Ice Fortress (A Jack Coulson Thriller)

by Robert B. Williams

  Chapter 19

  January 4, 1945

  Off the coast of Islas Malvinas (Falkland Islands)

  52° 12' 04.2" S 60°49' 50.3" W

  U-2532

  Depth 200 feet

  Kapitänleutnant Helmut Sohler had been a Kriegsmarine U-Boat officer from the beginning of the war. He was proud of his heritage and honored to carry on the family tradition of naval service. His father had served on U-Boats during the First World War and from the time he first heard the stories of his daring exploits, young Helmut dreamed of nothing more than following in his father’s footsteps. His childhood was spent playing in make believe submarines crudely constructed from old packing crates with pieces of lead pipe fashioned into make-believe periscopes.

  With adolescence that dream faded to a distant memory. The Treaty of Versailles, something that meant nothing to a small boy playing U-Boat commander, had shaped the world in which he grew up. A world in which Germany’s military strength was severely restricted but most importantly for Helmut Sohler, a world in which German submarines were banned. Following the calamitous impact the Reichsmarine’s U-Boats had against both military and merchant shipping during the war, it was hardly surprising that the German U-Boat force were dismantled and the silent but fearsome Reichsmarine weapon that had come close to defeating Great Britain was strictly prohibited.

  Kapitänleutnant Helmut Sohler was proud of his boat and its crew. He had sworn to serve the Reich, sinking as much enemy tonnage as his torpedo capacity would allow on each mission. That was his duty. The reason his boat patrolled silently beneath the waves.

  All that came to an abrupt and unpleasant end when General Hans Kammler came aboard and began treating his beloved U-2532 as if it were his own. Being a proud German and being proud to serve his country didn’t mean Sohler had to answer to the Waffen-SS or condone the horrific means they so often used to achieve their ends.

  Sohler despised Kammler. He and his kind were not fighting for national pride. They were striving to rebuild the world and make it a darker and more perverse place. Definitely not the kind world Kapitänleutnant Helmut Sohler wanted his children or grandchildren to grow up in.

  Sohler wanted to sit his grandchildren on his knee and regale them with tales of bravery and cunning as he patrolled the oceans with his wolf pack, playing a deadly game of cat and mouse, not horrific stories of death camps and genocide. Sharing the confined space of his boat with a loathsome monster who boasted of his engineering feats and how they improved efficiency at the death camps repulsed Sohler. He could almost feel the very evil the general manifested permeating throughout the boat, turning his crew and beloved boat into something hideous and corrupt.

  The Kapitänleutnant shivered at the thought of Kammler and tried to concentrate on the job at hand. Thankfully the general had been too busy tending his precious cargo to interfere with Sohler for the past two days. The Kapitänleutnant didn’t know what was inside the lead lined compartment that had been made off limits to all but the general for the entire voyage, but what he did know was that the hairs on the back of his neck bristled and an icy feeling of dread knotted his stomach each time he walked past the cargo hold, which he made a point of doing as little as possible.

  Helmut Sohler had led countless raids against merchant convoys and survived many relentless pursuits by enemy ships pounding the sea with depth charges. He was a man who relied on his instincts and right now his gut was telling him that something terrible was being transported on his boat.

  If that wasn’t enough to deal with, the crew was becoming restless and difficult to discipline. On patrol, they engaged in drills day and night when not actually hunting down targets. Drills kept them alert and alive. Drills sunk enemy ships.

  But on this new mission to the Antarctic base, there was to be no engagement with enemy ships and the general had forbidden drills of any kind for fear that they might be detected by allied sonar. Silent and deep were his orders. They were to remain submerged at all times until their batteries required them to surface for recharging by the diesel engines. That was all well and good for a tried and tested U-Boat, but U-2532 hadn’t even completed sea trials. Hasty, last minute changes to her design had been pushed through the chain of command by Kammler himself before the boat was ordered to make way for South America.

