I know one thing, sir. Ill never complain about serving in submarines again.
On the quarterdeck Berger smoked a cigar and waited, Sturm at his side.
What do you think, Herr Kapitän? Sturm asked. Has it worked?
In the same moment, the signal lamp on the bridge of the Guardian started to flash.
You may proceed. Berger spelled out. Happy voyage and good luck. He turned to Sturm, his face calm. My maternal grandmother was English, did I ever tell you that?
No, sir.
Berger tossed his cigar over the side. Shes all yours, Mr Sturm. Lets get under way again as soon as may be.
Aye, aye, sir.
Sturm turned, raising his voice to call to the men below, and Berger descended to the deck. He stood in the entrance to the companionway, aware of the stench, of Sister Angelas pale face peering up at him.
Did it work? she called softly.
Remind me, when I have the time, to tell you what a very remarkable woman you are, Sister.
At the appropriate moment, I shall, Captain. You may be certain of that, she said serenely.
Berger turned away. The Guardian was already departing towards the south-west. He watched her go, and behind him Helmut Richter emerged from the forrard hatch and came aft. His body was streaked with filth, but he was smiling.
Can the lads come on deck and wash off under the pump? They smell pretty high after those bilges.
So I observe. Berger wrinkled his nose. Give it another twenty minutes until our British friends are really on their way, Helmut, then turn them loose.
He went into his cabin and Richter stripped his shirt from his body, worked the deck pump with one hand and turned the hose on himself. As he did so, Sister Lotte came out on deck clutching a full pail of slops in both hands. She got as far as the starboard rail and was about to empty it when Richter reached her.
Never into the wind, he said. That way you get the contents back in your face. He peered down in disgust. And that, you can definitely do without.
He carried the pail to the port rail, emptied it over the side, then flushed it out under the pump. She stood watching him calmly.
She was small and very slightly built, a lawyers daughter from Munich who looked younger than her twenty-three years. Unlike the other nuns, she was still a novice and had been transferred to Brazil, by way of Portugal, the previous year, only because she was a trained nurse and there was a shortage of people with her qualifications.
She picked up his shirt. Ill wash this for you.
No need.
And the seam is splitting on one shoulder, Ill mend it. When she looked up, he saw that her eyes were a startling cornflower blue. It must have been horrible down there.
For you also.
He handed her the pail, she took it and for a brief moment, they held it together. Sister Angela said quietly, Lotte, I need you.
She was standing in the entrance to the companionway, her face calm as always, but there was a new wariness in her eyes when she looked at Richter. The girl smiled briefly and joined her and they went below. Richter started to pump water over his head vigorously.
Berger sat behind the desk, surveying the wreckage of his cabin not that it mattered. It could soon be put straight again. He was filled with a tremendous sense of elation and opened his personal journal. He picked up his pen, thought for a moment, then wrote: I am now more than ever convinced that weshall reach Kiel in safety
4
Barquentine Deutschland, 14 September 1944.Lat. 28°.16N., long. 30°.50W. Frau Pragerdied at three bells of the mid-watch. We deliveredher body to the sea shortly after dawn, SisterAngela taking the service. Ships company muchaffected by this calamitous event. A light breezesprang up during the afternoon watch,increasing to fresh in squalls. I estimate that weare 1170 miles from Cobh in Ireland this day.
Night was falling fast as Jago and Petty Officer Jansen went up the hill to St Mungos. They found the burial party in the cemetery at the back of the church. There were twenty or so islanders there, men and women, Jean Sinclair and Reeve standing together, the admiral in full uniform. Murdoch Macleod in his best blue serge suit, stood at the head of the open grave, a prayer book in his hands.
The two Americans paused some little distance away and removed their caps. It was very quiet except for the incessant calling of the birds, and Jago looked down across Marys Town to the horseshoe of the harbour where the MGB was tied up at the jetty.
The sun was setting in a sky the colour of brass, splashed with scarlet, thin mackerel clouds high above. Beyond Barra Head, the islands marched north to Barra, Mingulay, Pabbay, Sandray, rearing out of a perfectly calm sea, black against flame.
Reeve glanced over his shoulder, murmured something to Jean Sinclair, then moved towards them through the gravestones. Thanks for coming so promptly, Lieutenant.
