by Bobby Akart
“Get me Captain Garland! Now!”
The announcement was made over the ship’s speaker system for Garland to report to the bridge immediately. While Charles waited for Garland to arrive, he tried to hail the approaching vessels on all open frequencies. There was no response.
Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he wiped his palms on his uniform. Everyone on the bridge was standing, scanning the waters around the ship, and glancing at the surface radar. With the Victory sailing at eighteen miles per hour and the estimated speed of the two approaching boats near seventy miles an hour, Garland was forced to revise his estimate.
“What’s the situation, Mr. Charles?” Garland asked as he arrived on the bridge.
“Sir, unknown boats rapidly approaching from our due south.”
“Did you hail them?”
“No response, sir. They are closing fast. Two minutes at best.”
“Pirates,” muttered Garland. While based in South Africa, his cruise line had made the decision to stop any travel along the Eastern African continent in the vicinity of Madagascar and Somalia. He’d considered himself fortunate to have never encountered the Somalian pirates or the pneumonic plague endemic to Madagascar, for that matter.
“Ninety seconds,” announced Charles.
Garland grabbed the microphone for the ship’s internal communications system.
“All hands. All hands. Countermeasures in effect. This is not a drill!”
He dropped the mic and looked to one of two seamen on the bridge with Charles. “Order all passengers to return to their cabins.” He turned to the other. “Issue a Mayday immediately!”
“Sixty seconds.”
“Right ninety degrees toward the coast. Easy, Mr. Charles. Don’t knock everybody down.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Garland grabbed the binoculars and raced out the door of the bridge leading to the bow. He stumbled slightly as Charles initiated the change in course. He scanned the darkness beyond the ship. He couldn’t see the approaching boats, but he could hear their loud rumble. It was the unmistakable roar of power boats built for speed and agility. He could never outrun or successfully outmaneuver them.
He returned to the bridge and locked the door behind him. Charles announced that the boats had sped past and were now in a circling pattern.
“It’s a form of intimidation,” commented Garland. “Ask your General Custer. I would expect to be strafed with—”
As if on cue, automatic gunfire sent bullets flying into the steel hull of the ship, stitching the sides and ricocheting harmlessly into the Gulf. The intention was not to sink the Victory but, rather, to rattle its passengers. The technique worked.
Garland could hear screaming throughout his ship.
Charles opened the comms up, seeking assistance. “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. The Victory Casino Cruise ship is under pirate attack. Approximate position is one hundred eighty miles south-southwest of Brownsville, Texas. Repeat! Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!”
“All engines ahead full,” instructed Garland calmly. “Let’s not make it easy for them.”
Abduwali and his pirates had the Victory in their sight. His Outlaw was on her beam, easily keeping pace with the cruise ship’s twenty-two knots. The men in the boat grabbed their weapons and continued to shoot the side of the ship, piercing the porthole glass along the lower cabins. He could feel the excitement among his men. They knew the risks but loved the thrill of the hunt.
His companion ship ran a parallel course and was in position. They had the Victory in a classic trap. No matter which way she turned, the fast boats could easily intercept regardless of what the captain of the cruise ship attempted.
The Victory’s evasive measure of turning toward the coast was expected. Abduwali had seen it before. The first inclination of every sea captain was to race toward solid ground.
“Sorry, Captain. You’ll never get there,” the Somalian said to himself before addressing his team. “Fire on the bridge.” He gave the same instructions to the other boat.
Automatic gunfire erupted again as the glass windows on the bridge shattered. The men fired their AKs until their magazines were spent, and then expertly replaced them with another. They were wearing tactical vests with half a dozen or more full magazines secured in MOLLE pouches if needed.
The lights inside the bridge went dark, resulting in a spontaneous eruption of cheering by his men. The Victory suddenly veered left, causing Abduwali’s companion boat to pull back on the throttle. The Victory kept turning left as if intentionally creating a circular pattern. Had the captain and others on the helm been killed? Was the ship out of control? Abduwali furrowed his brow. He’d never thought of this eventuality.
The bridge was completely dark except for the illumination coming from the control panel. The two seamen assisting Garland and Charles were unknowingly given a death sentence by their captain. He’d instructed them to watch over the port and starboard sides of the ship to give him a position on the pirates. They were killed instantly by the rounds tearing through the glass.
Charles was grazed by a bullet, but it was the flying glass that killed him. A large shard of the shattered window crashed inward and stuck in his neck, severing his carotid artery. Blood gurgled out of his neck as Garland knelt on the floor of the bridge to help him. He was dead within seconds.
The Victory’s sudden lurch to the left returned its course seaward. The ship kept turning, and at over twenty knots, the momentum was forcing it to list onto its starboard side. The engines were howling at the redline under the strain of the sharp turn.
Garland gathered himself and took control of his ship. He had an idea. Sometimes, a safe harbor was not necessarily the answer. He course-corrected and pointed the Victory back out to sea, directly toward the approaching storm. Then he made an announcement to his passengers. They were told to lock themselves in their cabins and prepare to be boarded. Crew members were to immediately arm themselves and take up defensive positions. Any attempt to board the cruise ship should be met with appropriate force.
