The Last Wolf (The Talisman Series)

by Stephen Ward

  “So, for one whole week no repairs were carried out?” Winters checked his notes. “The pens lay under siege until 10th May when they surrendered, so nothing would have been done during the fighting. Therefore, the boat either put to sea or she must have been stuck in the port when it was liberated. Right! We need a list of all the equipment the Americans found after the surrender.”

  Winters paused for a moment. Reaching into his briefcase, he retrieved another Log. Using a pencil as a guide, he read off the items listed. “No, nothing!” he said. “Tanks inoperable, guns, bikes, cars...” he flicked over the page and continued scanning. Suddenly, a huge grin spread across his face, “… submarine damaged – inoperable - lost in a storm somewhere in the Bay area”

  Both men cheered, “That's it!” Winters couldn't believe it! Everything checked out, all the clues pointed to that Type 10 being the UX505. Well, at least they seemed to have narrowed it down to that point.

  “This calls for a celebration,” as he cleared the table and made his way over to the bar ordering two double scotches for Filmore and two large glasses of beer for himself.

  Their excitement over the research had preoccupied them for so long that they had hitherto failed to notice the Naval vessels outside the windows. Winters recognised HMS Talisman immediately. “That's Turnbull's ship and there's the man, himself. I'd know him anywhere!”

  Seconds later, a huge flash filled the window as one of the destroyers was engulfed in flames. The shock of the blast stunned them momentarily, “Bloody Hell!” exclaimed Filmore. “What was that?” Staring out of the window, they watched as the stricken boat began to list.

  “If I didn't know better,” gasped Winters, “I'd say that a torpedo just took out that ship.”

  “Impossible” whispered Filmore, “Even in war games they don't use live warheads.”

  “We're turning.” The glasses on their table began to slide. “By the looks of it we're heading over to help.”

  Crew in white shirts and black trousers began to quickly and efficiently clear the decks but before this could be completed, a huge explosion rocked the ferry, sending drinks, cutlery, crockery and passengers crashing to the floor. Alarms sounded and many of the frightened travellers completely forgot safety drills and began to panic, milling around the decks and stairwells. Winters helped Filmore to his feet as the pair instinctively moved towards their lifeboat station on the rear deck but were stopped by a crew member who requested that they stay inside until the Captain had assessed the situation.

  “Fuck what he said,” whispered Winters, “We're going on deck, NOW!”

  Slipping cautiously out of the door onto the deck they were just in time to see a white trail some three hundred yards away and a slight glint in the water reflected by the sun.

  “Do you see that, James?” hissed Winters pointing towards it, “That's a periscope!”

  Looking forward, they saw a grey plume of smoke engulfing the bow with sailors manning powerful hoses.

  “Maybe I imagined it, Filmore, but I'm sure it was a periscope.”

  One of the crew walked past them, “What's going on?” demanded Filmore in the most authoritative voice that Winters had ever heard from him.

  “Nothing to worry about, sir. There's no danger. We've just had an accident with the bow door and the Captain says to tell the passengers that we'll be returning to Portsmouth for repairs.”

  Chapter 57

  Standing on the deck of UX505, Richter gazed around nodding in pleasure and appreciation at what he saw.

  He shouted to some workmen, ordering them to begin loading the crates but to be vigilant. “Inform me when they have been stowed below.”

  Shaking Stein's hand, he turned to Huber, “You are dismissed.” He held up his hand, “That is, you are dismissed for now.” Something in his tone made Huber shudder as he made his way towards the stern.

  “What are they, Richter?” asked Stein pointing to the crates. “Exactly what are you loading onto my boat?”

  “Richter smiled, “Walk with me. These walls have ears!” Silently the two men approached the back of K3, a small concrete jetty projecting into the deep water basin. Behind them loomed the vast unfinished shell of K4, a mass of white concrete and steel.