No trouble, sir. We were on our way to Mallaig from Stornoway when they relayed your message. Jago nodded towards the grave into which half-a-dozen fishermen were lowering the coffin. Another one from U-743?
Reeve nodded. That makes eight in the past three days. He hesitated. When you were last here you said you were going to London on leave this week.
Thats right, Admiral. If I can get to Mallaig on time I intend to catch the night train for Glasgow. Is there something I can do for you, sir?
There certainly is. Reeve took a couple of envelopes from his pocket. This first one is for my niece. Her apartments in Westminster, not far from the Houses of Parliament.
And the other, sir?
Reeve handed it over. If you would see that gets to SHAEF Headquarters personally. It would save time.
Jago looked at the address on the envelope and swallowed hard. My God!
Reeve smiled. See that its handed to one of his aides personally. No one else.
Yes, sir.
Youd better move out, then. Ill expect to hear from you as soon as you get back. As I told you, I have a radio at the cottage, one of the few courtesies the Navy still extends me. Theyll brief you at Mallaig on the times during the day I sit at the damned thing hoping someone will take notice.
Jago saluted, nodded to Jansen and then moved away. As the admiral rejoined the funeral party, Murdoch Macleod started to read aloud in a firm, clear voice: Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down like a flower
Suddenly it was very dark, with only the burned-out fire of day on the horizon as they went out through the lych-gate.
Jansen said, Whos the letter for, Lieutenant?
General Eisenhower, Jago said simply.
In Brest, they were shooting again across the river as Paul Gericke turned the corner, the rattle of small-arms fire drifting across the water. Somewhere on the far horizon rockets arched through the night and in spite of the heavy rain, considerable portions of the city appeared to be on fire. Most of the warehouses which had once lined the street had been demolished by bombing, the pavement was littered with rubble and broken glass, but the small hotel on the corner, which served as naval headquarters, still seemed to be intact. Gericke ran up the steps quickly, showed his pass to the sentry on the door and went inside.
He was a small man, no more than five feet five or six, with fair hair and a pale face that seemed untouched by wind and weather. His eyes were very dark, with no light in them at all, contrasting strangely with the good-humoured, rather lazy smile that seemed permanently to touch his mouth.
His white-topped naval cap had seen much service and he was hardly a prepossessing figure in his old leather jerkin, leather trousers and sea boots. But the young lieutenant sitting at his desk in the foyer saw only the Knights Cross with Oak Leaves at the throat and was on his feet in an instant.
I was asked to report to the commodore of submarines as soon as I arrived, Gericke told him. Korvettenkapitän Gericke. U-235.
Hes expecting you, sir, the lieutenant said. If youd follow me.
They went up the curving staircase. A petty officer, a pistol at his belt, stood guard outside one of the hotel bedrooms. The handwritten notice on the door said Kapitän zurSee Otto Friemel, Führer der UnterseebooteWest.
The lieutenant knocked and went in. Lieutenant-Commander Gericke, sir.
The room was in half darkness, the only light the reading lamp on Friemels desk. He was in shirt-sleeves, working his way through a pile of correspondence, steel-rimmed reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, and an ivory cigarette-holder jutting from the left corner of his mouth.
He came round the desk smiling, hand outstretched. My dear Paul. Good to see you. How was the West Indies?
A long haul, Gericke said. Especially when it was time to come home.
Friemel produced a bottle of Schnapps and two glasses. Were out of champagne. Not like the old days.
What, no flowers on the dock? Gericke said. Dont tell me were losing the war?
My dear Paul, in Brest we dont even have a dock any longer. If youd arrived in daylight youd have noticed the rather unhappy state of those impregnable U-boat pens of ours. Five metres of reinforced concrete pulverised by a little item the RAF call the Earthquake bomb. He raised his glass. To you, Paul. A successful trip, I hear?
Not bad,
Come now. A Canadian corvette, a tanker and three merchant ships? Thirty-one thousand tons, and you call that not bad? Id term it a rather large miracle. These days two out of three U-boats that go out never return. He shook his head. It isnt nineteen-forty any longer. No more Happy Time. These days they send out half-trained boys. Youre one of the few oldtimers left.
