have ordered my crew to behave themselves. The war is over for us.”

He seemed surprised that I knew his name and I explained that I had heard his companion outside the mess room address him so, which indeed I had. He seemed pleased by this and although I would not swear to it, I had the feeling that this fisherman who shared the same language as mine, would have been more happy to see us back to our homeland than handed over to the allies. It is something that I made a mental note of and tucked away for further use if need be.

I was guided to a different door rather than back to the bridge. Opening it revealed what was obviously the Captain’s quarters. Despite his rumpled appearance when meeting him on the bridge, the room was surprisingly neat and orderly. Upon entering, my escort reached in to grasp the handle and closed the door behind me. I waited for the sound of a lock engaging but did not hear it. So, they did not seem to be too concerned that I would pose any trouble. All the better. Without going so far as to search the drawers, I performed a cursory search of the room nonetheless. I was not so foolish as to believe that anything that could be used as an effective weapon would be left for me to find.

I had been in the room no more than five minutes or so when there was a knock. Whoever it was, I suspected the Captain, I told to come in and as it opened, it revealed instead the ship’s cook who entered with a tray laden with bread, real butter, a bowl of the same fish stew I had smelled earlier in the mess room and, of all things, a steaming mug of coffee; and not that horrible ersatz stuff either! As the aroma of it reached my nostrils, I inhaled deeply. My God! I didn’t think anybody could even get the real thing anymore, what with the war and all. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had real coffee. The cook actually looked apologetic that this was all he could offer. Right now it looked like a feast to me and I thanked him gratefully, assuring him that this was perfectly fine. Once he was satisfied that I was more than content with the offerings, he left, looking quite pleased with himself. I smiled, wondering if he had ever waited on a woman before.

The heady aromas emanating from the simple repast were overpowering but not as much as the coffee. Seating myself at the small table I took a sip of the brew and found it amazing how one could find something so precious that had before, been so common. Taking my time with the coffee so as to savor it, I sampled the stew and found it tasting even better than it smelled, a trace of rich spices to enhance yet not overpower it. I found myself wondering if the cook was as good a fisherman as he was a chef.

Initially, I’d had no appetite when we were hauled aboard the trawler but as I ate, I discovered that I was starving. It is amazing how much stress and exhaustion can take out of a person. The stew was made short work of, the last dregs being sopped up with a piece of bread, and I was in a state of repose, enjoying the last of the coffee when there was a knock on the door before it opened, Captain Jóhannsson stepping in but leaving the door open where I could see, beyond him, my erstwhile guard, Leifur. The crew were not as attentive as I would have preferred were I in the captain’s shoes, yet he was not being entirely foolish either.

“I’m sorry, am I intruding?” his gaze momentarily going to the unfinished remnants of my dinner.

“Not at all,” I replied. ”I was just finishing and taking the luxury of enjoying your coffee. We can’t get that anymore in Germany unless you wish to pay an arm and a leg on the black market for it.”

He actually smiled, something I had come to believe he was incapable of. ”Well, it is not available in large quantities, but there is more if you want it. I hope that the meal met with your satisfaction. I trust that you are satisfied with the arrangements provided for your crew. I fear it is the largest room available, short of the hold itself.”

Tempted though I was to ask for more coffee, I was finding it harder to think clearly as my exhaustion was finally starting to get the better of me. As good as the coffee was, the bunk was starting to look far more inviting. I glanced longingly at the basin where clean towels hung and a fresh bar of soap lay waiting.

By something in his tone I sensed that the coffee was perhaps not as easy to come by as he would have me believe. “No, thank you Captain. It was delicious, but at this point, I think I would like nothing more than the opportunity to clean up and get some sleep. Thank you for the use of your cabin.”

“Not at all. I seldom use it other than to sleep and for that I can trade off with my first mate. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

I could see his eyes make a brief examination of the room, perhaps trying to ascertain if I had been rifling the drawers or cabinets.

Seeing this, I disarmed him somewhat by saying, “Captain, I just want you to know that I appreciate the trouble you have been put to in our regard. I will do all that I can to make sure we are no more trouble to you than we already are; and, um, I would not be so rude as to profane your hospitality by going through your things.” At least he had enough decency to look embarrassed by having suspected that I had already done so.

”Besides, the only thing I could have possibly been looking for, I see you have tucked in the waistband of your trousers.” my eyes lowering to the butt of the French “Lebel” revolver.

My last statement made him look even more uncomfortable. It was obvious that he was not accustomed to carrying it. I took note that the butt pointed toward his left side, indicating that he was left-handed, making it all that much easier for myself, being right-handed, to grab hold of it were the opportunity to arise. One more little fact to tuck away for future possibilities.

His hand gesturing toward the gun, ”You will have to forgive me, but, even with your assurances, you cannot blame me for taking precautions.”

“No apology necessary Captain. You do not strike me as a foolish man.” Actually, they all seemed more careless than I would have expected, but then, I also reminded myself that these men were not soldiers, hence accustomed to being in the vicinity of dangerous people. Of course, I was not about to tell him as much. Just one more thing in our favor.

Clearing his throat, I could see that he was having difficulty with something when, with a sincerely regretful inflection, he informed me that they were turning for home where we would be turned over to the Americans. This meant that they were abandoning the continued search for my missing crewmen aboard the wayward raft. Knowing that there was practically no chance of his finding them anyway, it pained me, but I silently nodded in acquiescence.

”I am sorry Frau Hessler,” he said, then turned for the door, for a moment lingering, watching me as that earlier look came into his eyes again. ”You will want to rest now.”

My eyes fell to the wedding band he wore and as he was about to step into the passageway, I said [i]“Captain, your wife. She must miss you during your long stays at sea?”

He had stopped when I addressed him and at mention of a wife, I could see a brief grimace of emotional pain wash across his countenance. For a moment he said nothing. He just stood there. Then with a look as though a great burden were upon his shoulders, he said, “Not any more,” then turned and left me to my own company.

I rose from my seat and went over to close the door, offering Leifur a genial smile before doing so. There was a latch upon the door and although it looked relatively flimsy, unable to stand up to any sort of serious forced entry, I bolted it anyway. I then went to the basin and, with many thoughts coursing through my mind, proceeded to strip and clean up as much as the small confines of the cabin would allow. As much as I would have liked to crawl under the inviting quilt just as I was, I could not afford to be caught unready for anything that might present itself. A fresh uniform would have been nice, then I immediately felt guilty as I thought of my crew, disbursed about the floor of the mess while I luxuriated with a sink bath of hot water and soap, and a warm, comfortable looking bunk awaiting me.

To atone, I quickly donned my salt encrusted uniform and crawled into the bunk. I didn’t have the heart, however, to foul the sheets therefore I lay between the blanket and the quilt, pulling it in about my shoulders as I nestled into the embracing comfort of the mattress and coverings. I could smell the maleness of Captain Jóhannsson on the pillow and as exhaustion and sleep overcame me, a smile came to my face as my thoughts drifted to another, one with eyes of green.

==============================================


Chapter Four - A Plan Foments

As tired as I was, I slept fitfully, the sound of depth charges exploding near our boat, to be repeated over and over. It was then that I woke to the sound of someone pounding on the door.

”Frau Hessler, please. Do not make me break the lock on my own door.”

I recognized the voice as that of Captain Jóhannsson and while trying to clear the cobwebs and fading nightmare from my head, "A moment, please!”

I quickly rose and went to the basin where I took a moment to splash cold water in my face, the better to waken and bring myself to full alertness. From there I went to the door and, slipping the bolt, opened it to find Captain Jóhannsson, my guard Leifur, and the cook all congregated outside in the narrow passageway.

”Frau Hessler, you had us a bit concerned. Do you sleep as late when aboard your U-boats?”

I glanced at my watch to discover that it was almost oh-eight-hundred hours. I felt my face flush with embarrassment. This must have amused the Captain for he bore a wry smile as I stepped back from the door, allowing him and the cook to enter. The cook, whose name I later learned was Gústav Helgason, went past me to set a tray on the small table. Again, there was bread and butter, a cup of coffee, and something whose look and aroma reminded me of a Quiche. He gave me a smile and looked as though he would like to linger but a gaze from the Captain sent him on his way; not, however before I was sure to thank him, mouthing the words, “It looks delicious.” I found myself amused by the thought of shanghaiing him to be MY cook.

I was about to express to the Captain that I would like to dine with my crew but remembering the crowded conditions where they were, I remained silent, deigning not to. By now, they had probably already eaten anyway.

Again, the door was left open where the Sten-gun wielding Leifur could see and hear everything within the room. The Captain gestured toward my waiting breakfast, “Please, Frau Hessler, do not let me keep you. It will get cold. When you are finished, let Leifur know and he will take you to your crew. I imagine you would like to see them again; perhaps to verify that I am abiding by your Geneva Convention rules.”

He turned to leave as I was sitting down to the table but paused upon reaching the door. Turning to look at me, “Tell me Frau Hessler, why did you ask me about my wife last evening?”

My mind was racing as when I had asked, my thoughts weren’t very polite ones; at the moment only trying to ascertain what his intentions might be toward myself.

”I don’t know really. I saw the ring, and more than that, I sensed something about you. Sadness, loneliness,” shrugging my shoulders, ”I really don’t know for sure.”

His gaze turned to one of inner speculation as he nodded his head. “Perhaps. I was merely curious as it seemed a strange question from one in your situation.” He nodded and turned to leave then caught himself once more. ”I was thinking Frau Hessler; perhaps you would be kind enough to join me for dinner this evening. I usually eat alone but . . .”

”I would be delighted to Captain Jóhannsson,” I replied quickly, hoping that I did not sound too eager.

He smiled, pleased by my answer. ”I will send for you then at that time,” then turning and disappearing into the passageway.

Leifur, reaching in to close the door, “Is everything alright Frau Hessler?”

I paused in lifting the mug of coffee to my lips to look at him. Offering a forced smile as everything certainly was not alright, “Under my current circumstances Leifur, I suppose they are good enough. It will have to do won’t it?”

He looked a little embarrassed by his question and offered an apologetic smile as he quietly closed the door. I didn’t actually wish to dine with Captain Jóhannsson yet at the same time, did not wish to anger him or do anything else that would give him inclination to detain me with the rest of my crew. As long as I was out here, there was a better chance that I would be able to take advantage of any opportunity should it arise. I have never considered myself a very good liar nor in possession of any credible acting qualities. I was praying that he did not detect anything amongst my thoughts other than resigned cooperation until we made port. As I made to partake of the excellent breakfast Gústav had prepared for me, something about Leifur’s weapon nagged at the back of my mind. At the moment I could not determine what it was for the life of me.

Finishing breakfast and savoring the cup of coffee while entertaining various thoughts, I quickly discarded one scheme after another. Regretfully, the coffee was soon gone and I rose to use the facilities in the cramped water closet adjoining the Captain’s cabin. Pausing afterward to freshen up at the basin, I picked up the tray of empty breakfast dishes before opening the door to inform Leifur that I was ready to visit my crew. Already informed by the Captain that this was to be allowed, he simply nodded and stepped aside so that I could precede him.

Allowing myself the risk of a brief glance at the Sten-gun, it struck me like an electric shock as to what had been niggling at me regarding his weapon. Hope raced through me as I pondered the possibilities and I quickly attempted to cover any sign of my countenance arousing suspicion with Leifur by continuing down the passageway while saying back over my shoulder, “You must get awfully bored standing around all day guarding me. Doesn’t that thing get heavy after while?”

His quick smile in reply to my query showed that he believed himself forgiven for asking such an obviously stupid question earlier. “Not really,” he countered. “We are going back home with an empty hold so I suppose I must earn my pay in some way. Besides, this is much easier than the myriad of other tasks the Captain could have me doing in the meantime.”[/i]

With my back to him as we continued down the passage, a slight smile came to my lips for the pieces were falling together; I had a plan.

===============================================


Chapter Five - Dorwald’s Song

As I entered the Mess, my escort remained outside to converse with his counterpart. Albert, my XO and boat medic, rose from where he had been tending the two more serious of the wounded. Wiese, my radio operator, came forward and, nodding a greeting, took my tray where he then disappeared through another hatchway to the galley.

”How are they,” I asked, nodding my head to Dorwald and Theil. I noticed that they now lay on mattresses, probably appropriated from the trawlers crew quarters.

With his back where the men could not see his face, he gave me a grim look that told me all I needed to know. ”Dorwald will be lucky if he makes it another day. He has internal bleeding and infection has set in. Theil, I just don’t know. His wounds are serious but he is stubborn.”

I could see the exhaustion on Alberts face, dark circles beginning to form beneath his eyes. I would be surprised if he had had more than a few hours of sleep since our rescue; and I would order him to rest but I knew he would only disobey me. His frustration was obvious as well. I knew he had the skill to do more but without the facilities he was all but helpless.

With a sigh of utter resignation, Albert’s shoulders slumped, ”He knows he is dying, Kaleun. I have spoke with the captain and he assures me that he has given me everything he has. I believe him. He himself sent down the mattresses so as to try to make them more comfortable. There is a little morphine but I have been using it sparingly; saving it for when it really gets bad.”

Feeling as helpless and frustrated as Albert, I knelt down next to Dorwald. His brow was beaded with the sweat of a fever and his pallor was that of a corpse. I took his hand in mine and as his morphine-dilated eyes opened to meet mine, I forced a smile to my lips with the vain hope of encouragement. I tried to remember how old he was but the memory failed me. I knew he couldn’t be anymore than eighteen or nineteen, twenty at the most, but I doubted it. He looked so small laying there.

My heart was breaking. These men had put their trust in me to bring them home and I was failing them. In his other hand was a small wallet-sized photograph. I nodded to it and with barely enough strength to lift his arm, he handed it to me. In the photo was a young girl, certainly no older than he was. ”Your girlfriend?” I asked; to which he replied with a nod and a smile of his own.

”Her name is Marlena, just like yours Kaleun. She is beautiful isn’t she?”

This was more than I could bear yet I had to, for his sake. I was the one who had brought him to this final chapter of his far too short life and no one else could bear the responsibility but me. I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent a sob escaping my lips and nodded. With an indisguisable quaver in my voice, ”Yes. She is very beautiful.” Handing the photo back to him, ”You are very lucky Dorwald.” He took the photo back and gazed at it, a smile on his pale features.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked, wishing that I could do far more than I could.

He looked back at me, his hand clutching the photo dropping slowly back down to his side, and for a moment he looked like a shy little boy as he nodded. Opening his mouth a few times as though to speak, he seemed reluctant and I had to encourage him. ”Go ahead Dorwald, what is it?”

I realized that the Mess had grown silent, the focus of the rest of the crew directed solely on myself and Dorwald. His voice was weak and I could tell it was a struggle for him but he spoke nonetheless. “I have heard it said that you sing Kaleun Hessler.”

His eyes looked into mine as I held his hand, a fragile glimmer of hope lighting his eyes. My mind raced with panic, recalling that as of late my singing debut was usually at the Drakkar and even then, only when I was well on the way to being thoroughly inebriated. I may sound fine to a bunch of half-drunken U-boat captains and officers, but now? Here? Despite myself, I found myself nodding in confirmation. ”Is there any song in particular Dorwald?”

In barely more than a whisper, he replied, “C'Etait Une Histoire D'Amour”

It was a very popular French love song by the acclaimed Edith Piaf. I knew it well, often humming it to myself when thinking of someone I had come to regard as special.

I nodded and, taking a deep breath to compose myself, I started.

J´ai connu des jours magnifiques.
L´amour était mon serviteur.
La vie chantait comme un´ musique
Et elle m´offrait des tas d´bonheurs
Mais j´en achetais sans compter:
J´avais mon cœur à dépenser.

C´était un histoire d´amour.
C´était comme un beau jour de fête,
Plein de soleil et de guinguettes,
Où le printemps m´faisait la cour
Mais quand le histoir´s sont trop jolies,
Ça ne peut pas durer toujours.
C´était une histoire d´amour.
Ma part de joie, ma part de rêve,
Il a bien fallu qu´ell´ s´achève
Pour me faire un chagrin d´amour.

Et tant pis si mes nuits sont blanches,
Tant pis pour moi si j´pleur´ tout l´temps.
C´est le chagrin qui prend sa r´vanche.
Y a qu´le chagrin qui est content.
Vraiment, il y a de quoi rire.
J´ai l´impression d´vouloir mourir.

C´était un histoire d´amour.
C´était comme un beau jour de fête,
Plein de soleil et de guinguettes,
Où le printemps m´faisait la cour
Mais quand les histoir´s son trop jolies,
Ça ne peut pas durer toujours...
C´était une histoire d´amour
Dont rien désormais ne demeure.
Il faut toujours que quelqu´un pleure
Pour faire une histoire d´amour

[U-104]

[Salvadoreno]

a woman kaluen takes away from the story. \

[Dowly]

[Miss Behavin]

Comments appreciated, thank you.

A good thing I looked. I thought I had posted all of it. Will have the rest up in a moment.

I apologize for the oversight.

Cheers!

[Miss Behavin]

He seemed pleased by that. Perhaps in anticipation that I was in no hurry to eat and get back to my men. He ate more slowly than me. It looked as though he was building himself up to talk about something that was not comfortable for him. After a few moments, I found that I was right.

Laying down his fork, his hands clasped together on the table before him, “You had asked about my wife.” A single statement.

With that, I paused as well, looking up at him. He was not looking at me but staring intently at his hands. I could easily see that this was not easy for him. I really did not want to hear his story. I did not want to become close to any of these people; especially one whom I may very well be killing in the next few minutes. Nonetheless, I had to play the game. Anything else that kept his attention away from anything suspicious was all the better. “Really Captain. I can see that it pains you. You do not have to tell me about it.”