  Richter stood on the jetty, bent down and picked up a handful of stones. Skimming them one at a time, he began, “It takes me back, Walther. Back home. Here!” and he handed Stein some of the pebbles. “Come, let's throw them together for old time's sake, my brother.” Stein smiled and taking up the challenge, stood beside the officer. “It seems like yesterday when your father took me in, Walther. I do wish he was here to see this day. He'd be so proud of my vision and your new command.”

  “Indeed! But you still haven't answered my question, Brother. What have you loaded onto my boat?”

  “Victory, Walther, Victory! The Fuhrer believes in his V rockets but there are those who have their doubts. I'm one of them.”

  “Just answer me, Friedrich!”

  “A weapon. A pair of experimental torpedoes which when launched towards a beach, are designed to make landfall and detonate once out of water. The warhead contains an airborne gas that kills all human life yet leaving every installation and all technology completely untouched.”

  Stein looked at him in horror, “You're talking genocide. Won't it kill indiscriminately?”

  “Yes, It has something that the scientists call a half life of twelve hours, but in that twelve hours it is able to clear up to fifty miles depending upon conditions.”

  “I want no part in this, Friedrich. I'm a sea captain, not a murderer.”

  “Oh, Just think, Walther. Thousands die on both sides everyday. This way, the war could be over in less than a week. No more Germans need die, no more of your fellow submariners need to be blown up. It's fired from out of harm's way at an undefended beach then we let the weapon do its job and towns and cities are emptied ready for re-population by the Fatherland.”

  Stein shook his head, “I don't know, Friedrich”

  “Walther, forget it for now. Just get the boat through sea trials and see what she's capable of.”

  Nodding Stein agreed to do his best.

  “That's all I ask. By the way, you haven't chosen a first officer yet.”

  “I have,” replied Stein with a smile, “and I believe he's just arrived.” He pointed out across the Bay where they could see a nasty plume of black smoke billowing from a small submarine.

  “Who is it?”

  “An old friend.”

  As the sub drew nearer, the amount of damage stunned even Captain Stein. She was peppered with holes and her hull was crinkled and crushed. A single bearded figure stood on the conning tower as the vessel passed the side of K3 in the direction of the wet docks. Richter and Stein walked over to meet him. By the time they had reached the entrance, the old submarine was already entering Bay 1.

  The figure grinned, “Is that you, Walther?”

  “It is, my old friend. Richter, allow me to introduce Wagner, Kurt Wagner.”

  Richter clicked his heels in the old way while Wagner flapped his arm in a desultory salute.

  “The Kurt Wagner? So this must be U22?” he said gesturing to the boat, “and this, Stein, must be your second-in-command?”

  “What can I say? He owed me a favour,” and before the sub stopped, they watched Kurt jump onto the dockside.

  “Walther, it's good to see you.” as the pair exchanged a bearhug. “I heard you'd been crushed. I'm very glad the rumours weren't true!” Then, turning to the port official, said “Mein Herr, take good care of my boat and make sure my men get food, drink and women. Thanks. So, Walther, did I understand you to say we are doing something new? When do we leave? What - do you mean we leave now? NOW! You're eager. Well, what are we waiting for, Shiny Boots?” he grinned at Richter who started forward to react but Stein held him back with a smile.

  The three men entered K1 and rounded the corner into the wet dock.

  “M
ein Gott!” said Wagner, “Just look at that!” I may not be captain but I'll certainly settle for second-in-command for a chance on this.” He jumped on board before Stein had even managed to reach the gang plank.

  “What's that?” queried Wagner as he noticed a curious symbol painted on the back of the tower – a concentric wheel denoting the same pattern as Richter's curious black ring.

  Richter looked at Stein, “Call it a good luck charm!”

  The two seamen stood side by side on the conning tower as Richter called, “Safe sailing, Captain.”

  Stein ordered his crew to cast off the bow and stern lines, and for the engines to reverse one quarter. Slowly the large submarine moved backwards metre by metre. Huber and Adlar stood on the quayside watching as the vessel slowly emerged into the daylight. It was a tight squeeze rounding the corner but finally she was out. Stein shouted “Rig for surface running. Ahead Full.” The wash from the props frothed then settled as the sub headed out to sea.