Gericke helped himself to a cigarette from a box on the table. It was French and of the cheapest variety, for when he lit it and inhaled, the smoke bit at the back of his throat, sending him into a paroxysm of coughing.
My God! Now I know things are bad.
Youve no idea how bad, Friemel told him. Brest has been besieged by the American Eighth Army Corps since the ninth of August. The only reason were still here is because of the quite incredible defence put up by General Ramcke and the Second Airborne Division. Those paratroopers of his are without a doubt the finest fighting men Ive ever seen in action, and that includes the Waffen SS. He reached for the Schnapps bottle again. Of course they were pulled out of the Ukraine to come here. It could be they are still euphoric at such good fortune. An American prison camp, after all, is infinitely to be preferred to the Russian variety.
And whats the U-boat position?
There isnt one. The Ninth Flotilla is no more. U-256 was the last to leave. That was eleven days ago. Orders are to regroup in Bergen.
Then what about me? Gericke asked. I could have made for Norway by way of the Irish Sea and the North Channel.
Your orders, Paul, are quite explicit. You will make for Bergen via the English Channel, as the rest of the flotilla has done, only in your case, someone at High Command has provided you with what one might term a slight detour.
Gericke, who had long since passed being surprised at anything, smiled. Where to, exactly?
Its really quite simple. Friemel turned to the table behind, rummaged amongst a pile of charts, found the one he was looking for and opened it across the desk.
Gericke leaned over. Falmouth?
Thats right. The Royal Navys Fifteenth MGB Flotilla operating out of Falmouth has been causing havoc on this entire coast recently. To be perfectly honest, its made any kind of naval activity impossible.
And what am I supposed to do about it?
According to your orders, go into Falmouth and lay mines.
Theyre joking, of course.
Friemel held up a typed order. Dönitz himself.
Gericke laughed out loud. But this is really beautiful, Otto. Quite superb in its idiocy, even for those chairbound bastards in Kiel. What on earth am I supposed to do, win the war in a single bold stroke? He shook his head. They must believe in fairy stories. Someone should tell them that when the tailor boasted he could kill seven at one blow he meant flies on a slice of bread and jam.
I dont know, Friemel said. It could be worse. Theres a protecting curtain of mines plus a blockship here between Pendennis Point and Black Rock and a temporary net boom from Black Rock to St Anthonys Head. Thats supposed to be highly secret, by the way, but it seems the Abwehr still have an agent operational in the Falmouth area.
He must feel lonely.
Ships in and out all the time. Go in with a few when the net opens. Drop your eggs, up here in Carrick Roads and across the inner harbour and out again.
Gericke shook his head. Im afraid not.
Why?
We may get in, but we certainly wont get out.
Friemel sighed. A pity, as Ill be going with you. Not out of any sense of adventure, I assure you. I have orders to report to Kiel and as the land routes to Germany are cut, my only way would seem to be with you to Bergen.
Gericke shrugged. So, in the end, all roads lead to hell.
Friemel helped himself to one of the French cigarettes and inserted it in his holder. What shape are you in?
We were strafed by a Liberator in Biscay. Superficial damage only, but my engines need a complete overhaul. New bearings for a start.
Not possible. I can give you four or five days. We must leave on the nineteenth. Ramcke tells me he can hold out for another week at the most. No more.
The door opened and the young lieutenant entered. Signal from Kiel, sir. Marked most urgent.
Friemel took the flimsy from him and adjusted his spectacles. A slight, ironic smile touched his mouth. Would you believe it, Paul, but this confirms my promotion as Rear Admiral in command of all naval forces in the Brest area. One can only imagine it has been delayed in channels.
The lieutenant passed across another flimsy. Friemel read it, his face grave, then handed it to Gericke. It said: CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PROMOTION IN THE FULL AND CERTAIN KNOWLEDGE THAT YOU AND YOUR MEN WILL DIE RATHER THAN YIELD ONE INCH OF SOIL TO THE ENEMY. ADOLF HITLER.
Gericke passed it back. Congratulations, Herr Konteradmiral, he said formally.
Without a flicker of emotion, Friemel said to the lieutenant, Send this message to Berlin. Will fight to the last. Long live the Führer. Thats all. Dismiss!