Prager hesitated, then said, Seven passengers.
Berger laughed harshly. You must be joking.
No, Im perfectly serious. Youve carried them before, havent you?
You know damned well I have. There was something close to anger in Bergers voice. I have accommodation for eight passengers. Two cabins on either side of the saloon, two bunks to each. I should also point out that this ship is amply crewed by ten men including myself. At the moment, we are twenty-two, as you very well know. Seven passengers would mean that the additional crew would have to bunk elsewhere. An impossible situation.
But youll be in ballast. Prager said. No cargo, and surely genuine passengers would only strengthen your cover story?
Who are these passengers?
Germans, like you and your men, who want to go home. Prager took a deep breath and carried on. All right, you might as well know the worst. Theyre nuns. Sisters of Mercy from a mission station on the Negro. Ive been visiting them regularly for the past two years, just like all the other Germans on my list. Every three months; a special dispensation from the authorities as the place is so difficult to get to.
Berger stared at him in astonishment. For Gods sake, Otto, am I going out of my mind or are you?
Prager got up without a word and opened the cabin door. Richter was standing outside smoking a cigarillo. Prager nodded and the bosun hurried away.
Now what? Berger demanded.
I brought one of them on board with me. The others are waiting on shore. At least hear what she has to say.
You must be out of your head. Its the only conceivable explanation.
There was a knock at the door. Prager opened it and Sister Angela stepped inside. He said, Sister, Id like you to meet Fregattenkapitän Erich Berger. Erich, this is Sister Angela of the Little Sisters of Mercy.
Good evening Captain, she said.
Berger looked down at the tiny nun for a moment, an expression of astonishment on his face, then he grabbed Prager by the arm and pushed him outside into the rain, pulling the cabin door behind him.
What in the hell am I going to do? What am I supposed to say?
Youre the captain, Prager told him. You make the decisions and no one else, or so Ive always been given to understand. Ill wait for you here.
He walked to the mizzen shrouds on the port side. Berger cursed softly, hesitated, then went back in.
She was standing behind the desk, leaning over the chronometer in its box under a glass plate. She glanced up. Beautiful, Captain. Quite beautiful. What is it?
The seamans measure of the heavens, Sister, along with a sextant. If I can check the position of the sun, moon and stars then I can discover my own exact position on the earths surface with the help of tables as well of course.
She turned to the desk. A British Admiralty chart. Why is that?
Because theyre the best, Berger told her, feeling for some reason incredibly helpless.
I see. She carried on in the same calm voice. Are you going to take us with you?
Look, Sister, he said. Sit down and let me explain. He pulled another chart forward. Here we are at the mouth of the Amazon and this is the route home. He traced a finger up past the Azores and west of Ireland. And if we get that far, there could be even greater hazards to face. He tapped at the chart. We must pass close to the Outer Hebrides in Scotland, a graveyard for sailing ships, especially in bad weather which is usually six days out of seven up there. And if we survive that, we only have the Orkneys passage, the run to Norway, then down through the Kattegat to Kiel, he added with heavy irony. Five thousand miles, thats all.
And how long will it take us?
He actually found himself answering, Impossible to say. Forty, maybe fifty days. So much depends on the weather.
That seems very reasonable, under the circumstances.
Berger said, Tell me something. When you first came out here, how did you make the trip?
A passenger liner. The Bremen. That was just before the war, of course.
A fine ship. Comfortable cabins, hot and cold running water. Food that wouldnt disgrace a first-class hotel. Stewards to fetch and carry.
What exactly are you trying to say, Captain?
That on this ship, life would be very different. Bad food, cramped quarters. A lavatory bucket to empty daily. Salt water only to wash in. And a blow a real blow under sail can be a frightening experience. In bad weather we can spend a fortnight at a time without a dry spot in her from stem to stern. Have you ever strapped yourself into a bunk in wet blankets with a full gale trying to tear the sticks out of the deck above your head? He rolled up the chart and said firmly, Im sorry. I cant see any point in prolonging this discussion.
