by Alex Archer
The bulkhead at the front of this section of the hull was the one leading into the control room. From this side it was easy to see that it had been locked tight. Given the signs of a struggle in the control room, as well as the body of what could only have been an injured member of the crew in the senior petty officer’s wardroom behind her, Annja could only believe that the boat and its crew had come under attack at some point in the past by person or persons unknown but most likely indigenous to this island.
Which begged the question, what had happened to the rest of the crew?
She pounded on the hatch with the underside of her fist to let Garin and Paul know that she was all right and then set to work releasing the lever that locked the gears that allowed the flywheel to turn. It had gotten stuck fast, and it took her a good five minutes to work it free, but at last the bit of steel retracted and she was able to spin the flywheel without resistance.
When she opened the hatch she found Garin and Paul standing on the other side in the control room, waiting.
“Everything all right?” Paul asked.
She nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, to his obvious relief.
She stepped into the control room, where fresh air was now circulating thanks to the open hatch in the conning tower. She pulled her regulator out of her mouth and shut off the air flow coming from her scuba tank, then slipped free of the straps. The tank was heavy when it wasn’t in the water, and she was glad she didn’t have to move around in the cramped quarters with it strapped to her back any longer.
They had to wait several minutes for the air in the forward section of the boat to be refreshed with what was coming in through the open hatch, and that gave Annja time to explain what she’d found on her trip through the interior. She told them about the bodies she’d found in the rear wardroom and of her belief that the crew might have been attacked at one point by natives and gave them the arrow she’d removed from the skeleton as evidence of her theory.
The close confines of the submarine were making Paul uncomfortable, so he climbed back up into the conning tower to wait for them while Annja headed to the captain’s quarters and Garin went forward to take a look at the bodies.
In the drawers beneath the captain’s bunk Annja found a few sets of uniforms, a toiletries kit and a leather-bound journal. Picking up the journal, she retreated to the next wardroom, sat down at the small table there and began leafing through the book, looking for anything that might point them in the direction of the base.
It had to be here somewhere.
Chapter 26
The journal was written in German but fortunately the author had a fine hand and the letters stood out crisp and clear even after all this time.
Annja flipped to the front of the book and read the first entry, dated late January 1943.
January 29, 1943
Four days from port. Have just two torpedoes remaining. Crew is on limited rations due to the amount of time we’ve been at sea, but their spirits are still high from our latest kill and I am confident we can make the return journey without mishap.
Her grasp of German was limited and a bit rustier than she would have liked, but she was still able to understand the majority of what she read and could infer the rest when she wasn’t positive of the exact meaning.
The entry went on, giving a detailed report of an encounter with a solo Allied aircraft, British in origin, that had tried to depth charge them into oblivion earlier in the day. It was fascinating reading, but not something that was going to help them with their task.
Annja flipped ahead several pages and dipped into another entry, this one from November 8, 1944.
Have delivered a second load of construction materials to the island. The soldiers were happy to see us. We brought with us fresh staples for the kitchen and news of the war, even if it was a month or more out of date. The crew has a fever, the result of the sudden change from the cold of the North Atlantic to the heat and humidity of the tropics. Spirits remain high and the camp doctor told me that it should pass soon.
Annja nodded to herself. The dates fit with one of the key facts that she already knew, namely that Hitler had ordered the base built long before he’d entrusted the knowledge of its existence to his so-called friend and ally Martin Bormann.
She turned several more pages and then read another entry, this one dated late January 1945.
Arrived to find the pier finally complete. Being able to offload the supplies without using the boat’s launch allowed the crew to finish in half the usual time, which was greeted with cheers all around. Delivered 400 kilos of flour, 200 kilos of salted meat, plus assorted carpentry tools.
Dined with the base commandant, Colonel Schnell, in the main facility and was highly impressed with what they have accomplished in just the short time since our last visit. Schnell must be working the crews night and day to accomplish so much, but it looks like the facility will be completed on time, much to our joint relief.
Rumor has it that M.B. will be arriving in late April to supervise the preparation for our leader’s arrival and if it is not finished by that point heads are sure to roll.
There were several more entries of a similar nature, noting the delivery of various supplies and commenting on the continued progress, but nothing that indicated where the base actually might be.
Still wondering what had happened to the boat and its crew, Annja turned to the last few entries, noting that they were much closer to one another chronologically. In fact, they were all dated the same afternoon, March 30, 1945.
1400 hours
Limped into port with our batteries all but depleted and with barely any fuel left in the tanks. We survived the depth charge attack 48 hours earlier, but just barely.
Tried to raise those at the base via radio to no avail. The usual reception party was absent from the pier as well.
Have sent Doerner and Fritz to the base to get extra hands to help us offload the supplies. With the engines damaged in the latest attack, we will need to make significant repairs. I fear we will not be going anywhere soon.