“No, I want to.” For a moment his eyes met mine and I could see his need. From what he had said before I could only presume that she was dead. I could see in those eyes that life had not been easy for him since them. His gaze had gone back to his hands. “Please.” His voice was barely audible. “It will be the first time I have spoken of it with anybody.”

To encourage him, I said, “Then perhaps you should Captain. It is not good to hold things in for too long. I am right here.”

For a brief moment he looked at me again, grateful, before returning his focus to his hands. He actually looked, scared. My God, I thought! Was this man falling in love with me? Impossible! He scarcely knew me. Yet, the signs were there. I silently prayed that he was not. I would never make it in the spying business. I have always had the tendency to care about people too much; especially when they are hurting.

He started by saying that his wife had been dead for over two years now, a heart attack. He had been at sea at the time and she had already been buried a week upon his return home.

I would have liked to have eaten a bit more but to do so would have been rude, not to mention making me look indifferent to his suffering; and I wasn’t either. In a short time I was going to attack this man. I had my self and my crew to think of. If nothing else it was my duty. He was certainly not making it any easier.

I was forced to listen as he continued on; talking of their long years together and of how close they had been. I found myself feeling like a cold hearted bittch as I reached across to lay my hand on his. A false comfort for him as I was already altering my plan to meet the setting.

In my pocket was the packet of bicarbonate of soda. He would not look at me as he spoke and it was the perfect time to slip it into my mouth, biting it open to let it mix with my saliva. While it began foaming, I would have bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood and then let the red foamy mixture escape my lips as I pretended a seizure of some kind. Perhaps overdramatic yes, but enough to alarm him and draw him close to give aid where I would have then attacked; attempting to get his gun from where it rested in his waistband.

Now none of that ruse would be necessary. The Captain was completely immersed in his story as he poured his heart out to me. Taking a deep breath, I rose from my chair, coming around the table to position myself behind him, resting my hands on his shoulders while giving them a gentle squeeze. He was completely oblivious to my ill intent and rambled on. I could clearly see the vital nerve points that Albert had shown me and I took another breath in anticipation for my next move.

Closing my hands into fists with the thumbs extended, I mentally counted to three then, as hard as I could, rammed the tips of my thumbs into the hollows just behind his jaw and under the earlobes. The result was spectacular to say the least. Captain Jóhannsson head snapped back as his whole body convulsed in a spasmodic jerk, at the same time a sharp grunt of pain escaped his lips before he went slack and slumped over. I was hoping that the sound of that did not travel beyond the door but I was wasting no time in pulling the Captain back in his chair so that I could access his revolver.

There was a light knock at the door, “Captain?” It was Leifur, an inquisitive tone to his voice. For a moment I was in a state of panic as the weapon would not come free. Taking a quick, deep breath to calm myself. I recognized the problem and worked the gun free from his waistband, the front sight having gotten caught on the material.

The knock was repeated, more urgently this time. “Captain, is everything alright?” His voice was becoming increasingly more concerned.

I let go of the Captain, allowing his body to slump over to his left against the bulkhead beside the table. Quickly checking to make sure the pistol was loaded, I turned to face the door, “Everything is fine Leifur, but please, do come in.”

I watched as the handle turned and the hesitant Leifur poked his head inside. Had the situation not been more grim, I would have laughed as Leifur’s eyes went wide upon seeing the Captain slumped over and then turning to me to find himself looking down the wrong end of a gun barrel.

The moment was tense and I feared that he would bolt. Even if I tried firing, with only his head poking in, I would most likely miss. My fears were alleviated however as he seemed frozen in place, his pallor growing paler by the second. For a moment I was afraid that he was going to faint. I highly suspected that this was the first time in his life someone had ever pointed a gun at him. The Captain could have done a better job of selecting his guards. Poor Leifur, I actually felt sorry for him. The Sten-gun was harmlessly slung over his shoulder.

“Leifur, listen carefully. Your Captain will be okay,” I was hoping anyway. “Come in now or you will not be.” His eyes kept jumping back and forth from the inert form of Captain Jóhannsson to the threatening maw of the pistol. “I like you Leifur, but do not make the grave mistake of thinking that I will not shoot you if I have to. Now, come in and shut the door behind you.”

My words finally seemed to have sunk in. He swallowed nervously and did as ordered, turning to close the door after doing so. Doing that, he turned to face me again, a hurt expression as though I had betrayed him.

“I’m sorry Leifur, but if you follow my instructions, there is no need for anyone else to get hurt. First, carefully unsling your weapon and lay it on the floor.”

Doing as ordered, Leifur slowly slipped the sling from his shoulder; but then, his gaze shifted to his Stricken Captain. “You said there would be no trouble! I believed you!” He jerked the gun up; leveled the muzzle at me and, closing his eyes, squeezed the trigger. I almost shot him right there out of fear that he may have discovered his oversight. It wasn’t necessary however as the weapon did not fire. As he opened his eyes in puzzlement, I let out the breath I had been holding. He looked down at the Sten-gun with a bewildered expression.

“Now Leifur, put it down. I swear before God that if you try that again, I will indeed shoot you.” His shoulders sagged in resignation and he complied, bending over to place the weapon on the floor. At my command he then kicked it over where it slid to my feet.

Without taking my eyes or aim from him, I squatted down and picked up the ugly little machinegun. “From here on Leifur, I think you should stick to fishing only,” as I raised a thumb to flip the safety off. If he looked betrayed before, his expression now turned to one of utter defeat.

To my right, I heard a moan from Captain Jóhannsson, and could see him beginning to stir in my peripheral vision.

Leifur’s eyes widened. “He really is alive! I thought you had killed him.”

“No Leifur,” I replied. “I don’t want to kill anybody and if you cooperate, it will not have to happen. Now go over there and see to your Captain. I imagine he will welcome a drink of that wine to help alleviate the pain.

==============================================


Chapter Seven – Don’t Drop the Ball

While Leifur was assisting in restoring the Captain, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, relatively safe in the small room with the table between myself and them. Full consciousness had returned to Captain Jóhannsson and for the moment was silent as he gently massaged where I had struck him. I was expecting bullets to fly from his eyes toward me but instead he wore an expression more of hurt than anything else. He had been opening his heart to me, the first person for him to do so since the death of his wife, and I had not repaid him in a very kind manner. I think I would have preferred him mad.

“I am sorry that I had to do that Captain, truly I am; but I did not think that you were going to hand over your pistol simply by my asking...”

He shook his head in disbelief. The look of anguish had not entirely gone away. I was wishing that it would. “So,” he said, “just what do you propose to do now Frau Hessler? Sail this boat all the way to Germany?”

“Now, now Captain. Don’t be facetious. You and I both know that this vessel does not have enough fuel for that; and I highly doubt that we could convince the allies to loan us any along the way. Simply put, I intend to secure the freedom of myself and my crew and see to our safe return to France.”

“My plan is simple, it’s as full of holes as your fishing nets, but as long as nobody tries to become a hero, no one will get hurt. With the exception of breaking my neck with your own hands, I don’t think you want that any more than I do.”

While talking, I had removed the magazine from the Sten-gun and pulled back the bolt to eject the round from the chamber, all the while keeping the revolver close at hand. To my surprise, the chamber was empty. Looking at Leifur, a chastisement came to my lips but he already looked miserable enough so I chose not to rub it in. Somehow, I did not think I would be so lucky as to find his counterpart with the other machinegun quite as careless.

Removing all of the cartridges from the magazine, I then locked it back into the weapon. Setting it down and picking up the revolver, “What we’re going to do next could go any number of ways. Leifur is going to take this Sten-gun and return to the where my men are. He is going to tell his counterpart that you wish to see him and take his place at the door. Leifur, you will wait five minutes after he leaves and then tell my XO, Ringelmann, that I wish my headache powders and then hand the weapon to him. Of course, I expect you to inform him that it is unloaded. You will then lead him back here.”

Leifur’s eyes were wide, his head moving side to side in denial. The look of pain had gone on Captain Jóhannsson’s face; now he just looked amused. “Do you really think that I am going to order him to do that?” he said.

“Yes, I do.” I replied, “Because I am going to sit back down in my chair and be holding this pistol in my lap under that napkin there. It will be aimed straight at you. Should anything else occur other than the return of the other guard, I will shoot you. When he does, you will order him to lay down his weapon.”

Now the Captain was looking disgusted. “After what I have told you, do you really believe that my life is that important to me anymore?”

I was expecting something like that. While formulating my plan, I had also come to the conclusion that Leifur was not of the heroic sort. Like most, he was the type who kept his head down, followed orders, and got by. I was praying fervently that I was right.

“No Captain, I don’t. But I do believe that you still care about the welfare of your men, just as much as Leifur cares about yours.” Shifting my gaze to Leifur, “Do you believe that I will shoot your Captain?”

He thought about this for a moment then slowly shaking his head, “No Frau Hessler. I don’t believe that you will. You are not a murderess.”

I looked at him with a sad expression and sighed. “That is too bad then Leifur. You force me then to go to an alternate plan. You will have only yourself to blame for the results.” I rose, pistol in hand, and picked up the pillow from the bed with the other. Placing it over the muzzle to suppress the sound, I aimed it directly at the Captain who stiffened in preparation for the shot, “I am truly sorry Captain; this is not the way that I wanted it.”

“No! Don’t!” Leifur cried. “I believe you! Alright? I believe you, and God dam you for it!”

Lowering the pillow, but still keeping the revolver pointed in their vicinity, I took a deep breath as I sat back down on the bed. Leifur’s expression of emotional pain was even worse than the Captain’s had been. I think he had truly come to like me a bit and now I appeared to him as some dark, cold-hearted murderess. A good thing for me that they did not see through my bluff. A chill ran through me as a little voice spoke in the back of my mind, “Was it bluff? Really?” The part that chilled me was that I could not truly answer that. All I knew was that I was prepared to go to great extremes to see to the welfare and safety of my crew.

With great anguish in his voice, Leifur apologized to Captain Jóhannsson. “I am sorry Sir, but . . .”

“It is alright Leifur,” said the Captain. With a sigh, “By my orders, do as she says.”

I was opening my mouth to speak when Jóhannsson continued, “You had better get hold of yourself first though. Sveinsson is going to get suspicious if you go there looking as you do. Here,” passing the bottle of wine to Leifur, “drink some of this.”

My thoughts were the same, of which I was about to say something when the Captain spoke up. Leifur took a couple of good swallows from the bottle, looking at me with a countenance of utter contempt. By now, the Captain looked merely resigned.

Jóhannsson was looking at me as he said, “Do I have your word Frau Hessler that none of my men will be harmed?” Leifur followed it with a mumbled, “For what that is worth!”

I was surprised to find that his remark actually hurt. I did not feel good about what I had to do, but the welfare of my crew was of more importance.

“Yes Captain. With your cooperation I give you my solemn oath that I will see to the safety of your men as much as my own.”

With that, he nodded, then turned to Leifur. “Are you ready then?”

Leifur still looked more agitated than I would have liked but I supposed it would have to do. Where’s a good actor when you need one, I thought to myself. Taking no chances, I handed the unloaded Sten-gun to Leifur with my fully extended arm so as not to have to get any closer than necessary; stepping back afterward.

“Tell Sveinsson that I have remembered something I wanted to ask him about that work he did last week on the engines,” the Captain said to Leifur. “Also tell him that you are not feeling well and that he is to come back and relieve you immediately after seeing me.”

Leifur nodded, then to me, “Anything else?”

I shook my head no, but reminded him, “Five minutes Leifur, then . . .”

Cutting me off, “Yes!” I know, hand over the gun and headache powders. I’m not stupid!” an angry Leifur retorted. He really didn’t like me anymore I thought; as he turned and went to the door, opening it, then disappearing into the passageway. Well, for better or for worse, the ball was rolling.

I went over and closed the door then came back and took my place at the table. Doing that, I then rested the pistol in my lap as I draped the linen napkin over it, effectively concealing it from view by anyone coming in the door.

“Thank you for your cooperation Captain. I really don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

With an unmistakable sound of disgust in his voice, “Please Frau Hessler, do not insult me with your banal apologies. I’m cooperating for the sake of my crew and that only. Don’t take it for anything more than that.”

His words cut to the bone. It hurt, for I truly did care about his loss and suffering. On the other hand, this made it easier. I chose to remain silent and sip my coffee while waiting for Sveinsson to arrive; or for all hell to break loose, one or the other.

===============================================


Chapter Eight – Countdown


Leifur approached Sveinsson who languished against the bulkhead opposite the doorway to the Mess. Fearing that Sveinsson would see the deception in his eyes, he kept his gaze downcast as he relayed the Captain’s message.

“I thought he was with that German woman,” Sveinsson exclaimed.

“He is,” replied Leifur, but you also know how he is when he gets his mind on something too. Go on, he is waiting.”

Sveinsson was looking apprehensive. “Well, I hope he isn’t going to -spank me!- at me about those injectors. I told him they were not the right ones; but did he listen to me? No! Say, Leifur. Are you okay? You’re not looking so good.”

“I’m not feeling so great,” which wasn’t exactly a lie for Leifur, “I don’t think the Saltkjöt og baunir is setting with me too well.”

Meanwhile, my XO and some of the others were already aware of my being up to something when I had left. Word had spread and the level of conversation was subdued as they waited for whatever was going to happen. The attention of my XO, Albert, was peaked as he eavesdropped on the conversation going on outside the doorway. There was no knowing what was happening but at least he had heard no gunfire; so far anyway.

Leifur’s thoughts were awhirl. He wanted so badly to do something. Something that would put everything right, but he was so afraid. What if he messed up, What if he got the Captain killed. Would she really do it? She had seemed so nice before. Maybe he’d just better do what the Captain said. He just didn’t know.

“You look like crap!” said Sveinsson, “Maybe if you’re sick, I shouldn’t leave you alone to watch the prisoners then.”

Oh no, thought Leifur, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to go at all. “No, I’ll be okay, really. If I feel too bad, I can always call Gustav out here.”

“Gústav!” exclaimed Sveinsson, “He’d most likely shoot his own foot off!” Sveinsson rubbed his beard as he contemplated his friend’s appearance. This didn’t help Leifur’s nervousness and beads of sweat broke out on his brow.

Sveinsson frowned. “I think we’ll call Gústav out here anyway. You look like you’re about to keel over.” Sveinsson stepped to the doorway and Leifur started to protest but closed his mouth as his counterpart just raised a hand halting further dissent.

Gústav Helgason, the trawlers ‘chef de extraordinaire” poked his head out of the galley whereas Sveinsson motioned him over with a jerk of his head. “I want you to stay out here with Leifur and watch the prisoners until I get back,” stated Sveinsson. “He is not feeling well, which was a definite fact regarding Leifur’s mental state at the moment. “Leifer, give him your gun. No, wait,” as Sveinsson eyeballed Gústav, thinking that he had probably never handled a firearm in his entire life, “instead, you watch the prisoners Leifur, but Gústav,” turning his attention to him, “if he looks like he is about to pass out or something, you take it and watch them, okay?”

Gústav didn’t look overly enthusiastic about the idea but nodded a quiet assent. With that, and somewhat reluctantly, Sveinsson headed off down the passageway to find out what the Captain wanted to -spank me!- about this time.

With a bleak expression, Leifur looked at his watch and made a mental note of when five minutes had passed. Gústav was immediately fidgety. “I can’t wait out here!” he exclaimed, “I have things going in the kitchen!”

Almost relieved to have anything to talk about that would take his mind away from what he was doing, Leifur replied, “Sveinsson will kick your butt if you don’t do as he said.”

With an air of bravado, now that the burly Sveinsson was not present, “No he won’t,” said Gústav, “not if he doesn’t want to be running to the head every ten minutes again.” Defying Sveinsson’s instructions, he flipped the towel he had been holding over his shoulder and proceeded back through the Mess to disappear into the realm of his kitchen.
Leifur couldn’t help himself; a snort and chuckle escaping his lips as he remembered the scene of Sveinsson running for the head with a panicked expression; unbuttoning his trousers along the way. At least he was smarter than Sveinsson. It is not a good idea to get your cook irritated with you. He glanced at his watch again.

From within the Mess, Albert had taken note of Leifur’s preoccupation with the time and turning his head, gave a slight nod to the other officers and non-coms. They discreetly nodded in return and carefully, so as not to attract attention, positioned themselves so as to be able to better spring to action when the moment arrived. It was right then that they all involuntarily jumped when a muffled, distant gunshot reached their ears from the passageway, some of them rising to their feet in a state of apprehension.

Leifur’s head snapped in that direction, looking back down the passageway, then as quickly at his watch. Four minutes had passed. My God he thought, what is happening. Has she killed him? His face screwed up with worry, trying to decide. Then he remembered, the gun was unloaded, there was little he could do if these men decided to rush him. Looking into the Mess, he was startled to see that they looked like that was precisely what many of them were about to do. Marlena’s hunch had been right. Leifur was no hero. Four minutes was close enough. At that, he stepped into the Mess, extending the Sten-gun in an unthreatening fashion to Albert whose eyes, needless to say, had gone wide with surprise. With a resigned sigh, “She said to tell you that she needed her headache powders.”

Leutnant Ringelmann quickly overcame his shock and grabbed the weapon from Leifur’s hands. Giving Leifur a shove toward the door, he exclaimed, “Lead the way! NOW!”

A procession of officers, non-coms and crewmen, led by Leifur and Hessler’s XO armed with the Sten-gun, stormed rapidly up the passageway toward the Captain’s cabin; along the way Albert pulling back the bolt to ensure that the weapon was ready with a round locked and loaded in it’s chamber. He brought up short when to his dismay, the bolt stayed locked back because of the empty magazine. His mouth agape, he looked at Leifur questioningly. Leifur cringed under the accusing glare. In defense, “She did it, not me!”