  Sohler pulled the cap from his head and ran his fingers through his greasy blond hair. The diesel fumes and battery gases were giving him a thumping headache. It never bothered him when he was the wolf chasing down a lone battle cruiser, but now that he was reduced to nothing but an underwater taxi service for SS, it bothered him like hell. Fatigue lined his face. He’d been forced to sail with a barely enough crew to operate the boat. Sohler hadn’t slept properly for days. He couldn’t remember the last time he smelled fresh air.

  “Take us to periscope depth,” he ordered. His tone sharp.

  The helmsmen and planesmen looked to the Kapitänleutnant with a fear in their eyes. They were well aware of the general’s orders not to surface for even the most extreme emergency. Under attack they were ordered to scuttle the boat to prevent the enemy ships boarding them. It was made very clear that the general did not want the cargo falling into enemy hands.

  “This is still my boat and I’m still the Kapitänleutnant!” Sohler’s abrupt shout filled the cramped control room.

  The Kapitänleutnant saw the look of indecision on the men’s faces. A bullet in the back of the head was a sure reward for ignoring the orders of a Waffen-SS general, even aboard a Kriegsmarine U-Boat.

  “All ahead two-thirds. Take us to periscope depth and prepare to trim,” Sohler commanded calmly but sternly.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the young submariners complied. Sohler could feel the deck shift beneath his feet slightly. He would have the snorkel raised and instruct the diesel officer to run the diesels for a while to power the screws and charge the batteries. The generals demanding timetable would remain on schedule. The men would also welcome the opportunity to enjoy the fresh sea air pumped through the stuffy hull as they made their way on the surface to refuel at Port Stephens.

  Before he could make his way to the periscope platform, the lights dimmed for a few seconds and the drone of the electric engines tapered noticeably. Whatever Kammler had back there was draining the batteries again. Sohler shook his head. He didn’t want to go back there and warn Kammler about the batteries. That compartment gave him the creeps. And so did Kammler.

  But Sohler had a duty to his boat and his men and an overwhelming desire to know exactly what kind of weapon Kammler had hidden on his U-Boat.

  The Kapitänleutnant set his cap firmly on his head, adjusting the well-worn peak so that it sat straight on his brow and made his way toward the stern. Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler wasn’t going to take charge of his boat and keep him in the dark. Sohler was determined to find out what it was that was so important that he was forced to risk his crew in a brand new, untested boat. Whatever it was, there was no way it was more important than sinking enemy ships.

  Chapter 20

  November 9, 2017, 02:00 UTC

  Ronne Ice Shelf (Antarctica)

  77° 51' 19.79" S 61° 17' 34.20" W

  U-2532

  Depth 100 feet

  An almost tangible stench of rotten egg gas greeted Jack as he reached the bottom of the ladder. Sam’s light was already scanning the ancient control room by the time Jack’s boots hit the deck plate. The stale odor of sweat, cigarette smoke and diesel fumes swirled with the hydrogen sulfide creating a gaseous cocktail that had Jack gagging. He tried breathing through his mouth to see if that helped.

  It didn’t.

  Both torches cast their beam across gauges, pipes, levers and valves that had not seen action for over seven decades. It was a surreal experience for both men but Sam seemed to be almost enjoying himself. Like a kid in a toy store, his eyes darted all over the confined space as if trying to take it all in at once.

  This wasn’t Jac
k’s first time in a sub, he’d been fired out of a torpedo tube on many occasions to insert himself unseen on an enemy shore. The memory of a dark, claustrophobic torpedo tube made him shudder. A torpedo tube was no place for a man to be shut in. His first time gave him a whole new respect for the Navy SEALS who did it on a regular basis. Jack preferred covert ops and working solo any day.

  Each man had completed a 360 degree inspection of the control room and as they finished they faced each other. They each thought it. Neither would say it. It was beyond unfathomable.

  “I’m not going to say anything.” Sam was the first one to break the silence.