1640 hours
Sentries claim to have seen movement in the trees, but when a search party was sent out there was no sign that anyone had been there. Am uncertain whether the sentries actually saw something or simply let the shadows confuse them after so long aboard ship.
One thing is clear. Doerner and Fritz have not returned and I fear for their safety.
1830 hours
Shortly after nightfall the boat came under attack from an unknown number of natives. The sentries were killed and the enemy was in the process of boarding the boat before they were discovered. Four of the crew died in defense of the conning tower, but their sacrifice gave the rest of us time to take cover inside the forward and aft compartments and seal the hatches behind us.
I have ten seamen with me in the forward compartments, three of whom are sufficiently wounded that I don’t expect them to make it through the night. Have received reports that Sergeant Gorman and five others are holed up in the engine room at the other end of the boat, but are almost out of ammunition. Am awaiting reinforcements from the base but fear the worst may have happened. Have already destroyed the code book and the Enigma device just in case.
2245 hours
The natives are trying to set fire to the boat! Have decided to try and get my men out while our attackers are otherwise occupied and before we die of smoke inhalation.
My plan is to send them out four at a time through the escape hatch, with myself and Lieutenant Pieske being the last to abandon ship.
The men have been instructed to swim for the south side of the cove and rendezvous there for the hike inland to the base.
That was it; after that, there weren’t any other entries in the logbook. If the captain and his men had made it out, they hadn’t come back in the years since.
Annja cursed in frustration. The boat had turned out to be a waste of time after all, for they were no closer to finding the location of the head
quarters now than they had been when they arrived on the island. The captain’s comments suggested that the base was inland somewhere, but any reasonable person would have deduced the same. What she really needed—a map or at least a list of landmarks—was nowhere to be found.
And the clock was still ticking.
Garin found her there a few moments later.
“Anything?”
She shook her head. “A few references to the facility or the base, but that’s all. Nothing that can help us find the place.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Why’s that?”
“If anything, U-boat commanders were practical people. They had to be, to survive in one of these tin cans for any length of time. He knew where the base was and its location wouldn’t make a difference to his time at sea, so why keep note of it in the war diary?”
As much as she hated to admit it, Garin’s logic made sense.
“So how do you propose we find this thing?” Annja asked.
“The same way we’ve found any other artifact we’ve ever gone looking for—with our heads. You’re thinking about the clock and not about the job at hand,” he said, smiling to take the sting out of his remark. “Forget about Doug for a minute and just think about the base. It was supposed to be Hitler’s secret hideaway, right? A place where he could bide his time and come up with a new strategy but also one that would keep him safe should the Allies come looking for him.”
“Yes, I would think that would be the case.”
“So if you were him, where would you put your super-secret headquarters?”
“Not on an island in the middle of the South Pacific,” Annja retorted.
Garin waved the comment away. “I could have come up with a hundred better places, too, but that’s not the point. He built it here. This U-boat tells us that if nothing else. So put yourself in his shoes. What would he need to do it right?”
Annja thought about it and then ticked off a few points with the tips of her fingers. “It would have to be someplace that couldn’t be seen from the air in order to keep it from being discovered by Allied aircraft as they continued to fight Japan here in the South Pacific. It would need to have a sizable water source of its own, to sustain him and his flunkies for any length of time. And it would need to be somewhere that they could defend easily just in case worse came to worst and they were discovered despite their efforts otherwise.”
“Okay. So where do we find someplace like that on this island?”
Annja never got the chance to answer.
At that very moment, Paul called to them from outside.
“You guys need to come out here. Like, right now.”
Chapter 27
Annja stood beside Garin and Paul feeling a strange sense of déjà vu as she stared at the tribesmen lined up on the dock, standing in groups on either side of the conning tower. It was almost as if the events described in the captain’s journal were playing themselves out all over again seventy years later.
Except this time, she was the one in the crosshairs.
There were roughly twenty tribesmen in all. They were short and stocky, well muscled, with dark hair and a deep Polynesian cast to their skin and features. They were armed with an assortment of spears, clubs, and bows, all of which were currently pointed at Annja and her companions. Many of the men had intricate tattoos on their faces and chests, reminding Annja of Maori tribesmen she had met in the past.
None of them looked particularly happy.
There was no way for Annja, Garin or Paul to go for their weapons. The minute they did so, all three of them would become human pincushions.
Option one was out.
Given that sealing themselves aboard the U-boat had done nothing to save the U-boat commander and his men, Annja decided that option two was out as well.
That left option three. She smiled broadly, waved at the tribesmen, and said, “Hi there,” in the friendliest voice she could muster.
The tribesmen stared at her without saying anything.
Annja was suddenly overcome with the urge to say, “Take me to your leader” but wisely clamped her mouth shut before it could slip out.