Albert shook his head in disbelief, wondering just what the holle he was supposed to do with an empty machinegun. Nonetheless, with the sound of that gunshot echoing in his mind, he removed the magazine thus allowing the bolt to go forward, locked it back into place and, with a deep breath of resolve, resumed his hasty progress toward his Kaleun’s location, hoping to holle that he didn’t meet with an armed confrontation along the way.

[Miss Behavin]

Chapter Nine – Roundup Time

For Marlena, time seemed to have stopped altogether. Leifur had left only a few minutes ago but the passing moments of tense silence between herself and Captain Jóhannsson seemed interminable. He was behaving himself, but his icy glare did not make me feel any more comfortable than I already was, which was very little to say the least. Keeping an eye on him with my peripheral vision, I chose not to meet his eyes directly but put on an air of casual indifference by sipping my coffee while we waited. Inside, however, I was anything but calm. I was tense, at any moment expecting to hear chaos as my plan fell apart like smoke in the wind. What seemed like an hour later, yet was less than ten minutes after Leifur’s departure, there was a knock on the door. “It’s Sveinsson sir.”

I looked up at the Captain, who seemed hesitant. I raised a brow and reminded him that I held all the aces, or at least I hoped so, by tapping the underside of the table with the barrel of the revolver. “Remember our agreement Captain.”

He sighed and nodded, then countered with, “Yes, just make sure that you remember yours.” Turning his face toward the door, “Yes Sveinsson, come in.”

The door opened to reveal a curious, but fortunately not suspicious, looking Sveinsson, his hand still holding the doorknob while the wicked-looking Sten-gun lay cradled in his other arm, a finger laying across, but not in the trigger guard. He looked at me, discounted my presence, then returned an inquisitive look to his Captain. No, I thought, do not make the mistake of thinking that Sveinsson may be as careless as Leifur.

Our position within the room was such that my left side was presented to the doorway. With great care so as not to expose the revolver lying hidden on my lap, I turned the muzzle to bring it’s aim toward Sveinsson’s presence; at the same time, lowering my left elbow into my lap while holding the cup of coffee. This posture helped to hide my actions as I raised the muzzle of the Lebel. I dared not look down, wishing not to distract Sveinsson’s attention away from the Captain.

“About the engines, Captain?” Sveinsson inquired.

“Yes, Sveinsson,” replied Jóhannsson, “Do come in, and close the door please.”

The guard frowned at this, now expecting something more lengthy than just a question or two. In a posture of resignation, he stepped inside, turning to close the door behind himself. I chose this moment to look at the captain, giving him a curt nod to continue with my instructions.

As Sveinsson turned back to face us, Captain Jóhannsson said, “Put your weapon down Sveinsson, we have a situation.”

I inwardly groaned, thinking I could have thought of something less alarming to say; then perhaps the Captain meant to say exactly what he had. A deep frown permeated Sveinsson’s features as his mind attempted to take in what was going on. The look did not become him, making him look almost Neanderthalic. His eyes, now filled with suspicion, flitted back and forth between myself and the Captain. Then they dropped to my lap. I had set the cup of coffee down and by doing so, had revealed the black maw of the pistol aimed at his torso.

I was hoping that he wouldn’t, but we don’t always get what we wish for. In that brief instant, dawning came to his eyes as they went wide, his other hand coming across to grasp the mean-looking little machinegun as it was already starting to swing my way. The startled “No!” that spewed forth from the Captain’s lips was drowned out by the loud report as the revolver bucked in my hand.

Although the Lebel is generally considered underpowered, at such close range, the 8mm, 120 gr. chunk of jacketed lead, moving in excess of 800 feet per second, proved quite effective as it caught Sveinsson just under his sternum. He stumbled back hard against the wall and a look of disbelieving surprise encompassed his features. The focus was leaving his eyes as his legs began to give way, allowing him to slowly slide down the wall, the Sten-gun still clutched ineffectively in his right hand.

Captain Jóhannsson, his face suffused with rage, was immediately on his feet, his chair falling backward and I whirled on him, the pistol aimed at his chest. “Sit down!” I yelled at him.

“You gave your word!” he barked at me.

“I gave my word that I would ensure the same safety as that of my crew. I did not promise that I would not defend myself! You knew as well as I that he was about to fire. It is as much your fault for saying what you did, “We have a situation? Jesus Christ! What did you expect him to do? Present flowers?” I retorted.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. The Captain was trembling in a apoplectic rage, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Fearing he would try something, this situation had to be disarmed, and quickly. Attempting to get control of myself, my system on edge with the adrenaline that was coursing through me, I forced myself to speak in a tone less than a scream, “Sit down,” I repeated. It was then that I could hear booted feet thundering up the passageway in this direction. I was fervently doing a mental prayer that it was my men and not any of the trawlers other crewmen. Not wishing to take my eyes off of the Captain, I nonetheless risked a quick glance at the Sten-gun still clutched in Sveinsson’s cooling hands, trying to assess if I could get to it before the approaching throng arrived; not to mention doing so without having the Captain launch himself at me if I did. Deciding not to take the risk, I kept the revolver trained on the Captain and waited for whomever was coming. I was not pleased with doing what I had done, but in the same light, perhaps it would serve a purpose, an example that this was not a game. There would be no doubt from any now that I would do whatever was necessary; no more bluffing; if I ever was.

I did not have to wait long as Albert burst through the door, empty machinegun at the ready, his battle-ready gaze taking in the scene. Not realizing until then that I had been holding my breath, I gasped as I finally allowed myself to breathe. The Captain, seeing that the fight was lost before it even got started, sat down heavily. Seeing that Sveinsson would no longer be a threat to anyone on this world, Albert quickly explained that he had met some of the trawlers crew just as he reached this door. One look however at the Sten-gun in his hands quickly had them turn-tailed and heading back the way they came.

Taking control of the situation before something else went against us, I instructed Albert to take the weapon from the dead Sveinsson and secure the radio room. With a curt nod, this he did and was immediately off, a couple of non-coms on his heels. In his absence, a couple of my crew came into the room, one of them being Leutnant Pfennings. I instructed him to take the empty weapon that Albert had left behind. He would find the bullets concealed under the pillow on the bed. Finding the cartridges, hastened to load the weapon, looking at me for directions after doing so.

“Leave Schuller and Zinke with me, then, with the rest of the men, round up the trawler’s crew. They can be placed in the Mess; and don’t harm any of them unless absolutely necessary. Anyone who does will answer directly to me.” All the time while saying this, I was listening for any further sound of gunfire and was relieved that so far there had been none.

Captain Jóhannsson looked deflated, the fight gone out of him. He was sitting at the table, staring at his hands, a resigned look about him. Getting his attention, I ordered him to his feet and the three of us escorted him back to the Mess that had so recently been the prison for my crew. What crew there was that had not vacated when Albert led the charge to my rescue earlier, had been conscripted into the search for the trawler’s crewmen, leaving only the wounded behind. Overhead, I could hear booted feet and the muffled chaos of orders being given as they were rounded up.

Upon entering the mess, the cook Gústav had been nervously peering out of his kitchen but had ducked back into hiding as soon as we had entered. Instructing Schuller and Zinke to round up the personal effects of our crew and move them over near the door, I ordered the Captain to have a seat at the far end of the room. I then approached the kitchen, wary as I reminded myself of the assorted array of sharp objects Gústav had at hand in there.

Standing just at the edge of the doorway, without exposing myself, I called out for Gústav to come out of there. His frightened reply was that he was afraid that I was going to shoot him. I could tell from the sound of his voice that he as somewhere at the far side of the galley so, taking a small risk, I stepped into the doorway to see him against the far wall, a rather nasty looking butcher knife clutched in one hand.

Sighing to myself, “Gústav, what are you doing? Do you really want to use that?” I inquired, now holding the gun in a non-threatening posture at my side. His eyes darted back and forth as though looking for an escape from the room. To his misfortune, there was only one doorway and I was standing right in the middle of it. “No, not really,” he replied; then with more conviction, “But you’re going to shoot me!”

“Gústav, listen to me. Why would I want to shoot you? Your cooking is fabulous and were I to do so, which I have absolutely no intention of, my crew would most likely mutiny against me in retaliation.”

That elicited an embarrassed grin out of him. Lowering his blade, “Really?” he said.

“Yes, really!” I replied. “Look. Your crew still needs you, my men still need you, and I need you. If your cooking was a man, I would seduce him.” Gústav grinned, flushing with embarrassed pride. “You are really wasting your time here. You should be cooking in a fine restaurant.” He had unconsciously put the knife down, attuned and eager for more compliments. I was beginning to wonder if the crew of this boat realized how lucky they were. I continued to ply his ego with culinary compliments until he had all but forgotten his earlier fear. In the meantime, I could hear my crew escorting those of the trawler into the Mess hall. Stepping farther into the Galley so as not to invite a foolish attempt by one of the trawler crew to go for my gun, I continued talking to Gústav until he was satisfied that no one meant him any harm, certainly none amongst my crew. I teased him about how, given my choice, I would like to kidnap him for my own personal cook. With that he was happy again and was going back to what he did best. Nonetheless, glancing at the rack of knives, I made a mental note to leave the revolver with somebody to maintain an attentive but non-threatening watch on him.

Coming out to assess the current situation, Albert explained to me that the roundup went relatively well for the most part. A few resisted and one turned into a scuffle but the presence of the Sten-guns quickly humbled any over-enthusiastic sense of resistance. At this time, others were transferring my wounded to the more comfortable bunks of the trawler crew. I could not help but notice that Dorwald was looking much worse and it tore at my heart that there was nothing I could do for him.

I instructed Albert to set up a rotating watch, based more on the number of bunks available than anything else and to make it clear that I would not tolerate any pilfering of belongings from the vessels crew. It would not go well with them if I learned of it.

I took a few moments to explain to Jóhannsson’s men the situation and that as long as they behaved themselves, no one would be hurt and that they would be treated humanely. With a little cooperation, this would all be over soon enough and they could get back to their lives as they were before coming across us. With that, I handed the revolver over to another of my officers with instructions regarding Gústav, then collected Wiese, my radio operator, and headed for the wireless room. We had a message to get off. I just had to figure out how to code it so that the allies, who would no doubt intercept it, would not be able to decipher the important parts. On the other hand, there were things I wanted to be sure that they understood perfectly; like our possession of hostages. I was hoping that they would be our life insurance.

==============================================


Chapter Ten – Woolgathering

Seaman 1st Class Wiese stopped tapping the telegraph key. “Whew! That is it, Kaleun Hessler, finished. Do you think they picked it up?”

I looked at the clock on the bulkhead over the radio; 1242 hours. That was a lot of message to send and I offered Wiese an apologetic smile. “Thank you Seaman Wiese. We can only hope so. But then,” patting his shoulder, “you get to do it all over again in four hours.” Poor Wiese groaned in mock despair but smiled as I knew that he was eager to assist in any way he could to help get us out of our predicament.

It had now been twenty-one and a half hours since sending our SOS from U-406. By the logs and charts aboard the trawler, Leutnant Pfennings placed us, as near as he could reckon, at the grid coordinates of AD5378. Albert, who had been invaluable in helping me get command of this vessel and everything assessed and in order, was standing by.

“Well Albert. The die is cast. Now we will see. Set course for AD2833.”

Albert smiled, “Jawohl, Kaleun Hessler.” He turned on his heel and exited the radio shack; heading for the bridge to see my orders carried out. The confines of the small radio room was stuffy so I stepped outside to get some air and clear my head. Albert knew as well as I that there was no doubt that the allies had intercepted that message. Even before it was finished they had probably already scrambled aircraft and were out looking for us. All we could do was hope that they had not gotten a fix on our radio signal and pinpointed our position precisely. If not, that might buy us a little more time. Either way, I had no doubt that they would eventually find us. The weather had that strange quality to it that leaves one guessing as to what it is going to do. Frankly, I was hoping for a cloud ceiling that would put their aircraft on the ground.

Would the hostage ploy work? All we could do is hope so. If not, then we were sailing to our deaths. No armor, guns, nothing to fend off any attacking aircraft; just bluff. At six knots, eight if we wanted to risk an engine breakdown, which I certainly did not, we would be at the rendezvous coordinates in nineteen hours; roughly 0700 hours tomorrow morning.

There was no way of knowing if there was another U-boat in the area. It was quite possible that by now they had expended all of their torpedoes and were halfway back home by now, if not already there. I looked out to sea, squinting my eyes as if I were silly enough to believe that I would see anything. Are you out there my love. I snickered to myself. My God Marlena, how could he possibly have any idea how you felt, I mused. What, one lingering touch of hands before dashing off to another session of holle. I shook my head in self-flagellation. Marlena, you are being pathetic. Do you really think he would be interested in somebody who may very well be dead before this war is over? Probably not.

But, it was all I had. Even if they were false hopes, they were hopes nonetheless. I glanced skyward. What about you God, are you listening? Just once, that’s all that I ask. Let me live just long enough to feel the caress of those warm hands one more time, that’s all I ask. That’s not too much is it? No fortunes. No requests to live forever. I’ve never asked You for much, just a touch, that’s all I ask for now and then you can take me; I will go happy.

I realized that I was not alone and shook myself out of my reverie to see Wiese standing at the railing alongside. He had a silly grin on his face and I could feel the heat as my face flushed with girlish embarrassment for having been caught woolgathering.

I grinned back, “What are you looking at Wiese, and what’s so funny, eh?”

Wiese wiped the grin from his face but I could still see it lingering there just beneath the surface. “Nothing Kaleun Hessler. I was just wondering that’s all.”

“Wondering what?” I inquired.

His young features were all seriousness now as he replied, “If that’s what it’s like?”

I threw him a puzzled frown, “What on earth are you talking about, make sense sailor.”

He smiled again, and, looking a little embarrassed himself now, he said, “Love, Kaleun Hessler; if that’s what love is like?”

His statement startled me. Did it really show? Was that truly what I was feeling? Then I thought of his green eyes that changed hue with his mood. His charm, his wit, and even his sometimes silliness. Then the sum of it all struck me. Yes, it was; and I could feel that smile come to my face again.

Wiese’s cry of delight snapped me out of it again. “That, Frau Hessler! When you get that smile, that look. Is that what love does to you?” He had that silly grin again and for the first time I really looked at him. He was so young. He’d have still been in school when the war started. What with the war and everything that goes with it, it was most likely that he had yet never experienced a true relationship with a girl; at least nothing beyond an evening of delight and an empty wallet to show for it in the morning; and for the first time I was truly scared, no, terrified. With the exception of some of my non-coms and officers, they were all just like Wiese, so young; and I was responsible for all of them.

Clearing my throat and recomposing myself, I said, with a mock tone of stern reprisal, “And what do you know about the subject Wiese. Go on with you. Get back to your station in case (albeit unlikely on open band) someone responds to our transmission.”

Wiese turned his head to look amusedly at the open door of the radio shack only a few feet away. “But Kaleun Hessler, I can hear it just fine from here. Besides, everyone knows.”

Now this really startled me. “What do you mean, everyone knows?” I demanded.

The tone of my voice had apparently changed and the grin fled from his face. He now looked like he was regretting ever asking. He was casting a sidelong look at the radio shack as if it were a den to escape to as he was attempting to stammer out a reply.

I realized that perhaps I had been harsh. Not meaning too, only that this revelation had set me off balance. I grasped his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “It’s okay Wiese. I did not mean to snap at you. I was just surprised that’s all.” In a gentler tone, “Now, would you please tell me what you meant by, everyone knows. Knows what?”

My flare of emotion had now startled Seaman Wiese and he was reminded that this was his commander he was talking to. Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than here, “Just that, well, that you are in love Kaleun Hessler. You get that look all the time, more so when it is slow and nothing is happening.”

I realized that I was frowning and Wiese must have taken it the wrong way for he quickly added, “Nobody is making fun Kaleun Hessler. We are all happy for you.”

With that he clammed up, nervously fidgeting about. I smiled at him and told him it was okay. Though I know that I didn’t really have to tell him, I reminded him to be sure not to get out of earshot of the radio. With that I walked off, leaving Wiese standing there with a forlorn look as though he feared he had revealed something that he wasn’t supposed to.

I headed forward, dumbstruck, amazed that I had not noticed this. Everybody? My God! How many times had I been seen daydreaming, gathering wool as some put it. And to think that I had been complemented in the past for being observant of details. I snorted a derisive laugh at that. Now that was a joke. I was now disgusted with myself. To the crew I must look like some whimsical schoolgirl; her head in the clouds with romantic fantasies.

I must have had a ‘sour lemons’ look on my face as I came onto the bridge for Albert did a double-take then asked what was wrong. With a tone of vexation in my voice, I told him what Wiese had told me. “Why didn’t you tell me Albert. How long were you going to let me wander about the boat looking like some whimsically romantic schoolchild?”

Now it was my turn to catch somebody off guard as Albert looked genuinely surprised. “I thought you knew Marlena. There is practically nothing that you miss. I just assumed that you knew.”

Albert had been the one person aboard the boat whom from day one I was able to speak openly to about almost anything, especially where the boat or crew were concerned. I had trusted him assiduously. I was angry and did not attempt to hide it. I knew I had to get a grip on myself but right now I was feeling more the woman than the U-boat commander and I didn’t want to. The loss of my boat, the downward trend of the war, losing members of my crew, Dorwald down there dying and nothing I could do about it, being in . . . .

Yes, say it . . . love.

I fled the bridge to step outside. I could feel Albert’s presence as he followed me. Turning to face him, “I’m sorry Albert.”