  “Good.” Cold fingers raked Jack’s spine.

  “But I’m about to do something and if we’re both thinking the same thing and if what I’m about to do works, then we can’t pretend it’s not true any longer.”

  Before Jack could protest, Sam turned, reached up high on a bulkhead and wrapped his thick fingers around a large red circuit breaker.

  “No —” Jack’s cry was cut off.

  Cut off by the hum of electric circuits coming to life and incandescent lights flickering before lighting up the entire length of the German submarine.

  “Impossible,” Jack whispered as he looked around at the gauges and dials dancing behind their glass binnacles, amazingly free of the dirt and grime that should have built up from years of idleness.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Sam’s face was lit up with an ear-to-ear grin. He had to stoop to avoid hitting his head on some of the overhead pipes and conduits, but other than that, he looked for all the world like he belonged there and was having the time of his life.

  “Bluey, let’s forget for a minute that we’re trapped in a metal coffin under the ice shelf. Let’s also forget that we’re in a Second World War Nazi U-Boat that should be a rusted ruin by now, but isn’t. And let’s conveniently move to the parking lot the issue of the army that’s topside and trying to blow our fucking heads off.”

  “Okay,” Sam agreed.

  “Where’s the crew? Shouldn’t there be dead mummified bodies or skeletons strewn around? There’s not even the smell of decomp and believe me, I know that smell all too well. This place even smells like they’re still here. Among the gagging stink of diesel and rotten eggs, it’s pretty plain that the whiff of BO and cigarettes is fresh and ripe in the air. And it shouldn’t be. Not if this sub has been abandoned since the war.”

  “It’s the batteries,” was all Sam said in reply.

  “What?” Jack shook his head at Sam. He’d been doing a lot of that, lately.

  “The rotten egg smell … that’s the hydrogen sulfide from the boat’s batteries.”

  “That’s your take-away from all that I just said?” Jack couldn’t believe that Sam was behaving like everything was so … normal.

  “Bluey, have you not realized that when we dropped through that hatch into this sub, we actually dropped into the bloody Twilight Zone? None of this makes any sense.”

  Jack rubbed his eyes as he paused to think for a moment.

  “Actually,” he continued, “one thing makes sense. Whatever weird X-Files thing we’ve found ourselves in the middle of down here, someone else is mighty keen to get in on some of that action as well. I don’t know what this is, but it’s what mobilized the army up there and what we’ve been tasked with securing.”

  “You’re very mission oriented, aren’t you?” Sam observed.

  “What the hell do you —”

  A violent shudder rumbled through the boat. Jack lost his footing and was hurled to the deck.

  Sam wrapped his arms around the body of the periscope in the center of the control room to steady himself. They’d hit something. He knew that sensation. At least he couldn’t hear the sound of gushing water flooding the compartments from a hull breach. That had to be a good thing.

  As if responding to that very thought, water jetted from one of the many pipes overhead, glass gauges shattered and the lights began to flicker.

  “This isn’t good,” Sam stated matter-of-factly, as he waited for Jack to point the finger of blame at him, yet again.

  Jack couldn’t say anything. His unconscious body lay on the deck with blood from a gash above his eye being washed away by the torrent of water cascading down on him.

  Chapter 21

  November 9, 2017, 02:00 UTC

  Ronne Ice Shelf (Antarctica)

  77° 51' 19.79" S -61° 17' 34.20" W

  USS Barracuda

  Depth 100 feet

  “Conn, Sonar. I’ve got a contact bearing one-eight-zero. Range 300 yards.”

  “Is it the Russian Yasen?” asked Jameson

  “Negative captain. It’s your U-Boat. The shockwaves from the torpedo impact must have breached the ice. I think the sub has broken through the ice and crashed down into the water.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Can’t be sure of much captain. Sonar was deluged by so much acoustic data all at once that it couldn’t make out the individual signatures. There must be one hell of a hole in the ice above us.”