Another burst of gunfire sent bullets flying throughout the bridge. He ducked for cover to avoid getting killed. Then the landline phone rang at the helmsman’s station. Garland crawled along the floor and fumbled in the dark until he could reach it.
“Hallo,” he said into the mouthpiece, using his Oxford English.
“Who is this?” the woman asked.
“Captain Garland. We are under attack and in imminent danger of being boarded. I have had three members of my crew killed by automatic gunfire.”
The woman on the line was calm. “Captain, we are tracking your position due east at twenty knots.”
“Okay? Well, yes. That is correct.”
“Sir, I am Angela Bardwell with Lloyd’s of London Loss Mitigation. I will be your point of contact from this point forward.”
“Did you not hear what I said?” He shouted his question, as more gunfire could be heard outside the ship.
“We are aware of your situation, Captain. I am instructing you to tell your crew to stand down, and you are to surrender the Victory to the hostiles.”
“What? Are you crazy? You want me to let them on board?”
“That’s right, Captain. At this point, we are trying to save lives. You and your crew are not capable of handling this situation alone. Order them to stand down, and then bring the ship to a halt. Please confirm.”
Garland shook his head in disbelief. Why couldn’t she have called before three good lads lost their lives?
“Confirmed.”
Chapter Six
Mid-July 1944
Wewelsburg Castle
Büren, Germany
Heinrich Himmler was born in 1900 in Munich, Germany, the son of a schoolteacher. He served in the German Army toward the end of World War I, and afterwards, he bounced around various jobs, including a brief period as a chicken farmer.
During his involvement with the Nazi party in the early 1920s, he became known to
the rising star and the party’s propaganda leader—Adolf Hitler. Himmler’s loyalty to the Nazi party and his keen awareness of security matters resulted in his appointment as the head of the Schutzstaffel, or SS, and Hitler’s personal bodyguard.
After the Nazis rise to power in 1933, Himmler became the head of the political police in Bavaria. An astute observer of human sociology, he manipulated his position to create a state within a state by expanding the SS and establishing its autonomy within the Nazi party as an enforcer in the form of a paramilitary organization.
By June 1941, when Germany invaded the Soviet Union, Himmler was considered the right-hand man of Hitler. He not only controlled the police but the political administration of the occupied territories. During this time, he forced more than a million residents out of Poland, to be replaced with German settlers.
Himmler demanded a residence that was befitting his stature, and over a period of several years leading up to World War II, he leased and renovated the historic, early-seventeenth-century Wewelsburg Castle. Situated atop a hill in Northeast Germany overlooking the Alme Valley, the triangular structure had fallen into disrepair.
Himmler saw the property as perfect for his residence and a facility to teach the Nazi ideology to young SS soldiers. The castle, filled with spiritual artifacts from around the world, was believed by Himmler to have magical powers. He thought certain items gave him the power to see into the future and provide Germany protection during a time of war.
A week after receipt of Rommel’s letter, Himmler summoned Dr. Kurt Blome, a high-ranking Nazi scientist and the head of Germany’s virology program. In addition, several pillars of the German military-industrial complex, ranging from manufacturing to science, were in attendance. For this meeting, he intentionally excluded military officers and Nazi party officials. Because he had the complete trust of Hitler, such clandestine meetings were never questioned.
Himmler waited in the grand foyer of the triangular castle. The soaring forty-foot walls were adorned with a mix of seized artwork and Nazi symbolism. An enormous flag bearing the Nazi Hakenkreuz, or swastika, hung from the ceiling, an imposing nod to the party.
One by one, he greeted his guests. Once they were all there, he led them deeper into the castle without comment. He believed his guests should be reverent in the moment as they soaked in their surroundings. He was not a tour guide. He was a leader of men.
After several minutes of moving through long hallways and obscure stairwells, the group arrived at a circular chamber known as the crypt. The room had a dancing eternal frame at the center and was surrounded by twelve seats. This was a very spiritual room for Himmler, and it was where he took meetings in which significant decisions would be made. Today was no different.
“I welcome you all to Wewelsburg. To my knowledge, only two of you have been here before—Herr Doktor Blome and General Guderian. Both of these men have served the Reich with honor and distinction.”
The two men nodded to their fellow guests and turned their attention back to Himmler.
“Our discussion today is private and intended for your ears only. Each of you will play a role in what I wish to propose, while some of you will confirm to the others the facts I will be relaying. After completion of our conversation today, I expect each of you to perform the necessary tasks to save Deutschland and maintain her greatness.”
“Sieg Heil!” shouted several of the attendees in unison.
Himmler nodded and took a seat. “General Guderian is here to confirm what I am about to impart upon you. Tomorrow, it will be announced that he is to replace General of the Infantry Kurt Zeitzler, a weak man who has suffered a nervous breakdown.”
The general received several nods of approval and smiles. The industrialists and wealthy financiers in attendance would reap huge rewards from any increase in weapons manufacturing ordered by Guderian.