  Huber felt proud, his spirits lifting as the boat passed the fort at the harbour's entrance and he continued staring long after she had disappeared from view.

  Chapter 58

  Moorhouse and his medical team had spent a great deal of time setting up triage centres for the Exercise but he had never dreamed it would be necessary to use them for real! Streams of wounded from the sunken Italian destroyer, drenched and covered in oil, began to fill the decks.

  He'd ordered that only the severely injured were to be sent to him for surgery. Fortunately, he had to operate on only three seamen with life threatening trauma. His team efficiently tended to the rest after basic but swift triage sending the victims either to the Mess deck or the Canteen.

  Once he considered the situation under control, he left his team to tend to the now stabilised Italian crew members, and ran up to the Bridge. He'd already heard many different rumours about the cause of the explosion, ranging from an old minefield to even Russian involvement! As he emerged onto the Bridge the tenseness was palpable. Wilkes snarled at him, “Shouldn't you be in Sickbay?”

  “Yes sir. Just reporting – eighty five crew recovering, three life-threatening traumas stabilised. Everything medical under control.”

  “I'm sure you could have called that up to the Bridge,” said Wilkes.

  “My apologies, sir. I was just anxious to know the situation at first hand.”

  Admiral Turnbull stood with his binoculars around his neck, the viewers trained out to sea, “Where are you, blast it?”

  Moorhouse picked up a spare set of binos and also peered out. He could just make out the ferry under escort making its way slowly back to Portsmouth. “The fact that she withstood a blast so large and is still afloat is a miracle,” mused Moorhouse.

  “That captain is a fool to have risked his crew and passengers on such a rescue,” growled Wilkes from over his shoulder.

  “Maybe so, but brave, all the same,” said Turnbull quietly. “He only wanted to help. We must stick to our heat of the moment decisions, Captain. It's those moments which define us.”

  “Sir, Aconite is attempting a very sharp turn” cried a lookout. They watched the large ship beginning to turn, her red hull showing as she keeled over, her props foaming.

  “Look,” he called, pointing to a perfect line of bubbles shooting in her direction, missing her stern by only metres.

  “How did she know to take evasive action?” queried Moorhouse.

  “There!” Turnbull pointed towards the low shape which was causing a slight wash a few hundred metres behind Aconite. “That's a periscope, no doubt about that and now they've seen it...”

  A barrage of bullets from the 25mm peppered the water causing splashes but no obvious damage to the sub which was still in pursuit.

  “Prepare forward battery. Prepare to straddle target.” The order rang out and soon the forward guns trained low over the sea, tracking minutely.

  Suddenly there was a flash from the periscope far off in the distance, then random flashes which couldn't have been coincidence. “Is that a signal?” asked Moorhouse.

  Grabbing a pad, Turnbull threw it towards the Lookout who interpreted “UBOAT… ON… AUTOMATIC… HIGHLY… DANGEROUS… FORRESTER… ABOARD”

  Simultaneously, Fire Control signalled “Target acquired.”

  Wilkes snatched the radio handset and shouted “FIRE”. Before anyone had chance to rescind the order, Talisman's front battery fired. The momentary fire flash cleared and a second later two huge splashes hit the water.

  “What the hell are you doing?” shouted Moorhouse at the stone-faced Wilkes. “Didn't you hear that message? Everything I told you is true. Forrester is on that sub!”

  This latest turn of events had shaken Moorhouse to the core. He couldn't believe it – his friend was alive. But how could he prevent the destroyers from sending him to the bottom?

  Wilkes broke the shocked silence and shouted for the gunners to reload. “You said the moment makes the man, Admiral. We can't risk that sub coming after us!”

  “Listen to yourself, man...” shouted Moorhouse.

  “No” interrupted the captain, “You listen to yourself, Doctor. It's my job to be dispassionate. I can't afford to let emotion get in the way. For all we know, Forrester could be working for the Russians or gone rogue with some third world country with a black market sub. Reload those guns.”

  “Rogue! Why would he have signed to warn us if he had gone rogue?”