Looking completely perplexed, “For what? For being human?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m being such a woman!”

With that Albert looked amused. “Well, you will forgive me for saying so Kaleun Hessler, but most have taken notice that,” ahem, “you are one; and if I may add, one helll of a woman as well.”

“I can’t afford to be Albert. There are too many things at stake, lives if nothing else. I have to be strong.”

“And you are Marlena! More than you apparently know. You inspire this crew Marlena. They would follow you anywhere and I can tell you for a fact that there are more than a few who have bloodied their knuckles against those who would berate you. He’s one lucky S.O.B. and I’ll bet he doesn’t even have a clue. Have you ever said anything to him?”

I shook my head no. “Does anyone else know who it is Albert? Anyone amongst the crew?”

“I haven’t told them,” he replied. “Oh, there have been a few who have asked but I tell them nothing; only that when you are ready for them to know, then they will know.”

We were mutually silent for a moment, then he added, “They’re behind you Marlena; and know this, that should he ever hurt you, there’s going to a boatload of pissed-off U-boatmen looking for his sorry arse.

I started laughing. He had done it again. Albert always did have a knack for drawing me out of my darker moods. He was smiling at me and I shook my head in exasperation. “Well!” I snipped, “He’d just better not pee me off then, huh?”

We both turned and watched the sky for aircraft and silently bemoaned the realization that the seas were picking up again.

==============================================


Chapter Eleven – So Close Yet So Far

Sleep had been fitful at best. Looking at my watch showed 0334 on the morning of April first and I was considering abandoning the idea of getting any decent rest when a hand was shaking me awake. “Kaleun Hessler,” the hand shook me again, “Kaleun Hessler, wake up! It’s an aircraft!”

The word aircraft brought me instantly awake and I flung back the blankets, swinging my legs to the floor as I was grabbing for my trousers. The hand belonged to Chief Petty Officer Dübner and I asked him what time it was as not the least amount of light was coming in through the porthole. He did not immediately answer which caused me to look up at him as I was starting to pull my trousers on. Before retiring, I had stripped down to just my blouse as a nightshirt and Dübner’s mind was obviously elsewhere while he was enjoying an unobstructed view of my legs.

“Dübner!” My raised voice broke his lascivious musings and with a start, he reluctantly brought his eyes to meet mine, coming to attention at the same time; well, as much as one could on a rolling deck. “Jawohl, Kaleun Hessler!”

Hastening in completing my dress, “Are the prisoners being taken on deck as instructed?” glancing at my watch.

“Jawohl, Leutnant Ringelmann is seeing to that now,” he replied. As I was fastening the last few buttons, I was amusedly watching Dübner’s face turn an interesting shade of red as the realization came over him that he had been caught openly voyeurizing his Commander’s legs. “Go ahead,” I told him, “I’ll be right there.” Chief Petty Officer Dübner did not hesitate to make good his escape

There were far more serious happenings occurring lately for me to start overly worrying about my privacy now. I had long ago all but given up on much of that anyway once I had taken command of a U-boat. Privacy aboard a submarine is an extremely rare thing, when one can find it at all. As I started tying my shoes, I became more aware of the pitching deck. Oh-six-thirty, almost at our rendezvous point. The rolling of the vessel told me that the seas had grown during the night. The deck would be dangerous out there. Remembering my word to Captain Jóhannsson regarding the safety of his crew, I hoped that Arnold had the foresight to be using safety lines.

Throwing on my tunic, I made my way to the passageway and up to the bridge. I had to go outside for part of this journey and the bitterly cold air all but snatched my breath away. After numerous watches on the tower of a U-boat, you would think one would get used to it. You never do. The vessel was shrouded in a thick haze of fog and it always struck me as strange that the wind did not dissipate it. It was still very dark with only a faint glow beginning to line the horizon and pausing to glance up before entering the bridge, I was not pleased to be seeing stars twinkling in the night sky. There would be no hindrance to aircraft today.

Bright work lights had been turned on over the aft work deck where my XO, Leutnant Albert Ringelmann, would be gathering some of our prisoners where those in the aircraft could plainly see them. This is where the gamble came into play. Those lights made us a sitting duck of a bulls-eye. I had mentioned hostages in the message sent out yesterday. Would the allies take that into account or just think that we were bluffing and blow us out of the water. I hoped to holle that they were taking a close look before making any hasty decisions.

Leutnant Pfennings was on the bridge and I looked at him inquiringly as I came into the relative warmth of the interior. “Well?”

“It’s hard to make out Kaleun Hessler,” he replied. Definitely four engines, most likely one of their B-24’s. He, like all the others, knew the risk we were taking, but if he felt any fear, he hid it well behind a calm demeanor. Continuing, “It has already made two passes. That pilot is crazy! Any lower and he will be in the water next to us. Kaleun, we are almost at the rendezvous point, your instructions?”

With the seas running like they were, I did not have to spend any time thinking about it. “Maintain enough rpm’s to run with the sea. Even were the water calm, we have to keep our engines running. It may be the only way a searching U-boat will be able to find us.” He acknowledged my commands with a nod then turned to look out the windows as the roar of the approaching aircraft fell upon our ears. I could feel myself tense in anticipation of an attack but it did not come. Too dark to make out the type of aircraft, he was however, low enough and close enough that I got a fleeting glimpse of blue exhaust flame from the powerful radials as it flashed past. Looking back at Pfennings with raised brows, “He really is crazy!”

Neither of us had to speak of our major fear, next to that of being attacked by enemy aircraft. Even if there were a U-boat out there to rescue us, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in holle that we could conduct a transfer in seas this rough. Somebody would wind up going overboard and getting crushed between the hulls of the two vessels. Not to mention that there wasn’t a U-boat commander out there who would be crazy enough to surface while any planes were around. All we could do was hope that the seas would alleviate and that that aircraft would be unable to send an accurate fix on our position for the next one to find us.

The large aircraft made a few more low passes before climbing to a safer altitude. It was a tense moment each time he did. I’ve no doubt that they were on their radio to their command requesting instructions; monitor or attack? I could only imagine how tense those fellows exposed on the aft deck must have felt. After a few moments, and to our great relief, the aircraft backed off. Unfortunately, however, it did not go away entirely, but maintained a constant distance in a lazy circle around us. By now it was light enough that the plane could be made out and it was indeed one of their large Liberator bombers. I now knew how it felt to be a bug caught out in the open with nowhere to hide; just waiting to be crushed at any moment.

After while, the door to the bridge banged open; having been caught by the wind and jerked out of Albert’s hand. He secured it and stood there a moment, blowing into his cupped hands to warm them. I would have liked to have offered him some hot coffee, but under these conditions, the cook Gústav would be doing good to be able to offer anything more than cold sandwiches. After a moment, he thrust his chilled hands into his pockets and reported that the prisoners had been taken below; needless to say both Germans and Icelanders alike grateful to be back in out of the cold.

“We were out there long enough for them to get a good look,” he reported. “I suppose I don’t have to tell you that what we’re doing is against the Geneva Convention.”

I countered with, “Desperate times, Albert; desperate times.” We were both silent for a moment with our own thoughts, then I asked him, “What do you think?”

He looked contemplative for a moment then said, ”I think that your hunch is right.”

I waited for more and after a moments thought on the matter, he acquiesced. “I have no doubt that yesterday’s transmission was intercepted and that they are now waiting for a boat to show up for us. They already got ours and can now get us any time they want. We’re now the bait for something better. The real question is how long will they play the game. Unless these seas subside, there is no way that we are going to be rescued today. How long will they be willing to dangle us on the end of their line waiting for a big fish to take the bait?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t know, who does. Actually, I don’t think they will attack us at all as long as they believe the crew of this vessel are still aboard. We are harmless to them now and the scandal would be devastating if the news of it got out. If anything, I think we’ll know that they’ve given up on a rescue boat showing up about the time we see a destroyer coming over the horizon. If there’s one nearby, which I’ll venture there is, or soon will be, they’re staying out of sight so as not to scare anyone off until they’re ready to spring the trap.”

“So,” he replied, “Unless these seas subside and those aircraft go away, it’s only a matter of time then before they scoop us up like a school of minnows in a seine net and we spend the rest of the war as POW’s.”

As much as I hated to admit it, I had to concur with him. There had to be a way. Just what? “Not if I have anything to say about it Albert. On the other hand, the trick with walking a fine line is knowing when to give up before I get us all killed. I’m just not ready to give up yet.”

With that, I turned my back on him to gaze out at the sea, signaling that the conversation on that subject was over for the time being. In the haze of the fog my mind’s eye could see his face, his green eyes searching. Are you out there my love? The drone of the ever present aircraft provided background to my thoughts. If you are, for God’s sake peek at the skies before you show yourself.

The day seemed interminable as hour after hour ticked past on the trawler’s chronometer. Between the rolling sea and the dashed hopes of surveillance aircraft departing only to be replaced with another soon after, sometimes even before the first one left, the glimmer of hope in being rescued began to wane as exhaustion took over. Bracing oneself against a rolling deck soon takes a lot out of you and after a whole day of it, conversations had subsided to a melancholy silence and tempers were short. Unlike a U-boat, we could not descend to a depth where our progress was calm. We had no choice but ride it out.

My message had been well over twenty-four hours ago and if there was a boat in the area, he could have easily been here by now, but then, perhaps not if he had to stay submerged all this time because of the aircraft menace. All I knew was that we had so far seen nothing. Of course, it would have taken a miracle to spot a scope on these seas anyway. He could be almost right alongside and we probably wouldn’t spot it. By now, there was no doubt that the enemy knew our exact coordinates and one plane would go away only to be replaced by another.

Studying the charts, looking for anything that would provide an epiphany, something of a plan began to form in my head. A weak one yes, but it was something. I searched their charts for more detailed ones of the Iceland coast and finding one, began to piece it together. An hour later I was explaining my idea to Albert and my other officers.

“I don’t know,” Albert pondered, “it could work, but only if there’s one of our boats in the area, and if the sea is still rough . . .” he trailed off.

“It’s not going to be as rough in one of those fiords,” I stated, “and regardless, this position is blown. The allies know we are here and they’re going to keep watching until a U-boat shows up so they can blast it out of the water; or give up altogether and have a destroyer down on top of us.”

I knew, just like me that they were hoping beyond hope that those planes would go away, and somehow we would be able to board a rescuing submarine and be out of here. They also knew just as well, that between the aircraft and these seas, it wasn’t going to happen. Just nobody wanted to openly say it.

Albert broke the contemplative silence with, “It’s something anyway. More than we have to hope for the way things are right now. It’s your decision Kaleun.”

Yes, I thought, ultimately it was my decision. I suppose there was a small chance that the skies would become untenable for aircraft and possible that the seas would calm; and it was also quite likely that rather than let us get away under both conditions, they would call a destroyer in here to snatch us up. It could be even worse. If there were no destroyer, they just might decide after all to sink us on the spot before letting us sail off to God knows where.

Taking a moment to look each one of them in the eye, I then stated, “Alright then, it is decided. We continue with our routine pattern, running with these seas and holding this position, hopefully, making them believe that we aren’t going anywhere. After it becomes dark,” looking at my watch, “which will be in a few more hours, we try to slip away.”

“Do we send a signal to BdU?” asked one of the others.

As much as I would have liked to inform command of our plans, we didn’t dare, not yet. We couldn’t afford to tip the enemy off that we were changing anything.

“No, too risky,” I answered.

Turning my attention to Leutnant Pfennings, “The weather?”

“More clouds Kaleun,” he replied. “With God’s will and a little luck, we’ll have a good overcast by nightfall,” he finished with a smirk.

Without the slightest jest in my voice, “Let us hope so Pfennings, let us hope so.”

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Chapter Twelve – Jóhannsson Goes Home

Oh-seven-hundred hours, the fifth of April, found us in a dense fog that mandated sharp lookouts posted at all times. We had made it to the inlet but our speed was down to a crawl. We had come so far that I didn’t want to end it now by running us aground or, more likely, tearing the bottom out on jagged volcanic rock, much of which Iceland was made up of. The seas had calmed down, much to the relief of everyone below, but had been replaced with this pea-soup we were trying to see through. I’m not sure which was worse. On the bright side, however, it made it a holle of a lot harder for the enemy to find us too.

Pfennings, who had always had a good sense for the weather, had been right. The night of the first had indeed become more overcast with a lowered ceiling; just the ticket for putting those damnable aircraft on the ground. After more than half an hour had passed since the last one had shadowed us, we had decided it was then or never and turned the prow of the trawler eastward, somewhat.

We could have been here the day before but there was no guarantee of how long the weather would hold in our favor. I feared that if it did not, the allies would have planes all over the place trying to find us again. I held no doubt that one of the courses they would have searched would have been the shortest one heading directly toward Iceland. Therefore, we didn’t take it; instead, opting for a roundabout course that resembled the arched flight path an arrow would make when fired for maximum range.

The days preceding arrival to our current position did not bear much worth mentioning as nothing noteworthy had befallen us along the way. We were all jittery though and on more than one occasion the watch would call out an aircraft warning, having us all jumping to our feet, believing he had heard one only to discover it had been a false alarm. Of course, whoever had made the call was always embarrassed and received a fair share of ribbing for it, but I did not wish to discourage it. Better false alarms than to have my watch discount the sound of approaching engines as his imagination and give late warning; not that there was a whole lot we could do about it if there had been.

After three days of rough seas, false sightings, and now the requirement of straining all of one’s senses to keep us off the rocks, much of the crew were exhausted and I’d had my XO reduce the watch to shorter shifts. The passing of Dorwald on the morning of the 2nd, even though expected, had not helped the general morale either. Theil, the other seaman with serious wounds, had fared better and was still with us but Albert informed me that he could not last much longer if he did not get care soon; more than he was able to provide with what he had at hand.

We had entered Breidafjordur Bay and since the fog prevented taking a sighting with the sextant, we were following much closer to the northern shore than one would deem safe. It served two purposes however, allowing the watch to hear the surf breaking upon the rocks somewhere off to our left, while at the same time, reducing our chance of discovery by aircraft by hugging the coastline. I also wished to avoid being seen by any of the fishing boats from the Eider colonies that dotted many of the islands within the bay.

By that afternoon, the fog had cleared enough that dead reckoning and a lot of luck found us, surprisingly enough, at our first destination, somewhere along the coastline just west of Reykhólar. Studying the charts, we determined that Captain Jóhannsson and his crew could walk to the township in no more than four to five hours. This is where we would put them ashore.

Albert informed me that many of the crew were not overly happy by this decision but I told him I had given the Captain my word. Putting them off elsewhere did not guarantee that they would find shelter before nightfall. I was not going to risk their freezing to death before they could find succor.

“What about one of those islands and fishing villages?” he had asked.

“And risk their having a radio that he would get to even sooner?” I replied. “No, and that’s the end of the debate Albert. I gave my word.”

Albert knew that when I got that tone in my voice, there was no arguing the issue with me; my decision was firm. I knew that as soon as Captain Jóhannsson found a radio, he would immediately be contacting the authorities and the search would be on for us again, if it had ever stopped. By putting them off here, and at this time, it would be dark by the time they reached Reykhólar. That would increase our chances of slipping away unseen; albeit not without the dangers of running aground on any one of the myriad of islands along the way.

During our few discussions while enroute, I had informed the Captain of my intentions, and of where we would put them ashore. At the same time however, I had taken care to misinform him of our intentions to head back out to sea for I had no doubt that upon reaching civilization, he would inform the allies of any of our plans he had managed to learn.

While my men saw to lowering the vessel’s dinghy, I had the Captain and his crew brought up on deck. Under my orders, they had been provisioned with cold-weather gear and provisions, even though they could make Reykhólar shortly after nightfall. I wasn’t taking any more chances with their lives than need be. I had given my word.

A gravelly shore that one could easily and safely reach lay off to port about one hundred meters. Not a few of his crew seemed surprised that we were releasing them, having expected more sinister doings with their disposal.

“So Frau Hessler, this is it then.” More a statement from Jóhannsson than a question.

“I’m afraid so Captain.” There was little I could say that would make things any better so I chose not too.

As his men were getting into the boat, the Captain studied me for a moment then sighed, “You know I have every reason to hate you, but I find that I cannot. I wish that we could have met under better circumstances Marlena,” the first time he had referred to me by my given name. A longing look had come to his eyes. He nodded to himself, as if he were conceding to an inner revelation. “You are one holle of a woman Marlena and, whoever he is, he is a very lucky man. I wish you both luck.” he turned and climbed down into the dinghy with his men. “My God!” I thought. Was there no one who did not know?

As the small boat pulled away from us, his back was to us. I waited a moment to see if he would look back, but he never did. Still watching them as they neared the beach, I told my XO, “Get us out of here Albert, ahead standard.”

We chose a route back out that would follow the coastline again but, now that we could see, one not quite as close to the shoreline’s menacing teeth of jagged rocks. The night was, for the most part, uneventful, to which I had no complaint. There were a couple of tense moments during when aircraft passed close enough to be heard, their Leigh lights searching the surface ahead of them. There was no doubt of who they were looking for and a shiver ran through me as I realized that should they find us again, they would not let us escape a second time. Their presence in the bay told me that Jóhannsson and his men had made it to safety and, despite the added risk for us, I was glad of it.

With the fog gone, the first light of dawn on the sixth saw us rounding the promontory near Látrabjarg where I ordered the helmsman to follow a course close in to the shoreline. Despite the increased dangers, the cliffs and shore would help conceal us from searching eyes, whether from the sea or the air. It did not have to be said that a sharp lookout was kept on the bow for deadly rocks that may lie hidden under the swells. I hoped that this tactic, although much longer than a direct course, would help conceal us from our pursuers until we could turn into the inlet of Amarfjordur. It was there that I hoped to secure a hiding place until I could decide what to do next. I could not help but wonder if we were just postponing our inevitable capture, or worse, but as long as the fuel and food held out, I was not giving up. My one regret was that Gústav Helgason’s culinary skills were going to be sorely missed.