She didn’t think her sense of humor would be appreciated.
Garin whispered to her. “What are you doing?”
She ignored him, her eyes on the men in front of her.
The largest of the tribesmen standing on the pier stepped forward. He said something in a language that Annja didn’t understand, staring up at them as he did so.
Annja shrugged in response, having no idea what he’d said.
That seemed to anger him, for he said something in a more forceful tone and with a wave of his spear indicated that the three of them should come down from the conning tower.
Annja wasn’t so sure that was a good idea, but she didn’t see that they had much choice.
“Annja, his arm! Look at his left arm!” Garin whispered.
She did so and at first wasn’t sure what Garin was referring to. So he had biceps as big around as her thigh, so what? But then he waved his spear at them again, this time a bit more impatiently than the last, and Annja saw what had gotten Garin excited.
Around his biceps was a faded red armband bearing a white circle with a swastika in the center!
On a whim Annja addressed the leader in German. “Do you understand me?” she asked.
The weapons that had been pointed at Garin and Paul were suddenly shifted in her direction and the tribesmen began whispering to one another in an agitated manner.
It wasn’t quite the response she’d been hoping for.
Before she could say anything more, the man with the armband barked out a command to the others. The group to the left of the conning tower moved in closer and with their weapons made it clear that Annja and the others were to come down.
When Annja hesitated, one of them jabbed at her with his spear.
That prompted Garin to step forward to defend her, which only served to further rile the tribesmen. Several of them were shouting and brandishing their weapons now, and it looked as if things were about to get seriously out of control.
Thinking quickly, Annja held her arms over her head and said, “Okay, okay. Relax. We’ll come with you.” As before, she said it in German.
At least the leader understood, for he barked out another order and those closest to them backed off, giving them room to come down from the conning tower and onto the deck.
No sooner had they done so than the tribesmen moved in, grabbing their arms and pulling them down to their knees. Spears and arrows were thrust in their faces with what could only have been an order not to move as one of the warriors stepped forward and bound their hands behind their backs.
“I think you’re making them angry,” Garin said, which only served to get him cuffed on the side of the head by the nearest tribesmen.
Annja gave him her best “trust me” expression, but she wasn’t sure that he understood. After all, it wasn’t so long ago that trust was a scarce commodity between them.
Once their hands were secure, the same tribesmen patted them down. He did a better job than Stuggart’s guards had in Paris, for he found both Garin’s and Paul’s weapons. Both of them were handed to the leader, who glanced at them and threw them into the lagoon. The tribesmen dragged them to their feet and led them off the boat and onto the pier. Several of the other men disappeared into the U-boat and returned moments later carrying the captain’s journal, as well as Annja’s scuba equipment and the duffel bag of tools that they’d brought with them.
The rope holding the hatch was cut, allowing it to slam shut with a bang. Apparently satisfied that he’d taken care of everything that needed to be taken care of, the leader turned on his heel and began walking down the pier in the direction of the jungle, shouting an order over his shoulder as he went.
It didn’t take much to figure out what that order had been, for the other tribesmen moved in on the three captives, dragging them to their fe
et and pushing them in the same direction.
Guess they want us to follow him, Annja thought as moved forward.
Behind her, Garin and Paul followed suit.
* * *
THE TRIBESMEN MARCHED them across the beach and into the jungle, following a path that Annja couldn’t see amid the deep undergrowth, but that they seemed to have no trouble finding. They moved deeper into the interior with every step they took, and soon the sound of the crashing surf was lost far behind them. Anytime Annja or the others tried to speak, they were quickly whacked in the head by the nearest tribesman and they soon learned to keep their mouths shut.
They’d been walking for about two hours, heading north the entire time, when the leader called for a short break. Annja, Garin and Paul were forced to the ground with the tribesmen standing in a circle around them. Water jugs were produced and passed around, and even the prisoners were allowed to drink. All too quickly they were pulled back to their feet and the hike began anew, but this time they headed northeast.
Shortly thereafter Annja noticed that the trail was growing steeper, and it was clear that they were now climbing upward.
She tried to keep track of where they were going, but soon the physical effort took its toll and it was all she could do to keep trudging along, following the tribesman in front of her, and doing her best to stay on her feet. All the activity over the past week had sapped her usual reserves, and she found herself on shaky legs when they stopped for another water break several hours later.
This time the tribesmen were a little more lax in watching the prisoners, and they were able to sit close and whisper to one another. From Annja’s perspective, it was almost as if the tribesmen knew that the physical exertions of the past hours had done more to effectively quell any thoughts of escape than their weapons or presence could.
“Who do you think these guys are?” Paul asked quietly.
Annja kept her face pointed downward so none of the tribesmen would see her lips moving as she said, “Indigenous islanders would be my guess.”