  “Depth?”

  “Same as us, sir. 100 feet. It levelled off, got hit by a big chunk ice that broke off after the U-Boat was dislodged and now it’s just … well … sitting there.”

  “Let’s get back to the task at hand.” Jameson directed their attention to the sonar display that plotted their path through the ice mountain. The sea lake within the inverted mountain was their only safe haven until help arrived to escort them past the Russian hunter.

  Submarines of old maneuvered by way of manually controlled bow planes and rudders steered by dedicated crew. Engine speed was relayed to the engine room from the conn and actioned by the engineers manning the propulsion systems.

  The Virginia Class was an entirely new breed of submarine, the first fly-by-wire or ‘hands off’ submarines. Bow and stern planesmen and rudder helmsmen had been replaced by a pilot who simply entered the captain’s desired course and speed into the ship’s computer and the computer would set the rudder, bow and stern planes to the necessary positions to achieve the heading. Likewise with the engine speed.

  “Pilot, ahead one-third, 5 degrees right rudder.” Jameson issued the commands in an even voice, not sounding like he was about to thread a three hundred and eighty foot needle through a narrow tunnel in the ice.

  “Nice work,” he encouraged. “Just a little more, okay rudder amidships and maintain course.”

  Their sonar gave them precise bearings of their position within the tunnel and the graphic display cobbled together by Dave and Juan plotted their progress for all to see. So far the system was working perfectly.

  “200 yards and we’re in the clear,” whispered Dave. All three civilians had their eyes glued to the monitor.

  Leah patted the two men on the back, “Great work boys. I knew I picked the best when I picked you two.” She looked around, “Where’s Durand? Shouldn’t he be here?”

  “He said he felt ill. I told him to catch some bunk time. That’s the downside of operating with only one crew rotation — no sleep. This was supposed to be a peaceful science mission.” His voice sounded weary, like he wished he was getting some much needed sleep.

  Jameson’s face was pale with fatigue but they all knew he was the only one who could get them through the passage. Sleep would come later, once they were all safe. His boat. His crew. His responsibility. That was the job.

  Leah thought it strange that the XO should report in sick at this crucial time but didn’t say anything. Who could sleep at a time like this?

  “Come on …” Juan said to himself as he clenched his fist and brought his knuckle to his mouth.

  Leah could see they were almost through. A few seconds later the tiny blip on the screen was in open water, inside the ice mountain. For better or for worse. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she exhaled heavily, drawing Juan and Dave’s attention to her.

  “Don’t look at me like I’
m the only one here who was a little anxious.” She playfully knocked their heads together. Dave’s face was glistening with sweat and Juan had teeth marks on his knuckles, despite their attempt to look cool and unfazed by their journey into the underwater cavern.

  “Pilot, take us up to periscope depth. Let’s have a look at where we are before we get too excited.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to see much up there, captain. Light won’t be able to penetrate through the ice or rock of the ice mountain,” Leah suggested.

  “We don’t need light. This baby doesn’t use the old fashioned lens and mirror periscope, like in the movies. She’s equipped with the very latest, cutting edge photonics mast. The electro-optical sensors and infrared sensors on the mast above the sail will capture razor sharp images and project them on this screen over here, even if it’s pitch black up there.” Jameson gestured toward the photonic mast display screen.

  “We’re at periscope depth, captain. Ready when you are.” Technically, the Barracuda didn’t have a periscope and was at photonics depth, but some traditions are hard to let go.

  “Okay, let’s see where we are.” Jameson used the touchscreen of the photonics control to program it for a ‘quick-look’ deployment. The mast would break the surface of the water momentarily before capturing a 360 degree view of the surrounding cavern in both low light and infra-red data streams before retracting, minimizing the possibility of detection. It didn’t hurt to be careful given the bizarre events that had unfolded of late.

  Jameson then initiated the ‘quick-look’ viewer program and waited for the incoming data to be overlaid on the big screen.