==============================================


Chapter Thirteen – The Language of Music

Concern had been expressed regarding the possibility of our being spotted from shore. This could not be helped and had to be viewed as the lesser of two evils; being spotted by a civilian who would, hopefully, just pass the sighting off as one of the many trawlers that plied the waters off Iceland, or, risk the scrutiny of allied military intervention. One thing in our favor is that this trawler bore little difference from the many others out there and I was hoping that the allies would be hard-pressed to single us out from the others. I had even gone so far as to have anyone exposed to view, such as the watch, wear the foul-weather gear and coveralls of the former crew over their uniforms.

As I pondered our situation, I knew that the odds were stacked against us. We were far from the last coordinates we had given to BdU. Five days had passed now from the time we said that we would be there. The allies knew of our existence in their waters and were busily searching for us, and the list went on and on. For all I knew, Ubootflottillekommand had given us up for lost, or captured by now. They would be well within reason to have done so. Hope was becoming harder to hang onto and my mood today was not a jovial one. On a brighter note, as I glanced up at the clock, 21:45 hours had seen fate smile upon us once more with the passing of another day without us being found by the enemy. Still, my inner dread only made me wonder what tomorrow would hold for I was fresh out of ideas. To send another signal long enough to give our status and coordinates would only have the enemy aircraft swarming down upon our heads again. No, I was having a very difficult time maintaining hope of our rescue.

I was sitting at the table in the former Captain’s cabin studying charts and looked up as Leutnant Pfennings came in to tell me that we had just completed rounding the promontory and were on a southeasterly course following the southern shore of the Amarfjordur coastline. I instructed him to follow it for a few hours before beginning a close scrutiny for any potential places where one could hide a trawler.

I had not turned my attention back to the charts for more than a few moments before Wiese, my radio operator, burst into the room, winded from his headlong dash from the radio shack. “Kaleun Hessler! Come quick!”

My first thought was a communiqué from one of our boats and I was quick on my feet to follow him back to the radio-room. All that met my ears upon our arrival was a tune that I could not help but smile at as it brought back pleasant memories of better times and someone I sorely missed. J'attendrai was very popular at that time and it was known amongst the crew that it was one of my favorites; not so favorite though as to warrant Wiese’s breakneck race to bring it to my attention. I was about to inform him that although I appreciated his attention to my musical preferences, I had considerably more important things to think about at this time. I had to admit that I was disappointed and not a little irritated that he had drug me up here just for this.

Before I could say anything however, he was thrusting a sheet of foolscap at me. “Look, Kaleun! A message! It has to be! Once the music began . . . ”

Weise’s excitement was obvious and I tried not to get my hopes up too much as I took the message from him. It had been in Morse and, with nothing better to do, he had been translating it into something readable. It read as thus:

NORWEGIAN TRAWLER KAMPETORSK 735 REQUESTING ASSISTANCE IN SEARCH OF LOST COMPANION STOP
NORWEGIAN TRAWLER KAMPETORSK 735 REQUESTING ASSISTANCE IN SEARCH OF LOST COMPANION STOP
PROCEEDING WESTWARD AT LOW SPEED STOP
KAPT PETERSEN

The combination of 735, the number of Wolfgang’s boat, along with his last name at the end of the message, albeit with a T versus a D, was too much for coincidence. My heart leapt with joy and I could feel my eyes welling with tears as Weise and I looked at the speaker as the last few bars of J'attendrai reached our ears.

Had one been watching us they would have thought us mad as both Weise and I burst out in joyful laughter. I could not help myself and threw my arms about him and we danced about in the close confines of the radio shack in jubilation.

It was then that Albert and a few others, alerted by our mad dash through the boat, reached the door to find us in this embrace, madly giggling with joy and jumping up and down.

Albert blinked a few times with shocked amazement, no doubt thinking perhaps we had both received a massive jolt of electricity from the radio circuitry and had lost our minds as a result. I caught sight of him in my peripheral vision and, quickly remembering myself, broke free of Weise and turned to face Albert, extending the message for him to read himself. Regaining my composure, I still could not wipe the idiotic grin from face. “It is him! He is coming!” I exclaimed. “Yes!”

Albert was still looking at me somewhat nervously as he tentatively reached for the foolscap. “Who is coming,” he inquired. “Kaleun Hessler, get hold of yourself.”

Smiling at him, I sang, “J'attendrai, Le jour et la nuit, j'attendrai toujours, Ton retour.”

My XO was becoming even more alarmed looking. With a hiss of exasperation, I elaborated, “Wolfgang! Herr Pedersen and the U-735! HE is coming!” I exhorted.

His look of dismay turned to a frown as he still tried to make what I was saying come together in his own mind. As I began explaining to him, he read the message and not only his face, but those of the others outside the door began to light up with renewed hope. One of them could not help himself and dashed off to tell the rest of the crew, his proclamations of “They’re coming for us!.” Fading into the distance as he disappeared below. I could soon hear the cheers as this news spread amongst the crew. I had not been the only one who was having difficulty in maintaining hope.

Turning to Weise, who sat at the telegraph key in anticipation, I took a few moments to think. It was dangerous, sending a broadcast, but I HAD to let him know that we were still out there and not dead or captured. I had to keep it very short though or the allies would be sure to triangulate our location.

Committing myself to it I told Weise, “Send this then, ICELANDIC TRAWLER NACHTGESPENST ENROUTE STAND BY MAYBE 24 HOURS. 406 KM AWAY. HANS DRAKKAR

We crowded around Weise as he took the note he had written as I spoke, adjusted the gain on the transmitter, and began tapping out our message. It would have to be enough, I dared not send more.

After he had finished, Albert looked at me questioningly, “Nightghost?

I simply smiled and told him of one of our many conversations at the Drakkar that involved music. There was one of those catchy little tunes that came out in ’39 called Das Nachtgespenst (The Nightghost) , and both Wolfgang and I had laughed over the fact that as much as we liked it, it was one of those numbers that drove you crazy because you couldn’t get it out of your head once you had listened to it. We had even more chuckles over it because I used to hum it to myself but in my mind, I had replaced Das Nachtgespenst in the song with “Etappendienst.”

“So,” I went on to elaborate, “I think that the combinations of Nightghost, 406, and Drakkar, will be more than enough to let him know whose transmitting.

Albert looked at me shaking his head, but at least he didn’t look like he thought I was crazy any more. Then again, maybe I was; crazy in love anyway.

He chuckled at my ploy then asked, “What now?”

“Well first,” I replied, “we all get out of here before we crush Seaman Weise here. After that,” I took a breath, “I don’t know. I need time to think. I am afraid to meet him on open waters. There are just too many planes.”

From there we went back to my cabin to discuss our options with instructions to Weise to call me, no matter what time, should any more messages come through from Pedersen.

==============================================


Chapter Fourteen – Shhh! Be Quiet!

We were still discussing plans in regard to how we could safely rendezvous with U-735 when a seaman, pausing to catch his breath, knocked at the open doorway, “Kaleun Hessler, the radio room.” Again, at the mention of radio, I was immediately on my feet and heading that way, Albert and others following.

We arrived at the radio shack to hear Morse still coming through, Weise concentrating as he deciphered the code onto a piece of foolscap. Glancing at the clock showed the time at three minutes past the hour. I watched anxiously as Weise kept writing, one slow letter at a time. He knew I was standing there and without looking up smiled, an enthusiastic nod of acknowledgement accompanying it.

A moment later, the Morse signal stopped and Seaman Weise tore off the paper from his pad and handed it to me. As I began reading, the first bars of " La Vie En Rose" began coming from the radio speaker. A smile spread across my face as I listened to the music, part of my attention on that, the rest on the message.

THIS IS KAMPETORSK735 STOP
GOOD EVENING HANSUR YOU OLD GHOST STOP
LOOKING FOR YOUR BUCKET SINCE WE LOST OUR NETS STOP
HAVE CLEANED OUT CARGO BAY READY TO RELIEF YOU STOP
GOT AT LEAST A CRATE OF BOLLINGER IN THE NET STOP
THE GERMANS ARE STILL SINKING MERCHANTS STOP
SHOULD WE SEND THEM A THANK YOU NOTE? STOP
KAPTN PETERSEN

The wild elation that overcame me when his first message came through was past and, with Albert, Lt. Pfennings, and others crowded around the door behind me, I managed to maintain a decent degree of composure as I read. I had gone through the message quickly the first time and was now reading more slowly as I looked for hidden meanings.

The music was still playing when a frown began to replace my smile as an alarming realization dawned on me. Weise, an efficient sailor, always made it a practice to write in the time of a transmission at the top of the page. Looking at that, and then at the clock Weise would have used, I realized that a little more than six minutes had passed by the time the last refrain finished coming over the speaker.

My eyes were focused on nothing as my minds eye built a picture of a U-boat slipping along the surface, the radio transmissions visible like lightning flashes one sees in the cartoons at the cinema. Far off, an evil grin spreads across the face of an enemy observer as he watches them, one hand penciling in a large “X” on a map of the U-boats position while his other goes to a the black handset of a telephone, the wires trailing off to a nearby airfield.

Albert could tell something was wrong as he watched my expression turn to one of dread as my complexion paled. A note of alarm in his voice, “What is it Marlena? What is wrong?” he inquired.

“Too long,” I said, the reply coming out as a whisper. My feelings of dread were quickly being overrun by anger as I repeated my answer at a more audible volume, “Too Long, dammit! He is transmitting too long! The allies are going to get suspicious and sooner or later, an airplane is going to look for a trawler that isn’t there.”

Albert replied with a counter to my worries that there are scores of trawlers out here, messages going back and forth all the time. The chances are slim that they will single his out.

I turned, looking at Albert directly. I knew that maybe I was overreacting but I could not help it. We were all jumpy; lately even seeing enemy airplanes under our bunks like a childhood boogeyman.

Rubbing my forehead to alleviate the headache I could feel coming on, I replied, “Yes Albert, you may be right but I don’t wish to take unnecessary chances. Surely our last message told him who we are. The allies aren’t stupid Albert. They know we are still out here somewhere and they are going to be expecting us, sooner or later, to transmit something. Yes, there are many trawlers out here, but how many of them are transmitting music!? If I were in their shoes, I would be looking for any form of clue. They are certainly not going to expect us to transmit our position openly, like an invitation to a birthday party. They’re going to be looking for something different, something unusual that doesn’t fit a pattern.”

Talking more to myself now than anyone in particular, “As much as I hate to transmit until I have something concrete for him, I have to tell him to SHUT UP!”

But what, I mentally asked myself. I thought about it for a few moments, trying to figure out how to keep the message as short as possible. My anger was quickly subsiding, to be replaced again by a feeling of foreboding. The poor man was trying the best he could. I was so nervous now. To be so close to deliverance . . .

“Alright Weise, send him this.”

Weise was already prepared as I began dictating my message.

TRAWLER NACHTGESPENST ENROUTE STOP
OUR NETS OKAY BUT NEED PATCHING STOP

I paused for a moment, hesitating. Do I dare send him more? Will the allies pick up on it? I shook my head in perplexion , Weise waiting patiently for me to continue. At least it would give him an idea of our general locale, someplace closer than our last coordinates, which were much too far away now. I continued.

REMEMBER OSKAR LOSING HIS NETS AT AMARFJORDUR STOP
STOP TRANSMITTING NOW STOP
RADIOMAN WORRIED PAST HIS BEDTIME STOP

I paused again, thinking. Too much already. I could only hope that he would focus on Amarfjordur and Worried.

Weise asked, “Will that be all Kaleun?” his hand drifting to the telegraph key.

I started to nod an affirmative, then changed my mind. “No, send him this too.”

BAD NEWS MY SISTER MARLENA IN LOVE WITH SCOUNDREL WOLFGANG STOP
KAPT HANS DRAKKAR STOP

A big grin spread across Weise’s face, “Jawohl Kaleun Hessler!”

Without looking, I knew that the others were grinning too; but I didn’t care. I still might never see him again and I had to let him know. A bar from an old Marlena Dietrich tune came to my mind, “Can’t help it.”

[Miss Behavin]

Chapter Fifteen – The Tide Turns

01:00 7 April

I was lying there in my bunk, trying to force myself to sleep but to no avail. Mentally I was exhausted, yet I was wide awake. I could not get my mind to stop with the myriad of thoughts running through my head. I was hoping so much that Wolfgang would read my message correctly and head for Amarfjordur; at the same time dreading that the enemy had read our message just as clearly and would be lying in wait.

As much as I wanted to give the order to head out to sea to meet him, I was too afraid to expose the slow Trawler out on open water. Even if we did, we had so little to go on concerning his whereabouts; at best somewhere north or northeast of us as he made his way along the Iceland coastline. No, I knew we were doing the best thing. Keep hidden until something more concrete of a plan came into play.

Upon rounding the promontory into the inlet, I had left instructions for those on watch to maintain a sharp lookout for anyplace we could possibly tuck this tub reasonably out of sight.

As a knock sounded on my door, I gave up all hope of sleep for the time being. Rising up on one elbow to turn on the small bedside lamp, I made sure that I was decently covered then said, “Yes, enter.”

The door opened to allow ingress of Lt. Albert Ringelmann, my XO. Expecting news of another radio message, I made to prepare to get up when Albert raised a hand in a halting gesture. I paused to inquire, “What is it Albert?”

He sat down on one of the chairs at the small table and removed his cap to run a hand through his hair. “Well, we just passed what appeared to be a small cove that looked suitable for hiding, inasmuch as one could tell in the dark, but there’s one small problem.”

I remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Seeing that I had no remark at the moment, he carried on, “Not more than ten minutes ago, we passed a small dock; an occupied dock.”

This got my immediate attention, and wrapping my blanket about me, I sat up. “Were we seen? Was there an alarm?” My mind raced, wondering why nobody had alerted me if there had been.

Albert raised both hands in an appeal to calm me. “No, no.” Albert replied. “There was no alarm. But it is most likely we were seen, and if not, at the very least our engine was heard. Petty Officer Reinhardt had looked at it through the glasses and said that there was a sentry, the glow of his cigarette giving away his presence in the darkness. We would have been close enough for him to have heard our motor but Reinhardt said he did not seem alarmed.”

My brow furrowed as I pondered as to why there would be a sentry. I remembered studying the charts and nothing was shown in this vicinity, one of my reasons for choosing this inlet to hide in.

Before I could relay my thoughts, Albert answered my question. “There’s also a launch of some sort. A military launch,” he added.

“How do you know it was military?” I asked. “It’s very dark tonight.”

With a bit of a sardonic grin, he said, “Because civilian vessels do not have guns mounted on their foredecks.”

My brow rising in question, he went on to explain that Reinhardt was most adamant about the gun, saying that its silhouette was plain enough to make out. Albert described the boat as being in the neighborhood of sixty to seventy feet long. The only thing military I could think of in that size range with a deck gun was possibly a British Motor Gun Boat or Torpedo Boat.

“And the sentry was not alarmed by our passing?” I asked Albert.

Albert shook his head. “No. Reinhardt said that he continued smoking his cigarette as though our passing was a common enough occurrence; nothing worth making note of.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Reasonable enough I suppose. I imagine he sees a fair number of trawlers going about their business. He most likely thought we were just another one coming in after being at sea catching fish. Short of our U-boat activity in the area, there is no other German surface activity around here. No reason for him to be alarmed.”

He looked at me with an inquiring gaze to see if perhaps I could add to that but I could not and shook my head to that effect. My brow was furrowed again as the ghost of a plan was coming to mind. A grin began to appear on Albert’s face. He knew that look.

“Shall we continue on and look for someplace else to hide?” he asked tentatively.

“Looking up at him, I said, “No, turn back. That inlet, how well would it hide us from this launch?”

Albert shrugged his shoulders, “In the darkness, it is hard to say. You could not make out too much in detail. From where it is docked now, yes, it probably would conceal us well enough. During daylight, and if he passed it with somebody happening to look that way, I honestly don’t know.”

“Alright then, we’ll take that chance.” I replied. “Have the helmsman turn back and head for and into that inlet. Dead slow. I don’t want anybody hearing our motor or be tearing our bottom out on hidden rocks. I’ll be up on the bridge shortly.”

With that said, Albert smiled and nodded an acknowledgement. Rising from his chair, he turned and left the small cabin, closing the door behind him. I threw back the blanket and quickly dressed. Taking a moment to look in the small mirror over the basin I shuddered and was thankful that Wolfgang could not see me right now as I examined the dark circles beginning to form under my eyes. Well, nothing for that right now; I had bigger concerns.

--------------------------------------------

A few moments later found me on the bridge peering into the dark as I looked for this inlet Albert had apprised me of. Since I had just come out of a lighted room only moments before, I knew that it was unlikely that I would see anything, my vision being unaccustomed as of yet to the darkness.

It wasn’t very long before one of the watch spotted it and, with his voice low so as not to carry far, brought it to the attention of those inside the bridge. I could make out only vague outlines as the watch gave careful instructions to the helmsman, making small corrections as we approached it. Our speed was at a crawl, barely enough to make headway as I saw the dark outlines of rocks loom up on both sides of us as we entered the small cove. In the darkness they looked close enough to reach out and touch but in reality were probably much farther apart than that.