  The other man shrugged, “Who knows? It could be part of the plan.”

  “Gentlemen, if you don't stop bickering like infants, I'll have you both removed from the Bridge. Both of you have valid points which need to be investigated but at the moment we don't have the luxury of time! For now, though, there will be no more shots fired until we have more information.”

  “Admiral, may I remind you that this is my ship,” said Wilkes.

  “You don't need to remind me, Captain, but let me also remind you that I am the higher ranking officer and I am in command of these Exercises. Now, it is logical to accept that Forrester is trapped aboard that submarine and we must take account of his warning that the vessel is fully automated. Despite that, he must have some measure of control or he wouldn't have been able to signal that alarm. He's on his own and, therefore, will need to know that someone is in his corner! Signal all vessels to zigzag and to make turns every three minutes keeping the speed and course random. That should keep who or whatever guessing. Listen, he specifically said 'UBOAT' – that means a 2nd World War vessel. Isn't that what you said earlier, Doctor? What communications did they have back then and how can we signal him because its quite possible he'll be unable to look through the scope. Come on! Ideas. Everyone!”

  The Bridge fell silent for a while as the officers thought.

  “Ping!” said Moorhouse.

  “Yes! He'd be able to hear it but unable to determine its meaning. Low band UHF would pick up a Morse signal, “said Woods, the Communications Officer who had been quietly monitoring radio traffic, one earphone pulled to one side of his head.

  Turnbull realised that they had to try anything and everything. “Woods, can you send a message in Morse but use the hydrophone speakers. That would travel through water, wouldn't it?”

  “I can only try, sir, but it would be audible to all, not just Commander Forrester,” said Woods.

  “That's a risk we'll have to take. Make preparations. I want it so in fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, Captain, relay the following via Morse Lamp from the Bridge wing and repeat for the next half hour “MESSAGE… RECEIVED… AWAIT… INSTRUCTIONS. I trust you remember your Morse lessons, Captain?” Wilkes nodded his assent and went to obey orders.

  After Woods had signalled his readiness, the Admiral ordered him to transmit the same message that he'd given to Captain Wilkes and to repeat it at thirty minute intervals.

  Seconds later the Admiral could hear the amplified scratchy sound of Morse sounding through Talisman's speakers.

  “Ok, Doctor,
I think now is the time for you to tell me everything you know about this submarine. No hysterics this time, just facts, and leave nothing out. Nothing!”

  Chapter 59

  “Home of the British Fleet - What did he mean?” wondered Forrester, but he didn't have time to think about that as the submarine was rocked by a massive explosion. That was a shell blast and it was close. The figure still stood in one spot seemingly unshaken by the near miss.

  The commander knew he must keep it talking and preoccupied.

  “Hey! You say you are going to attack our home port. With what? You can't take on a port with torpedoes and shells. You're only one vessel, antiquated torpedoes won't let you win a war. Warfare has moved on!”

  “You assume I intend to use conventional tactics. However, you are incorrect. This vessel contains the most advanced weapon of our age – one which can destroy a city's population. The V Nulla V virus will kill millions within hours. First your Navy and then your capital city will fall. The German people will have revenge and be victorious.”

  Forrester was dumbfounded. Dealing with shells and torpedoes was one thing, biological weapons was another. Somehow, he had to find them and neutralise their power.

  “The Germans are no longer at war with us,” he told the suited spectre. “We're all allies nowadays. There's no valid reason for you to want domination or revenge. Both sides killed and committed acts of atrocity. Why kill millions of innocent men, women and children who have done nothing wrong?”

  The voice seemed to take on an aura of bitterness, “Killing innocent women and children, you say. I shall take revenge for everyone you killed with your bombs and bullets.”

  “I,” said Forrester, “You keep referring to yourself as 'I' but this is a submarine, an inanimate object. Who are you?”

  “My name is unimportant. This submarine and I are one. We are UX505.”

  Losing his temper, the commander snarled “God damn it, you're a spectre. You cannot be joined to a machine. Now, who the hell are you and what do you want?”