She nodded thoughtfully. Tell me something. How does a German naval officer come to command a Brazilian trading vessel?
I was captain of a submarine supply ship, the Essen, camouflaged as the US fuel ship George Grant. We were torpedoed in the South Atlantic on our third trip by a British submarine, which wasnt taken in by the disguise. You may consider that ironic in view of the fact that I intend to try and pass the Deutschland off as a similar ship of Swedish registration.
And how did you manage to reach Brazil?
Picked up by a Portuguese cargo boat and handed over to the Brazilian authorities when we reached Rio. The Brazilians have been operating a kind of parole system for any of us who can find work. The Mayer Brothers, who own the Deutschland, are coastal traders, Brazilian citizens but German by origin. Theyve helped a great many of us. We make the run from Rio to Belém and back once a month with general cargo.
And you repay them now by stealing their boat?
A point of view; for which I can only hope theyll forgive me when they know the facts. But we dont really have any choice.
Why not?
The Brazilians are starting to play a more active part in the war. Last month they sent troops to Italy. I think things could get much more difficult for us here.
And the other reason?
You think I have one?
She waited, hands folded, saying nothing. Berger shrugged, opened the drawer of his desk and took out a wallet. He extracted a snapshot and passed it across. It was badly creased and discoloured by salt water, but the smiles on the faces of the three small girls were still clear enough.
Your children?
Taken in forty-one. Heidi, on the left, will be ten now. Eva is eight and Else will be six in October.
And their mother?
Killed in a bombing raid on Hamburg three months ago.
She crossed herself automatically. What happened to the children?
Herr Prager got word about them for me through our embassy in the Argentine. My mother has them in Bavaria.
Thank God in his infinite mercy.
Should I? Bergers face was pale, jaw set. Germany is going under, Sister, a matter of months only. Can you imagine how bad its going to be? And my mothers an old woman. If anything happens to her A kind of shudder seemed to pass through his body and he leaned heavily on the desk. I want to be with them because thats where Im needed, not here on the edge of the world, so far off that the war has ceased to exist.
And for that youll dare anything?
Including five thousand miles of ocean dominated completely by the British and American navies, in a patched-up sailing ship that hasnt been out of sight of land in twenty years or more. An old tub, that hasnt had a refit for longer than I care to remember. An impossible voyage.
Which Herr Richter, your bosun, is apparently willing to make.
Helmut is a special case. The finest sailor Ive ever known. He has invaluable experience under sail. Served his time as a boy on Finnish windjammers on the Chilean nitrate run. That may not mean a lot to you, but to seamen anywhere
But according to Herr Prager there are another twenty men in your crew who are also willing to make this so-called impossible voyage.
Most of them with a reason roughly similar to mine. I can think of at least seventy men in Rio who would gladly stand in their shoes. They held a lottery for the last ten places in a German bar on the Rio waterfront two weeks ago. He shook his head. They want to go home, Sister, dont you see? And for that, to use your own words, theyll dare anything.
And my friends and I are different, is that it? We too, have families, Captain, as dear to us as yours. More than that, because of what lies ahead, home is where we are needed now.
Berger stood staring at her for a moment, then shook his head. No. In any case, its too late. Youd need Swedish papers, thats an essential part of the plan. Pragers arranged them for all of us.
She got to her feet, opened the cabin door and called, Herr Prager!
He moved in out of the rain. What is it?
My papers, please. May I have them now?
Prager opened his briefcase. He searched inside, then took out a passport which he dropped on the desk in front of Berger.
Berger frowned. But this is Swedish. He opened it and Sister Angela stared out at him from the photo. He looked up. I wonder if youd be so kind as to step outside for a moment, Sister. Id like a few words with my good friend here.
She hesitated, glanced briefly at Prager, then went out.
Prager said, Look, Erich, let me explain.
Berger held up the passport. Not something you can pick up at twenty-four hours notice, so you must have known about this for quite some time. Why in the hell didnt you tell me?
Because I knew youd react exactly as you are doing.