I stepped outside and after a few moments, the watch reported that he could make out nothing of a manmade nature. Passing instructions for the watch and others whose night-vision was critical to cover their eyes, I had one of the searchlights turned on long enough to make out our surroundings and then turned off. It was on for only the briefest of moments but what it revealed was enough. We were in a very small natural cove surrounded, by the most part, by tall vertical rock. On the far side however, away from the sea, the shore looked to be black volcanic gravel that sloped gently into the water. The slope continued on shore to head upward, curving gently to the right until disappearing from view between massive columns of sheer rock. This would do; this would do just fine, I thought.

I gave instructions to proceed deeper into the cove until the prow of the trawler grated against the gravelly bottom. I then had them kill the engine and all went silent, only the sound of the water gently lapping the shore evident to our ears. After so many days with engines running, the crashing of the sea, and the keening of the wind, the sudden silence was like that of a tomb.

After what seemed an interminable spell yet was no more than a couple of minutes, Albert asked, “So, what now? We certainly dare not send any messages with that launch so nearby. At the speed that thing can move, it could be on top of us within a few minutes. His voice sounded loud in the deathly quiet of the night and even he thought so for he quickly lowered it.

I’ve no doubt that there was a mischievous grin on my face and I almost snorted and had to bite my lip to keep from openly laughing as his eyes went wide as I said, in a conspiratorial whisper, “We’re going to steal it!”

A few minutes later, after he had calmed down and the incredulous look was dissipating from his features, I told him to bear with me. I instructed him to collect Lt. Pfennings, and four non-coms which I named and to meet me in my cabin. I would explain my plans there.

--------------------------------------------

Back in my cabin, a sleepy-eyed Dortmund, our cook from the U-boat, was setting down a pot of coffee, the last of it, and a platter of hastily prepared sandwiches before being dismissed to return to his bunk. Although I had had little sleep, my mind was clear as those requested began filing into the confines of the small cabin. Helping myself to a sandwich and cup of coffee, I instructed the others to do the same and make themselves comfortable. As was their right, the two officers took the chairs at the table and, since I was too anxious to sit down, a couple of the others sat on the edge of my bunk; the remaining two standing at ease as they leaned against the bulkhead.

I let them work on their sandwiches for a few moments and get some coffee into themselves before I addressed them.

“First of all, Reinhardt, I need from you a complete description, to the best of your memory, what you saw where that boat was docked.”

I listened as he explained that had it not been for the sentry smoking, he would have most likely not noticed it at all. Once he had looked through his binoculars however, the large lenses, which not only zoomed everything in, but also had the properties of amplifying to a small amount, what little light was generated by the stars, allowed him to be able to make out a few more details that he had earlier been unable to see.

Where the dock was situated, it was semi-protected by a half circle of rocks that projected out into the water. It was no place, he said, where he would ordinarily leave a boat tied up in a storm but he went on to also explain that there was a small boat house as well, albeit not large enough to house the craft he had seen tied to the dock. From the dock it was easy enough to make out the framework of a wooden stairway leading upwards as the wood was well-weathered and the silvery gray of it was quite visible against the darker background. He apologized that he was unable to see where they went, as they seemed to stop perhaps three or four stories up. From there, nothing but darkness.

“Alright gentlemen, here’s what I’m thinking.” I paused a moment to make sure that I had all of their attention, an action that proved unnecessary as all eyes were now focused on me.

“On the charts, nothing at all is shown here. However, the allies, or somebody, has gone to a lot of trouble to build a dock and boathouse here as well as a flight of stairs leading up to whatever they have up there. I certainly don’t believe they would have gone to so much trouble just for someplace they could stop to make a head-call; and last I knew, the sport of bird-watching has declined a great deal during the war. They have something up there. Something important enough to go to the trouble of building a dock for it so that it can be serviced; there being few roads in Iceland, most communities and the like being serviced by sea.”

I paused long enough to take a sip of coffee and allow my observations to sink in on the others.

“If it’s something important, say something like a radar installation, I would imagine Etappendienst would like to know about it.”

Albert looked a little irritated and responded, “Excuse me for saying so Kaleun Hessler, but don’t we have problems enough right now without conducting espionage missions for Etappendienst?”

I smiled at Albert, patient until all of my plans could be heard. “Yes Albert,” I replied, “We do have our problems, which is exactly why I want to commandeer that boat. This thing we are on now will only do six knots, eight if you don’t care how long the engine lasts. If that vessel Reinhardt spotted is a British MGB or MTB, it’s going to be able to do what, at least twenty-five knots?”

Some of the others affirmed this with silent nods.

Continuing, “What puzzles me is that Reinhardt spotted only one sentry. They seem awfully lax here, but then, you said as much yourself Albert, what is there for them to be alert about? Nonetheless, before making a grab for it, I want to know what’s up there. Undoubtedly there is going to be at least a radio of some kind for them to communicate to wherever their headquarters is at. At the very least I would like to take out their communications ability before somebody can raise an alarm on it when they see their boat merrily heading off to sea at full speed.”

“With all due respect Kaleun,” responded Lt. Pfennings, “Where do we go with it once we have it? We still have no idea where Herr Pedersen is at.”

“And that, Lt. Pfennings, is why we sit tight for right now. In my last transmission, I mentioned Amarfjordur. I am hoping that he picked up on that and will be coming this way. I am also hoping that once he is out there, my arm swinging in the direction of the inlet, he will send a short message indicating as much. Besides, it will also give us the opportunity to watch, from a relatively hidden location, to see if there is an increase in enemy surface or air activity, indicating that they are on to my message. Let us hope to Holle not.”

“Once we are in possession of that launch and Wolfgang has contacted us informing us of his close proximity, we send a red herring to the enemy; a message indicating we are heading to sea to rendezvous with one of our U-boats. Under the cover of darkness so as not to arouse the suspicions of anyone on shore who might spot us, we head out to the mouth of the inlet with both boats, lock the rudder straight ahead in the trawler, send our message, then set the throttle at full, abandoning it to it’s destiny while we all race back in the launch. By the time an alerted aircraft reaches the area where we transmitted from, I’m thinking fifteen minutes at the absolute soonest, we will be well away from that spot and on our way back to meet up with Pedersen and the U-735. All of the allied attention will be on following that trawler in hopes of netting themselves a U-boat, or blowing the trawler out of the water. Either way, it takes the attention off of us.”

I stopped, looking at them with an enthusiastic smile, waiting for their response. The room was silent, all of them looking back at me, not a few of them with their mouths agape.

After a moment, Albert regained his wits and said, “Are you crazy Marlena? Even if your plan worked up to that point, what on earth makes you think Pedersen will surface with an MTB zooming about over his head. Not only that, what if that launch leaves before Pedersen gets here?”

My feathers were not ruffled. I just KNEW this could work. “Well, regarding the boat leaving before he gets here, we’ll take it before it can. Secondly, getting Wolfgang to surface is easy, once we know he’s out there, you know darned well that his soundman is going to have his ear glued to that hydrophone. With a wrench, or whatever is handy, Weise will tap out in Morse on the hull of the launch that it’s us; come up and play.”

“At the very least, his curiosity will get the better of him and he will at least raise his scope to have a look. That’s when I’ll stand on the foredeck naked and wave to him.”

With the last statement, Reinhardt choked, having been taking a sip of coffee and snorted a good deal of it out his nose. He began coughing, his face turning a furious red while one of the others pounded his back vigorously to help him breathe.

“Sorry Reinhardt, I was only joking about the naked part.”

His eyes streaming tears, he was finally getting some air as he raised a hand indicating he was alright and I was forgiven.

“So gentlemen, I have decided. It is time to take matters into our own hands instead of fleeing about willy-nilly until the allies either kill us or capture us. We have an opportunity here. Let’s make the most of it. I plan to send a reconnaissance team up there just before daybreak to get more intelligence on what we’re dealing with.” Letting my gaze linger on the non-coms and Lt. Pfennings, I added, “That’s going to be you.”

This announcement sobered them quickly, the non-coms snapping to attention in recognition of my orders, Reinhardt barked, “Jawohl Kaleun Hessler. It will be an honor. We will not let you down.”

I told them to stand at ease and informed everyone that it was not that many hours until daylight. I suggested that they get however much sleep they could until then.

The men filed out, Albert lingering a bit longer. “So when did you become an agent for Etappendienst? You’re crazy you know.”

I smiled at him. For the first time since losing our boat, I felt at ease, crazy enough as that sounds. I had a plan and something to act on. Chaos and uncertainty always did drive me up the wall. Looking at Albert, “I highly doubt Etappendienst would be interested, and as for the latter, yes; I am aren’t I?”

I winked at him and turned in preparation to return to my bunk.

Albert, shaking his head in consternation, let himself quietly out of the cabin and closed the door.

I snuggled into the warmth of the bunk and in no time at all I was sleeping a restful, dreamless sleep.

===============================================


Chapter Sixteen – Hide and Seek

0630 April 8

I felt like my head had no sooner touched my pillow when the touch of a hand was waking me up. It was Albert.

“Marlena, wake up. It is time. The reconnaissance team is preparing.”

I blinked my eyes a few times to get the sleep out of them and sat up. “Where,” I asked.

“In the Mess,” he replied. “It will be getting light in half an hour.”

I was getting dressed as he spoke. Albert, always the gentleman, keeping his back turned as I did. “Go ahead Albert; I will be there in a few minutes.”

As he left, I was running the plan through my mind again. Having rested since last night, I could see all kinds of holes in it and was having second thoughts. Perhaps it would be best to try to meet up with Pedersen’s boat on open water. I thought of going farther into the fjord, but I didn’t want him to have to come in there for us where the allies might find him more easily in the narrow confines; although I had heard that their sonar did not work very efficiently in such conditions. Not knowing for certain however, I was not going to put him to any more risk than he was already taking based on second-guessing. No, we would stick to this plan. As I closed the cabin door behind me on my way to the Mess, little things still nagged at me, like that single sentry on that MTB for example. Even on a relatively safe post like Iceland, I just did not see the British being so lax. It wasn’t like them; especially this late into the war.

As I stepped into the Mess, those present came to attention where I informed them to carry on. Dortmund, our cook, handed me a cup of coffee. I thought we had run out last night and looked at it and then him with a raised brow. He shrugged apologetically and explained that he had used the grounds from the last batch but had run it through twice. I sampled it and although it was not as strong as that made with fresh grounds, it was still a far sight better than the stuff back home. Dortmund was watching apprehensively to see if I would approve. I nodded my approval to which he relaxed and then went about those preparing to depart, disbursing mugs of steaming coffee to each of them. It could have tasted like the brimstone from beneath Satan’s feet and I would have still approved. Dortmund was doing the best he could and that was all one could ask.

Turning my attention to the immediate activities, the team, composed of Lt. Pfennings, Petty Officers 1 cl. Reinhardt, Bauer, and Kriegel, had dressed in cold weather gear that had previously belonged to the trawler crew. I did not have to tell them that if they were captured in civilian attire that they could be shot as spies; of this they were well aware. Nonetheless, not a one of them faltered in their preparations, some of them cutting up with jokes to cover their pre-action jitters. They were in the process of using soot from the boats oven to smudge their faces and hands with camouflage. The worst was over for them now that they were actually doing something. The waiting before doing so is what’s always the worst.

The two Sten-guns had already been given to them and I handed the Lebel revolver, previously liberated from Captain Jóhannsson, to Lt. Pfennings. “Remember, no heroics. Just find out what’s up there, how well defended, and come back.”

Pfennings nodded and tucked the pistol into one of the pockets of his coat. I watched as they completed their preparations, their soot-blackened faces making them look like a bunch of abandoned street waifs. I wanted to offer them some encouraging words but I never was very good at speeches. A moment later, Albert poked his head in the door and said, “It’s time.”

I followed them up on deck where we proceeded to the bow that was beached on the gravelly shore. An improvised ladder of knotted rope was draped over the side and before they could depart, I offered them a “Good Luck” and “Be careful.”

Before a grinning Reinhardt disappeared over the side, he responded with , “Don’t worry Kaleun, we will be alright.” I could not suppress a small chortle as his white smile on blackened face made me think of an actor in a minstrel show. My features became stolid as I wished that I shared his enthusiasm. As they splashed ashore in the frigid waters and disappeared off into the darkness, it was now our turn to wait.

==============================================


Chapter Seventeen – An Imprudent Eagle

My officers and I sat in the Mess drinking re-brewed coffee while we watched the clock move at a snail’s pace. At one point, Ensign Roth looked up at it and in an exasperated tone asked if it was broken. I couldn’t help but look at my watch to see if he was correct. All of us were as tense as a stretched piano wire and my ears were tuned for the sound of gunfire; although it would be unlikely that we would even hear it, tucked away as we were down in this little cove. Dortmund had prepared a breakfast of reconstituted eggs and smoked kippers. Apparently the others were as tense as I for very little of anyone’s breakfast had been touched. I just couldn’t generate any appetite until my men had returned safe.

A little past an hour later, the sun was lighting the eastern sky. The cove where we were hidden, however, was still in shadow from the looming cliffs surrounding it. The bland colors of the weathered fishing boat, combined with the shadowed cove, proved effective in hiding it from all but the closest scrutiny from sea. I had still not made up my mind what we would do if they were captured. We could not stay put for the enemy would then be looking for the means by which the men got there, yet at the same time, we no longer possessed any weapons with which to effect there escape. My stomach turned at the thought of abandoning them to save the remainder of my crew, but rather than see us all marched off to a P.O.W. camp, I did not see where I had any other recourse.

I glanced at my watch again, the sixth time I had done so within the last ten minutes, when one of the watch poked his head in to inform us they were back. In an instant we were all up and out on deck to greet their return; my first action quickly looking them over in making sure none of them were injured or wounded.

Other than being a little chilled from wading through the frigid waters to climb back aboard, they all looked just as fit as they were when they had left. We soon had them below getting warmed up and debriefed.

Leutnant Pfennings, who had led the reconnaissance party, described that what appeared to be a weather station. He went into detail explaining that there were three structures, the main one housing a radio-room, suspected due to the large antenna tower outside, kitchen, and living quarters. The other two were a small storage shed with the last being a generator house. Near the top of the stairway that led down to the dock we had spotted the night before, he explained that there was a timber framework that supported a hoist that was most likely used to haul up drums of fuel for the generator as well as other supplies too heavy or bulky to be carried up the stairs. As I had suspected, he also made note that there were no roads leading into the facility; nor anyplace suitable for landing an aircraft, thereby making the installation entirely dependant upon the dock below for their supplies.

When I asked about defenses, staff, and the like, Lt. Pfennings grinned and shook his head in bewilderment. “That’s the part I don’t understand Kaleun,” he exclaimed. “Very minimal in numbers and not alert at all. Not a single sentry was posted above. Also, the living quarters is not large enough to support both the staff for the station and MTB crew as well.”

He described that by their count, there was only eight men in all, including the single sentry down below watching the boat. If you subtracted an absolute minimum of four to crew that torpedo boat, that left three to man the weather station.

I corrected him saying, “You said there were eight, Leutnant Pfennings.” His grin got even wider as he was apparently saving the best for last.

“Yes, I did Kaleun Hessler.” He paused a moment for dramatical effect. “Well Kaleun, first of all, they’re not British, they’re Amerikan; U.S. Army. Second, man number eight is, what they call in their army, I think a Colonel.” He backed his suspicion by describing silver eagles on his collar as the only indication of rank. Having browsed some books before back in Germany regarding the rank structure of foreign armies, I knew his deduction to be true.

I nodded, acknowledging his guess, my brow pursed in thought. What on earth was a Colonel doing clear out here, I thought. “And how do you know that there were not more perhaps sleeping in their bunk-room?” I asked.

“Because Petty Officer Kriegel sneaked up to their windows and had a peek,” replied Pfennings.

I stiffened as I thought of the risk they had taken in doing that. Kriegel saw this and hastily explained that it was quite easy. Their guard really was atrocious, obviously expecting no visitors of any kind, let alone us; and they all looked quite cozy inside the warmth of their little house. He didn’t think that any of them looked all too eager to go outside if they didn’t have to.

“And if one of them had seen you peeking in?” I countered with a somewhat displeased tone.

Lt. Pfennings spoke up in Kriegel’s defense. “I will accept full responsibility Kaleun Hessler. I had the same thoughts as you, thinking that there surely had to be more and that those we could not see were most likely still asleep. We had to know and I thought that since they would be asleep in that section of the structure, the risk would be low in having a look.” He paused to see my reaction, which was still not overly excited over the risk they had taken. Therefore he continued, “And had they seen us Kaleun, I believe we could have taken them right then and there with minimal effort. Only the Colonel is wearing a sidearm. They have a couple of those Amerikan machineguns their gangsters use, and those are on racks on the wall in their radio room. I had Reinhardt stationed just outside the door prepared to burst in and surprise them if Kriegel had been seen. Kriegel said there were other sidearms but that they were hanging in their belts in the bunk room.”

I raised a brow of reproach at this revelation and, seeing this, he hurried on to express his suspicion that the boat belonged to the colonel. He did not look like he had been there as long as some of the others as his uniform was still relatively sharp when compared to the rumpled appearance of some of the soldiers.

With that he was finished and waited, while I mulled this over, to see if there was going to be any further reprimand. Well, I thought, it was done and they had been lucky that no one had seen them. They had risked their lives on what could still quite easily turn into a fool’s venture so I decided not to.

“You and your men did well Leutnant Pfennings,” I commended, “Now get yourselves some breakfast.”

They all relaxed in unison and sat down at the table where Dortmund was already bringing out platters of eggs and kippers while other crewmen were exhorting them for more of their story. Motioning to Albert, I left the mess and proceeded to my cabin where I invited him to take a seat.