Himmler continued. “I am told that the invasion at Normandy has resulted in the collapse of our Atlantic Wall. The Allied tank forces led by General Patton have advanced rapidly across France in an effort to cut off our retreat. The conventional war we’ve waged throughout Europe, Africa, the Soviet Union and in the Atlantic has reached its limits. Fighting on so many fronts is simply not sustainable.
“Der Führer will never accept defeat. He will ask our soldiers to dig in and fight. And they will. However, it is possible to be defeated, as the Normandy invasion has proven. Therefore, we must find another way to do battle.”
Himmler paused and looked upward toward the ceiling of the windowless room. The flames reached higher and higher as he spoke. It was the sign he was looking for to continue. To Himmler, a strong fire was a sign of virility and power. A weak flame was indicative of weakness and certain death.
“We must consider a method of attack that is loathed by der Führer. During the First World War, chlorine gas was used effectively on French troops in 1915. In retaliation, France and the British deployed mustard gas against our armies.
“In mid-October of 1918, der Führer and several comrades were in a fierce battle at Ypres. They were ordered to pull back from their trench and, as a result, were partially blinded by the mustard gas. Through incredible bravery, der Führer led his comrades to safety by guiding them through the gas. Soon thereafter, while der Führer was hospitalized, Deutschland was forced to surrender.”
Himmler took a deep breath and rose from his chair. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked around the crypt, studying the flames and the interesting shadows they made on the stone walls.
“Mein Führer refuses to use poisonous gases on our adversaries. He is an honorable warrior, seeking to fight a war using the weapons that God has given us to use. I admire this, but I believe he has lost sight of the ultimate goal, which is winning or, he presumes, victory.”
He glanced in the direction of General Guderian and nodded, indicating he should speak.
“There is another tactical reason, one that both Field Marshal Rommel and I agree upon,” began the general. “We have successfully employed the blitzkrieg military strategy throughout the war. With a combination of these sudden attacks led by our superior panzer tank forces and the Luftwaffe, followed swiftly by our infantry, we’ve crushed the Allied forces repeatedly.”
Himmler rose and continued the analysis. “Unfortunately, there is a drawback to this strategy. If we deployed bombers to use chemical weapons, they would contaminate the same area our soldiers would then have to march into. Therefore, these extraordinarily effective weapons could potentially kill our own.”
He walked until he stood behind Dr. Blome and set both hands on the man’s shoulders. Dr. Blome nodded to acknowledge the presence of the powerful Himmler behind him. He sensed the weight of the survival of the Reich was about to be thrust upon his shoulders.
“Herr Doktor Blome, bitte.”
“Jawohl, Reichsführer Himmler,” he began. “In 1938, our scientists, led by Gerhard Schrader, were tasked with inventing a less costly pesticide to kill the weevils damaging our crops and orchards. The four-man team experimented with a mixture of phosphorus and cyanide that was too toxic to use for agricultural purposes.
“Schrader’s employer, IG Farben, who is represented here today, informed the army of their discovery. Upon orders from Berlin, Schrader conducted further experiments until he produced a nerve agent so deadly that many of the army scientists dubbed the liquid tabun. Taboo. The nerve agent was named sarin, an acronym for the names of the four scientists who developed it.”
The industrialist from IG Farben spoke up. “Our company stopped manufacturing the sarin when the military chose not to purchase it from us. We had no other use for such a deadly substance.”
The room fell silent as the men looked from the Farben representative to Dr. Blome. Himmler was the first to speak.
“Production has not ceased. It is now under the auspices of Herr Doktor Blome at Riems Island.”
The room burst into whispered conversation. The production of sarin
was considered taboo, not only because it was contrary to Hitler’s wishes, but because its use was deemed unhumanitarian, even for the Nazis, who hadn’t hesitated to use Zyklon B to exterminate the Jewish race. From the Nazi perspective, Zyklon B, the poisonous gas commonly known as hydrogen cyanide, resulted in suffocation. Sarin was considered a more brutal death.
“I did not know this!” protested the representative from IG Farben. “We will have no part of this.” He began to rise from his chair to leave.
With the man standing in front of the fire staring at Dr. Blome, Himmler spoke. “Is there anyone who objects to the manufacture of sarin gas and its use as a weapon of war?”
One other man, a banker, stood and shook his head before lowering it. He was ashamed to disagree with Himmler, but he was given the option to distance himself from the nerve agent.
Without saying another word, Himmler led the two men to the only doorway leading into the crypt. Outside, two SS guards awaited them. Himmler’s words were whispered and ominous.
“These two gentlemen do not wish to participate further in our conversation. Please see to them.”
As the SS guards escorted the men through the labyrinth of hallways, Himmler shook his head in disappointment. He had no problem sentencing men to their death. He’d preferred loyalty and cooperation. However, they were now privy to information that could not see the light of day. Within ten minutes, the two men would be executed and their bodies fed to the incinerator in the bowels of the castle.
Himmler returned to the attendees. “To each his own,” he said with a slight shrug and a barely noticeable smile. He suspected those two men would be more than contrarians. Those who would be chosen to take their positions would remain in lockstep with his Himmler’s plan. “We’re at war, and sometimes you must act rashly.”