So you thought youd leave it until it was too late for me to say no? Well, you made a mistake. I wont play. And what about this mission station theyve been operating? Is it suddenly so unimportant?
The Brazilian Department of the Interior has changed its policy on the Indians in that area; moving them out and white settlers in. the mission was due to close anyway.
Theyre a nursing order, arent they? Surely there must be some other outlet for their talents up there.
They are also Germans, Erich. What do you think its going to be like when those first Brazilian casualty figures start filtering through from Italy?
There was a long pause. Berger picked up the Swedish passport, opened it and examined the photo again. She looks like trouble to me. Shes been used to getting her own way for too long.
Nonsense, Prager said. I knew her family from the old days. Good Prussian stock. Her father was an infantry general. She was a nurse on the Western Front in nineteen-eighteen.
Bergers astonishment showed. A hell of a background for a Little Sister of Mercy. What went wrong? Was there some sort of scandal?
Not at all. There was a young man, I believe. A flier.
who didnt come back one fine morning so she sought refuge in a life of good works. Berger shook his head. Its beginning to sound like a very bad play.
But youve got it all wrong, Erich. The way I heard it, he simply let her think he was dead. She had a breakdown that almost cost her life and was just coming out of it nicely when she met him walking along the Unter den Linden one day with another girl on his arm.
Berger held up both hands. No more. I know when Im beaten. Bring her back in.
Prager went to the door quickly and opened it. She was standing outside talking to the bosun.
Berger said, You win, Sister. Tell Richter to have you taken ashore to collect the rest of your friends. Be back here by two a.m. because thats when we leave, and if you arent here, we go without you.
God bless you, Captain.
I think hes got enough on his plate at the moment without me. As she moved to the door, he added, Just one thing. Try not to let the crew know before they have to.
Are they likely to be disturbed by our presence?
Very much so. Sailors are superstitious by nature. Amongst other things, sailing on a Friday is asking for trouble. Taking any kind of a minister along as a passenger, the same. We should certainly pick up all the bad luck in the world with seven nuns sailing with us.
Five, Captain. Only five, she said and went out.
Berger frowned and turned to Prager. You said seven passengers.
So I did. Prager rummaged in the briefcase and produced two more Swedish passports which he pushed across the desk. One for Gertrude and one for me. She, too, is waiting on shore with our baggage which includes, I might add, that wireless transmitter you asked me to try and get you.
Berger gazed at him in stupefaction. You and your wife? he said hoarsely. Good God, Otto, youre sixty-five if youre a day. And what will your masters in Berlin say?
From what I hear, the Russians are far more likely to get there before I do, so it doesnt really matter. Prager smiled gently. You see, Erich, we want to go home, too.
* * *
When Berger went up to the quarterdeck just before two it was raining harder than ever. The entire crew was assembled on the deck below, faces pale, oilskins glistening in the dim glow of the deck lights.
He gripped the rail, leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. I wont say much. You all know the score. Its one hell of a trip, Im not going to pretend any different, but if you do as I tell you, well make it, you and I and the old Deutschland together.
There was a stirring amongst them, no more than that, and he carried on, a touch of iron in his voice now. One more thing. As most of you will have observed, were carrying passengers. Herr Prager, once assistant consul at our embassy in Rio and his wife, and five nuns from a mission station on the Negro.
He paused. There was only the hissing of the rain as they all waited. Nuns, he said, but still women and its a long journey home, so let me make myself plain. Ill personally shoot the first man to step over the line, and so enter it in the log. He straightened. Now everyone to his station.
As he turned from the rail his second-in-command moved out of the darkness to join him. Leutnant zur See Johann Sturm, a tall, fair youth from Minden in Westphalia, had celebrated his twentieth birthday only three days earlier. Like Richter, he was a submariner and had served in a U-boat as second watch officer.
Everything under control, Mr Sturm? Berger enquired in a low voice.
I think so, Captain. Sturms voice was surprisingly calm. Ive stowed the wireless transmitter Herr Prager brought with him from Rio in my cabin, as you ordered. Its not much, Im afraid, sir. A limited range at the best.