“So,” I asked, “What makes this place so important that an Army Colonel is here yet not so important that their security is almost criminal?”

Albert could not answer this and we were both silent as we reflected on the information that they had obtained.

As I mused over the possibilities, I felt a wicked little smile come across my face as a plan came together and I heard, under Albert’s breath, “Oh Scheiße! Now what?”

[Miss Behavin]

Chapter Eighteen – There Be Pirates!


“How long do you think we’re going to have before anyone starts wondering where the Colonel is at?” asked Albert.

“I don’t know for certain,” I replied, “but if they call in here looking for him, I am relying upon him to be very convincing that everything is alright.”

Albert chuckled. “After that performance earlier today, I would think so. Be careful with him though. Every time he looks at you I can see murder in his eyes. He wants you dead real bad!”

It was almost 3 p.m. We now occupied the weather station and possessed eight Amerikan prisoner’s of war, our grand prize being a full bird Colonel of the U.S. Army; not to mention having liberated a former British Motor Torpedo Boat and a smaller launch located in the boathouse.



Albert and I were discussing our next plan of action while sitting in the rather luxurious settings of the main cabin aboard the torpedo boat-cum-pleasure craft. I am not ordinarily a lover of scotch but I had to give the colonel credit, as I took another sip from the leaded cut-crystal glass, this was really very good, as far as scotch went.

As it turns out, the vessel, amongst other equipment, was given over to the Amerikans when they took over occupation, allowing most of the British military personnel to go home and be reassigned to more critical areas of the war. As it was all but impossible to get about to the various locations on Iceland by any other means than by sea, Colonel Weyland, who was now our prisoner, had taken it upon himself to claim the boat for his own personal use; utilizing his power in rank to have it outfitted quite comfortably. I found it a pity that I could not figure out a way to take it home with me.

Based upon that morning’s reconnaissance mission led by Leutnant Pfennings, we used the information to formulate a plan and capture the enemy weather station. The operation went so smoothly that it was almost sinful. Pfennings had been right. Their lack of proper sentries was shameful to say the least, and had this Colonel been under my command, I would have had him court-martialed for gross dereliction of duty. Interrogation of the prisoners had revealed that the only reason that there was a sentry on the dock was to forewarn the Colonel above of the imminent arrival of a superior, which was unlikely to happen, but even more so to protect his cache of liquor from being pilfered by the men manning the weather station.

Before assaulting the installation, it had been my suspicion that getting any information or cooperation out of a Colonel would be extremely difficult. Therefore, immediately after capturing them, I’d had him separated from the enlisted men, which was common procedure anyway.

Well out of earshot or view of the Colonel, one of them was taken away where, under the duress of a liberated tommy-gun being pointed at him, he was made to remove his uniform whereas one of my men of similar size donned it. Shortly after, I had the Colonel brought to the open door of the weather station. Careful to have arranged our charade so as to have the sun shining toward us, hence making details more difficult to make out, I informed him that I fully expected him to be difficult so I had arranged a special show for him.

With that said, my crewman, dressed in the Amerikan soldier’s uniform, was marched out into the open a good fifty yards away; again so as to make it impossible for the Colonel to discern this man from one of his own. I myself could only make out silhouettes of those involved with the sun almost behind them as it was. The “prisoner” was standing just in front of the two guards who had marched him out, his hands tied behind his back. One of the guards, turned to look in my direction and said, “Kaleun?”

That is when I said to proceed. The ‘prisoner’ was shoved where, preplanned, he fell forward on his face; very convincingly too. It must have hurt and I made a mental note to give him extra liberty later on for his performance. Having spoken amongst my crew to ascertain the correct English words, from his place on the ground, he gave a very convincing terrified scream, in English, of “Please! No!” It was then that the guard who had shoved him raised the machinegun and fired a burst of six or seven rounds into the dirt a few feet to my crewman’s side. The impact of the bullets, as well as the muzzle blast, made him jump involuntarily but, from where we stood, it looked all that much more convincing. One could not tell that he had not just been shot in cold blood.
As the infuriated Colonel rounded on me and cut loose with a stream of obscenities that I will not repeat here, I was praying that none of my men outside would start laughing, hence making the Colonel suspicious of something “Rotten in Denmark.”

Allowing him to vent for a few moments, I then asked him if he was finished. By then he had so winded himself and his face was so red, I seriously worried that he was about to have a stroke. For the moment he could only glare at me with absolute hatred. I then proceeded to inform him that this was an example of what would happen to the others if he did not cooperate, fully. Needless to say, he was very visibly shaken as he was led away. The whole point of this ruse was to persuade him to be convincing, under threat of killing another of his men, should somebody call here looking for him.

Meanwhile, the Amerikan prisoner was given back his uniform, no worse for the wear other than a bit of dirt, most of which was easily brushed off. For the time being we kept him isolated from the others so that the rest would think that we had indeed just executed one of their own. As I had suspected, they were all far removed from the war and this was the closest they had come to actual physical violence. We had them scared shiteless and quite cooperative; for the moment anyway. On the other hand, a frightened person can become desperate and dangerous too. Strict orders were given not to become lax in guarding them.

The Colonel was not overly liked by the enlisted ranks and although they would only give name, rank, and serial number when questioned about other things, it was not too difficult to extract from them information about Colonel Weyland. As it turned out, we discovered that the station itself was nothing more than what it appeared to be, a weather information gathering station located on the end of a lonely promontory; certainly nothing important enough to require the presence of such a high-ranking officer as that of Colonel Weyland.

His whole reason for being here was weather, nothing more; unless it was perhaps to make periodic escapes from his responsibilities in his military role here in Iceland; a role of which we had not been able to ascertain as of yet. The Colonel had been a university professor teaching meteorology when the war broke out. Like most other patriotic Amerikans, he joined the lines at the recruiting stations and his education and diplomas all but guaranteed him an officer’s commission. How he had made it up to Colonel, nobody had a clue. All these men did know was that he made their lives miserable every time he came out here to relax aboard his ‘personal’ yacht and dabble in meteorology; at the same time treating them like they were his personal servants or something.

I did not expect them to love me for it, then maybe they would, but I had full intentions of taking Colonel Weyland off their hands, returning him home with us where I would turn him over to Etappendienst. I did not personally care what he did here in Iceland or how he had managed to make Colonel, all I wanted was his boat. I supposed I could leave him here but figured Intelligence would appreciate the gift. Either way, his career was finished, whether as a prisoner-of-war or when his upper command discovered that he had so easily allowed the enemy to capture him and this station.

Having their radio logs deciphered by one of my crew who read and spoke perfect English, we discovered that the station submitted general reports every Monday supplemented with additional reports should they detect an imminent change in the weather. It was now Saturday and I was hoping to holle that we would be aboard Pedersen’s boat and well on our way home by the time Monday rolled around.

As I sat there with needle and thread, replacing insignia on my tunic, I could not help but chuckle at the mental image of the look on Weyland’s face when we captured him. We had begun our assault on the station at precisely noon that day, guessing that some of them would be sitting down to their mid-day meal; meaning fewer of them moving about and possibly spotting one of us before we could carry off our plan.

One team, consisting of the majority of the crew, had gone above by the same route that the reconnaissance team had taken that morning. They were armed with the two Sten-guns while I, still aboard the trawler with a few men, was armed with the revolver. As the time drew near, the engine was started and we carefully made our way out of the cove and proceeded slowly toward the dock; just another of the myriad of trawlers seen passing to and fro in their business of catching fish.

Earlier, I had gone through what remained of the personal effects of the previous crew. I didn’t expect to find much of a feminine nature but did find a scarf with a horridly ugly flower print on it. This I put over my head, tying it beneath my chin. Perhaps it had belonged to the crewman’s girlfriend or wife. I suppose I’d never know. All of the insignia was removed from my tunic whereas it was then turned inside out, revealing the satiny lining, which from afar, made it look more like something of a woman’s coat. My white blouse underneath would suffice but with what I had planned, needed something roomier so borrowed a white shirt from one of our larger crewmen. I remember giggling after putting it on, thinking it made me look like I was wearing a tent. The trousers would not do however and there wasn’t a thing aboard the trawler that even remotely looked like a skirt.

Dortmund, seeing our dilemma, took a bedsheet and, using various foodstuffs and iodine from the medicine cabinet, did a surprisingly reasonable job of creating a flowery pattern that would pass a glancing inspection. It would never make Paris fashions but was good enough for what we intended to do. This was wrapped about my waist and secured. My shoes looked too regulation so, in the guise of a fisherman’s wife, I donned a pair of old work-boots that had belonged to one of the former crewmen. They were so big, yet the smallest to be found, that I had to wear four pair of socks to keep the things from literally falling off my feet. That was good enough though as I wasn’t going to be goose-stepping anyway, effecting by my plan, nothing more than a shuffle. The final coup de grâce was a pillow, carefully plumped and rounded then stuffed under my shirt. My left arm across my stomach to hold it in place while beneath it lay concealed the Lebel revolver.

Midshipman Staats, spoke fluent Dutch so was selected to portray my husband. Although German was a common enough language on Iceland, I didn’t want to press our luck, so, Staats replaced his uniform with clothing from the crews possessions and made a very convincing-looking fisherman, including the smell. I don’t think these had been laundered recently for the smell of fish was quite aromatic, to say the least.

As the trawler eased up to the dock at about ten till twelve, the sentry, whose attention was entirely upon our boat, was trying to wave us off. His look of dismay was compounded by the view of what appeared to be a fisherman and his pregnant wife; Staats holding my arm and assisting me to the dock, all the while rattling away in Dutch for a doctor while I moaned and carried on like I was being murdered.

I had been present when my cousin Trudi had her baby and still remembered the spectacle well. In fact, well enough that I knew that I was in no hurry to go through that ordeal myself! I definitely remembered enough of it to be able to give a believable performance of a woman in the advanced throes of labor.

It must have been quite a scene for any who could have witnessed it. The soldier on the dock was becoming more panicked, insisting that we could not dock there. I was drowning him out with my overdramatic moans and screams, and all the while Staats was rattling away with a machinegun staccato of Dutch, none of which the Amerikan soldier understood.

Staats made a very convincing job of looking the nervous would-be father for he didn’t have to act that part. He was already nervous as a cat having kittens as all we had was that revolver which looked pitifully inefficient when compared to the sinister-looking Tommygun that the sentry had. At least he had it slung over his shoulder so as to free both hands, all the better to gesticulate that we weren’t supposed to dock here.

I chose that moment to collapse and lie on my back on the dock, which, as planned, only served to panic the soldier even more. To this soldier, he was utterly convinced that he was about to witness a baby being born right there and then and wanted nothing to do with it! No Siree Bob! He had given up trying to get us to leave about the same time we heard “What in Sam Hill is going on here soldier!”

As it turned out, it was the Colonel who, rather than being up above, had come down to his boat to select some choice tidbits from his personal stash for lunch. God forbid that he should subject himself to eating K-rations with the rest of his men.

The soldier stepped back quickly, allowing the Colonel to come forward, thankful that there was somebody else here to handle this female crisis for which few men knew how to cope. As the Colonel squatted down to have a better look, he exclaimed, “Jesus H. Christ! This woman’s having a baby! That was when my hand slipped under the pillow and came back out with the business end of the revolver pointing right between his eyes. At the same time, Staats, who also spoke very good English, instructed him to tell the guard to put his weapon down on the dock and step away from it..

At such close range, there was no missing and the Colonel was very well aware of it. Begrudgingly, he did as ordered and, with the exception of my wounded, the balance of my crew aboard the trawler, came swarming out of their hiding places onto the dock. The Thompsen was immediately taken into custody by my own men and by my orders, the two were taken aboard the MTB while we awaited the results of the skirmish above, which as it turned out, didn’t amount to much at all.

As the Colonel and sentry, still in stunned disbelief, were taken below, a burst of laughter escaped my lips and some of my men looked at me. I just shook my head and they passed it of as a release of nervous tension. Had they known the truth, or had I articulated with what I had been thinking then, I imagine not a few of them would be laughing too but I didn’t want an uproar from below gaining the attention of any above if the assault party up there was not fairing well. Still I could not suppress a smile as in my head I was rattling off Pirate jargon of, “Aaargh! Avast ye me hearties! Shiver me timbers as this fortress be our'n!”

Not knowing at the time how things were progressing up top, one of my crew manned one of the AA guns on the MTB and swung the muzzle upward. Although it proved not necessary, it would have been a woeful experience for anyone other than my own crew had they poked their nose over the stair-railing above.

Tying off the last stitch, biting off the thread, then donning my tunic, I thought to myself, “Okay Wolfgang, we’ve done our part. Where are you?”

==============================================


Chapter Nineteen – The Witching Hour

The initial elation over our easy success in capturing the weather station had worn off. Now everybody was restless with anxiety as we waited for word from U-735. The trawler had been tucked away again, out of immediate sight inside the little cove, and the worst of our wounded had been transferred to the MTB, which is where Lt. Ringelmann was staying to watch over them. Seaman Scheil was still hanging on but Albert was not optimistic that they would be able to save his leg. One way or the other, the war was over for him.

Five of the enlisted prisoners were confined and under guard in their bunk-room. A sixth, under close scrutiny, was manning their radio, and the seventh, the one we had used earlier that day to perform our ‘execution’ ruse, was still being kept isolated from the others down below in the MTB. The rest of his friends still believed him dead and for the time being, I wanted to keep it that way; hence insuring their cooperation lest the same happen to them. As far as Colonel Weyland, he was bound and kept with those of us who had elected to stay in the weather station’s radio room. This included me, Midshipman Staats, for his expertise with English, and currently, Petty Officer Reinhardt who kept a watchful eye on the Colonel, one of the Thompsens cradled across his lap.

Wiese opted to stay at the radio aboard the MTB and monitor the frequency that Pedersen had transmitted on previously. Some of the men had been dropping in on him so much that I finally had to order them to leave him alone. He would notify us if anything came through; of course, after issuing such orders, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty myself for ‘dropping’ in on him periodically. He would greet each visit with a solemn shake of his head then we would both sit there, staring at the radio as if willing a message from U-735 to come through.

I had tried to persuade Wiese to turn in earlier and let another relive him but he declined, insisting he was fine. I knew otherwise as I could see the fatigue on his features, but he had such a pleading look in his eyes that I decided to allow it for a few more hours. Operation of the radio was his forte and it was important to him to be the one who received the message that would save us.

The hours rolled slowly by with nothing other than occasional chatter on the radio completely unrelated to us. It almost drove one nuts though as you would be sitting there quietly with your own thoughts only to jerk your head up every time a peep of a sound came out of that speaker.

It was 22:00 hours and although I new that they would not sleep soundly, I had earlier ordered much of the crew to turn in. A bunk had been moved into the radio room for the Colonel and he appeared to be asleep, although I doubted it. His breathing did not match that of a person deeply immersed in slumber.

After numerous protests earlier, he had been threatened with being gagged and since then, had remained relatively quiet. As he still believed that I had cold-bloodedly murdered one of his men, his hatred for me was intense and I was taking no chances; keeping his hands bound and under close guard. Despite the warning that more of his men would be shot if he failed to cooperate, the Colonel knew that he was in a dire situation and I would not put it past him to try something stupid, given the opportunity.

The changing of the guard had just taken place and those relieved had exited the building to head off to their bunks aboard the trawler. It was our plan that when the time came for us to depart, those on the trawler would stay put; while the remainder of us would head down to the MTB and then meet them at the cove where they would then transfer to the Torpedo Boat. The trawler would be left behind where it was my hope that one day the original owner, Captain Gestur Þór Jóhannsson, would be able to retake possession.

Those prisoners not going with us, which were all of them except for the Colonel, would be bound so as not to be of any hindrance in our escape. The soldier imprisoned aboard the MTB would be released but by the time he would be able to climb those stairs from the dock and release his friends, we would be well on our way to rendezvous with the trawler. They would be helpless to do anything about it as we had taken possession of all of their weapons and the radio would not do them much good when shredded with bullet holes.

It had been our plan earlier to use the trawler as a red herring to the enemy, sending it unmanned on it’s way out to sea, however, with the advent of Pedersen coming into the fjord combined with the speed of the MTB, I decided this would be unnecessary and, if anything, would only slow things down once the ball started rolling. On a personal level, I was glad of it anyway as I had already done enough to poor Captain Jóhannsson without causing him the permanent loss of his boat as well.

It was twelve past the hour and I was seriously considering turning in my self for awhile when Seaman Schuller burst through the door, bent over trying to catch his breath while extending a scrap of paper in my direction. “It’s them, Kaleun Hessler!” he gasped. I grabbed the message from his hand and scanned it quickly, my lips moving wordlessly to the words of the message.

NORWEGIAN TRAWLER KAMPETORSK STOP
TO KAPT DRAKKAR ON TRAWLER NACHTGESPENST STOP
NEARLY HOME STOP
WILL SPEAK TO SCOUNDREL WOFGANG IN 2 TO THREE HOURS STOP
HE IS A VERY GOOD LISTENER STOP
HOPE TO SEE YOU SOON STOP
KAPT PETERSEN STOP

Clutching the message with both hands, I brought it to my lips and said a silent prayer of thanks. Those of my crew present in the radio room were motionless in anticipation. I lifted my eyes and, with a smile, I said, “Two hours. We move at midnight.” My statement was met with jubilant conversation amongst the others. Even including the time it would take for us to get down to the MTB, collect those at the trawler, then be on our way, it would take no more than an hour at the most to reach the middle of the fjord where we would then shut down so Wiese could signal them with Morse by banging on the hull with a hammer. Reading between the lines in his message, I had no doubt that all their senses would be attuned for any sort of signal or message from us. I smiled as I imagined the look on Wolfgang’s face when he saw the vessel we had made good our escape on.

I reminded Reinhardt and Staats to keep a close eye on the prisoners while I went down to the MTB to send a reply. It was a little more than twenty past ten when I reached the torpedo boat. I had composed my message along the way and Weise was waiting, all previous traces of tiredness vanished with the excitement of imminent rescue. Those of my crew aboard the MTB had already been informed of the message and had gathered around Wiese while waiting for my arrival. I relayed my message to Wiese who, after jotting it down, immediately began transmitting.

WILL MEET AT MIDDLE OF FJORD STOP
NORTH OF BOLUNGARVIK STOP
AFTERWARD WILL BUY DINNER THERE STOP
FAMOUS FOR SMOKED HERRING AND BLUE VELVET CAKE STOP
YOU WILL LOVE NEW BOAT
SEE YOU THEN STOP
KAPT DRAKKAR

Wiese’s expression bore that of a puzzled frown as he hadn’t a clue what I was sending but did not pause to ask, knowing that we had been communicating in rhymes, riddles, and music from the beginning.

After he had finished, I explained to him that I still feared the enemy intercepting our message so, decided to send them on a wild goose chase if they did. Rather than have them scouring Amarfjordur with their aircraft, I chose Bolungarvik well away to the north. I was counting on Wolfgang to remember the cake we had at the Drakkar some months back in honor of one of the boat commander’s birthday. It had been “Red” Velvet Cake, but I didn’t want to risk giving too much information to the allies. There was no such thing as ‘Blue” velvet cake but I was counting on them not to know that.

We would just have to hope that Herr Pedersen or one of his crew would realize that the combination of herring and ‘red’ velvet cake indicated “Red Herring” in regards to Bolungarvik; another ruse to throw off the enemy. He would know that I would have been hard-pressed in the time allowed from the last message to have gotten that trawler up there from Amarfjordur. I was just glad that it was almost impossible to hit one of these MTB’s with a torpedo should he become alarmed before we could message him; but then there were those acoustics, hence my addition of ‘new’ boat in the message. I just hoped that the warning would be enough to make his hand pause on the “fire” button, despite our being an MTB.

Even in the event that he did fail to pick up on the clue and turned around, with the speed of the MTB, we would be able to race ahead and periodically pound a message through the hull until we got close enough for him to hear us. Wolfgang was no fool though, he would know.

Wiese was grinning like a loon, shaking his head in wonderment, “Perhaps you should go to work for Etappendienst after this Kaleun.”

I replied with, “Who says that I don’t now?” raising one brow. This threw him for a loop and his eyes grew wide. Although I didn’t, I left him with that to ponder over as, with an amused smile, I turned to one of the seamen and gave him orders to go over and alert the crew on the trawler to abandon it and get over here. We had some time to spare and I didn’t want to waste a single minute when it came time for us to depart.

---------------------------------------------

For once, the time passed pretty quickly as we prepared for our departure. All of the crew at the trawler had come over and some of them were topside assisting with tying up the prisoners. I’d had the guard doubled up for this as I did not wish for any of them to try something foolish at the last moment. It probably wasn’t necessary when they all just about jumped out of their skins when the report of one of those Thompsens opened up right in the next room. Reinhardt had just emptied a magazine in the process of turning their radio into Swiss cheese. The look on some of their faces told me that they still were not entirely sure that they were not going to be killed before we left.

Colonel Weyland had been escorted down to the MTB and secured snugly aboard. We had still not released the soldier held prisoner there and I wasn’t there when the Colonel saw him, just as healthy as the day before he believed we had shot him, but I was told that the invective that spewed from his lips would have made a whore blush. The crew got a pretty good laugh at his embarrassment of being so easily fooled.

Including the Colonel, there would be thirty of us aboard the patrol craft and it was a real snug fit to say the least. Of course, all of the bunks went to the wounded with the rest of us fitting ourselves in wherever we could. Along with me, and my XO, many of the men chose, despite the chill, to stay topside. Leutnant Pfennings, who was qualified on flak guns, chose a position at one of the two 20mm twin Oerlikons and sent one of the men to man the other. I silently prayed that we weren’t going to need them.

By now it was ten minutes shy of midnight. By Pedersen’s last message, he would either be in position or be there within the hour. That was close enough for me. The order was given to release the ‘dead’ prisoner and as the three powerful engines rumbled to life, his bonds were removed and he was seen to the dock.

As we pulled away, I could see his receding figure standing there as he watched us tear off across the fjord. The moon was out tonight, which I would have been perfectly happy without, for it made the white froth of our wake stand out like a signal beacon. I was really hoping that if the allies had intercepted our message, they would fall for my ruse and be concentrating their surveillance on Bolungarvik instead of here. I did derive some peace of mind in the fact that they would be looking for a trawler rather than one of their MTB’s.

“Well, there he goes,” mentioned Albert, “He’ll have the rest of them loose in another ten minutes.”

With my face into the wind, the speed of the craft was exhilarating and I found myself wondering why I hadn’t gone for Schnellboots instead. At Albert’s comment on the actions of the American soldier, I shrugged my shoulders in dismissal. “Little enough any of them can do now.” I replied. “They’ll be cooling their heels until their next supply vessel shows up or somebody comes around to see why there hasn’t been any radio transmissions. By then we’ll be well on our way home.”

I had no sooner uttered those last words when Albert quipped, “What in holle is he doing? Does he think he is going to pursue us with that launch?”

At that I looked back myself. We were well enough away that details were difficult to make out but in the moonlight it could be seen that, rather than head up the stairs to the aid of his comrades, he had opened one of the doors to the boathouse and had disappeared inside. Others of the crew were curious now too, alerted to his actions by Albert’s comment, and were trying to get a look when Zinke, who was on watch with a pair of binoculars, screamed “Down!” At the same time I saw a small blossom of muzzle flash. “What the holle!” I thought when the flash repeated itself and the distinctive whine of a ricocheting bullet whined off of the boat. By the time there was a third flash, I was ordering Lt. Pfennings to return fire.

A moment later, the twin barrels of the Oerlikon had opened up and I had dropped down, or had I fallen, behind what little cover there was on deck while others of the crew were scrambling to do the same. I was trying to figure out why the pounding report of the AA guns, as they ripped the dock and boathouse to splinters, was sounding farther and farther away when it was only a few meters from me. The night had been cloudless but I looked up nonetheless to see what was obscuring the moon and making it darker. The last thing I remembered was the taste of blood on my lips as the report of an explosion reached the MTB when some of Pfennings 20mm rounds found the fuel tank aboard the launch.

The resulting blast completely destroyed the smaller craft and boathouse and the night sky was lit up as the wreckage of the dock and stairway began to blaze. To all of this, however, I was oblivious.

===============================================


Chapter Twenty – Cutting It Close

I was watching the inferno as what little remained of the boathouse, as well as the wooden dock and stairway, went up in flames. There must have been a rifle overlooked somewhere in the boathouse or launch and, instead of immediately going up to secure the release of his counterparts, the prisoner we had released decided, for whatever reason instead, to throw some parting shots our way.

He had only gotten off three or four shots before Lt. Pfennings opened up with the Oerlikon; hence silencing him as well as setting the entire dock array ablaze when one of the 20mm rounds found the fuel tank of the smaller launch inside the boathouse.

“Well,” with a certain degree of smugness in my voice, “he won’t be doing that anymore shall he Marlena?”

A voice cried out in alarm, “Leutnant Ringelmann!” My nerves jumped to attention as I turned to see what our new crisis was, half expecting to see a destroyer or the like bearing down on us. Instead, I would swear that my heart literally stopped beating for a moment, as in the sharpened shadows cast by the moonlight, lay the prostrate form of Kaleun Hessler; with Petty Officer Eckermann kneeling over her.

I could not say if I threw Eckermann aside or what, for I truly do not remember, but in a flash I had replaced him as I first checked for signs of life. Besides other duties, I also served as the boats medical officer as, before the war, I had been just shy of my second year in medical school. How I wound up as second to Kaleun Hessler was another story altogether that we shall save for another time.

A wave of elation came over me as, contrary to my expectations, I found a strong pulse at the base of her neck on the carotid artery. No sooner had I tersely called for it, when her upper torso and head was disclosed in a restricted pool of light that escaped between Eckermann’s fingers as he clasped them over the lamp to prevent the light being visible nowhere else but upon our commander.

A despairing “Scheiße!” escaped his lips as the light revealed a pink, bubbly froth at her lips; a lung wound! I called for help to get her below where I could get more light as well as, more importantly, get her in out of the cold. I did not have to ask twice as more than enough willing hands helped me lift her and carry her down into the cabin of the torpedo-boat.

Despite the crowded conditions, crewmen made way as we carried her to one of the few remaining bunks that was not already occupied by one of our wounded. With Eckermann’s assistance, I removed her tunic and popped buttons as I tore open her blouse. I found what I expected; a sucking wound just below her right breast. The soldier had most likely been using either an M1 Garand or a British Enfield rifle, both of which were very powerful just like our Mauser 98K. Due to the military’s use of full-jacketed bullets, which greatly reduced or eliminated altogether any mushrooming effect, I expected, and hoped, to find an exit wound. If there wasn’t it would mean that the bullet had most likely been deflected by bone and had bounced around inside her chest cavity creating catastrophic damage. That she was still alive and breathing, albeit with some difficulty, I doubted this was the case and I shouted for something airtight to cover the hole with before her lung collapsed entirely. Pulling her up enough to allow my hand to slide beneath her, I was relieved to find the exit wound I was hoping for.

A piece of rubberized cloth, haphazardly cut from somebody’s slicker was handed to me and, before applying this over the hole on her chest, I dusted the wound with sulfa powder from the MTB’s first aid kit. Asking for another ‘patch’, I dusted the exit wound beneath her right shoulder blade and covered the hole with the airtight material. Results were instantaneous as her labored breathing improved dramatically. Carefully holding the patches in place with my hands, thick pads of medical gauze was placed over them and then, with Eckermann’s assistance, her torso was wrapped with bandages to hold it all in place. There was little more I could do for her now but pray that there was not too much internal bleeding. I knew that she was not hemorrhaging or we would have lost her by now. There was morphine but this would be saved for when she was conscious and should the pain be unbearable. All we could do now was make her as comfortable as possible, keep her warm, and pray that they had brought medical equipment and personnel more qualified than myself.

Had there been anyone to see, the patrol-boat continued steadfastly on it’s way across the placid, cold, moonlit waters of the fjord. A peaceful setting as if all was well with the world.

-----------------------------------------------

While working on her wounds, I had heard the Colonel say something but as my English is poor and I was thoroughly absorbed with saving Kaleun Hessler’s life, I had made little out of it other than remembering hearing the unmistakable sound of somebody’s fist making hard contact with a jaw. No more was heard from the Colonel.

Not that she was out of harms way by a long shot, but the worst of the crisis was over so I now had time to take in my surroundings and see what the commotion had been about regarding our captive.

Assigning Eckermann to watch over her and to send for me immediately should her condition appear to worsen, I turned to find a good many of the crew watching me. Their breathing seemed as if in a single collective pause as their searching eyes tried to read mine for news regarding Kaleun Hessler’s fate. It had been a very long day and now I could feel the exhaustion and all I wanted to do was sit down somewhere. This luxury I could not afford however, as there were still other things for me to see too; what with command now resting upon my shoulders. Summoning as much calm to my voice as I could muster, I told them that her chances were very good. This seemed to be all they wanted to hear and they all visibly relaxed, as best as one would under such circumstances, some wanting to shake my hand for saving her.

I elected not to tell them that if our rescuers did not bring sufficient medical help and medicines, I would be highly surprised if she lived to see Bergen again. These men had already lost many of their comrades and, being so close to rescue, I did not wish to plunge their morale any more for the moment. Between now and the time we boarded U-735, I would spend little time away from her side. She was one holle of a woman and commander. There was not a man in her crew who would not follow her to holle and back merely at the asking. I thought of the man who commanded the 735, having met him a few times myself at the Drakkar, and how much she loved him. For her sake, and maybe his too, I just hoped to holle he was worth it.

Regarding Colonel Weyland, who lost no love for our commander, I learned from Midshipman Staats that he had said, during my harried attempts to save her, that should she die, he would personally, after the war, find the soldier who had shot her and give him a medal. Surrounded by men who all but worshipped her and were inspired by her leadership, that was a poor thing to say and most certainly the wrong place to say it. Staats, without a word, had hauled off and cold-cocked him as hard as he could with an uppercut to the Colonel’s jaw.

I saw to Staat’s swollen knuckles, informing him that I would have to stitch one of them that had busted open as soon as I had the sutures to do so. The Colonel I saw to in a more leisurely fashion, not being, to honestly say, that I cared a great deal regarding his welfare. From the look of the Midshipman’s knuckles, I was surprised to discover that Weyland’s jaw was not broken. He was certainly going to be hurting when he came to and would undoubtedly have more than a few loose teeth to show for his stupidity.

Glancing back at Marlena who lay in a semi-restful state of repose, I wearily ran my hand through my hair and realized that I needed some air. Weaving my way through the crowd of sailors who had crammed into the cabin to look over their commander’s state, I made my way topside and inquired how much longer to the rendezvous site.

I was surprised to learn that our ETA was only another fifteen minutes, twenty at the most. I hadn’t realized how fast time had slipped by while below seeing to Marlena’s wounds and talking to the crew. I turned my face forward where I watched the reflection of moonlight ripple across the black midnight waters of the fjord. I did a silent prayer in my head pleading that this be the last of our tribulations. I just didn’t think I had the strength to deal with any more troubles; I was so tired.

Ten minutes later I was beginning to think that my prayers had been heard when Wiese, whose face I could see was pale even by the light of the moon, silently came up to me and handed me a message. Apparently he had not divulged the content to any one else as there were a few who had followed him in anticipation of learning what it was. Worry showed on their faces as Wiese’s countenance foretold no news of a pleasant nature.

Ever since the launch back at the weather station blew up, taking the dock and stairs with it in an engulfing torrent of flame, the fear that the fire, which could be seen for a great distance, would attract the attention of enemy aircraft or worse, the arrival of an investigating destroyer or other warship. I countered this fear with the realization that regarding us, they would be looking for a trawler and not one of their own military vessels. Even if we were seen, we would most likely be passed by with little or no attention given to us.

That peace of mind had just ended. Reading the message told me that the prisoners we had left behind had freed themselves from their bonds and had somehow managed to transmit a message alarming the allies of our whereabouts and escape. It read:

ATTENTION ALLIED COMMAND
SURVIVORS OF SUNKEN UBOAT ATTACKED AMARFJORD WEATHER STATION.
TAKEN PRISONER COLONEL WEYLAND AND COMMANDEERED MTB
LAST KNOW POSITION HEADING NORTHEAST FROM STATION AT FULL SPEED.

I had personally seen the damage done to their radio when Petty Officer Reinhardt had emptied a magazine of .45 caliber bullets into it from one of the captured Thompsens. I knew full well that there was no way that radio would ever function again. It left no other explanation than that they must have had a spare or replacement unit out in that storage shed. At the time, we had considered taking out the antenna tower but did not have explosives at hand and had apparently made the mistake of assuming that there were no other radios as none had been seen in the radio-room. A cursory search of the other structures had been made when we captured the facility but it must have been overlooked or in a crate marked as something else.

As my stomach turned with the implications, I went about informing the crew and making sure that the AA guns were manned. By this stage of their pursuit along with the damage we had caused at the weather station, I was not overly confident that the presence of Colonel Weyland would prevent the enemy from blowing us out of the water.

“How close are we!” I inquired of Pfennings, our navigator. “We’re there” he replied, “maybe another five minutes.”

“This will have to do. Stop the boat! Kill all engines!” I commanded. I instructed Wiese to start transmitting whereas he went below with a hammer to start beating out in Morse on the hull of the boat, our message of arrival to U-735.”

I prayed that he was here and all but right under us. After that message went out from the weather station, I did not give us more than thirty minutes, and more likely less, before aircraft would be scouring this area. If we were not aboard U-735 by then, there would be no way he could safely surface and we would have no choice but to surrender when Allied vessels arrived on the scene; that is if they didn’t commence firing on us outright. Time was running out and the outcome was no longer in our hands.

As the thuds of Wiese’s hammer boomed out a hollow-sounding message through the water, all eyes that could scanned the sea for any clue of Pedersen’s boat as well as the night sky for the imminent arrival of the enemy.

( to be continued . . . )

At this point, I cannot write more until I see new input from the other players involved.

Hope you have liked what you have read.

Cheers!

[Kilamon]

Awesome.
The followup by Kaluen Wolfgang is up on the WAW site. Took me a little bit to find it, but short of the RTB, it's complete. Very cool. Screenplay worthy. Certainly better than most of the movies that are out now.

[Tikigod]

when will this be published? I would like to put it next to my copy of "War and Peace"

[Dowly]

Heather, with your permission I´d like to combine your story to a PDF and release it as a whole here in Subsim.

Just tell me a good name for the 'book' and PM me, if you want to have picture on the front.


I would start making it when my current WaW patrol is finished.

[CCIP]

[Miss Behavin]

Thank you gentlemen. I am very pleased that you liked it.

Dowly, I don't have much time to do much more this evening, but when I can get back to you, would it be better if you had the original 'WORD' document?

Either way, of course you have my permission; thank you for asking.

I'll have to mull over a title and/or photo. Don't want it TOO 'mushy."

Cheers!

Heather / Miss Behavin'

[donw]

Madam Misbehavin
THAT...was a most enjoyable read!! You truely are an exceptional writer and story teller.

"IF" you are not already, you should strongly consider writing as a living, as I beleive you would do quite well.