by Stephen Ward
The lights dimmed and the figure disappeared. Lightbulbs exploded with a shower of sparks and glass. “I am Wolfgang Keller and I am UX505,” came the now disembodied voice.
“Impossible!” replied the horrified seaman, shielding his face from flying glass.
Accompanied by an arc of electricity which hit the commander squarely in the chest, the voice repeated more loudly, “I am Wolfgang Keller and I am UX505.”
Forrester picked himself off the ground, the burning agony in his chest making it difficult to catch his breath. “But how? If you're going to destroy life then at least explain why and how.”
“I was once like you, weak and mortal. I designed this boat to end war and to help stop the killing. However, the purity and purpose of my work was taken and twisted into something unspeakable by others with their own agenda.”
“Keller,” said Forrester, “there is no more need for killing. The war's over and our countries live in peace.”
“No peace,” came the voice from the speakers, “I have no peace so why should any of you be different?”
“Again, why? You said you were once a man of peace before all this. Why must you now kill?”
Again the lights dimmed, lower this time and the voice seemed to come from a distance, quieter, softer, moaning, “My wife, my daughter, my dear Sabine and little Petra, so young, so beautiful, gone.”
“What?” asked the commander, realising there was a change in attitude and the possibility of acquiring more information.
“Killed by your attack!”
“Mine?” queried Forrester.
“Your people. My loves died a meaningless death during an air raid on Lorient.”
“But it was war and millions died on both sides. I know how you must have felt, Keller. I have daughters, myself,” urged the young officer. “Killing is not the solution.” He felt a keen sense of empathy, but was also curious, “How did you become trapped here?”
“My grief and hatred trapped me and bound me within the very metal that this boat is made from. When I committed suicide, I jumped into the molten steel and so it was impossible for us ever to be separated. For years we were stuck on the bottom of the sea, fast in the mud, waiting for a chance to be avenged. Your attack broke us loose.”
“My attack?” puzzled Forrester. “We didn't even know you were there.”
“The explosion meant to destroy me. It broke the suction and allowed me to surface.”
The commander remembered the dynamite that Moorhouse had used, and suddenly remembered the stick he had not used! “Keller, listen. We are not your enemies. There is no reason for any of this. You could still have a use. Just trust me and allow me to surface.”
Just at that moment there was a loud noise from outside the hull, instantly recognisable as Morse code. Pausing, Forrester listened. They had understood his message and awaited instructions. He felt such a relief but it was short lived as lights returned to full power and the voice hissed, “So, you managed to signal our position, Commander. Awaiting instructions on how to destroy me, no doubt! I have to finish them before they destroy me. To think, I was almost convinced to set you free,” Another arc of electricity jolted Forrester.
“No, wait. They're of no interest to you.” he pleaded.
“But I am of interest to them, however. Too much interest! They will meet their end soon enough!”
Chapter 60
Huber and Adlar stood looking out over the Bay at the burning town, the sound of gunfire still echoing through the night air. Propaganda news assuring of a certain victory had been proven false. Lorient now lay besieged by American forces as they advanced street by street and it was obvious that the city would soon fall. They'd been unable to rest as the relentless aerial bombardment made sleep impossible.
The designer knew he would soon have to make the same choice that numerous Germans already had, as to whether to stay and surrender or take his chance to escape. The pens had become a bastion of hope for some of the military units, a last opportunity to fight, but many of the officers had gone, leaving behind tired and disillusioned troops.
It had been three days since Stein had taken the sub to sea but from the ferociousness of the fighting here, Huber found it difficult to believe she would still be afloat. The captain had initially intended to take her for two days from 5th May to 7th but still there was no communication.
As the sun rose on 8th May 1945, the situation became clear. In the cold light of day, Allied vehicles could be seen on the coastal road leading to the docks. Worse still, the sound of gunfire was now coming solely from the Keromin Peninsula. Lorient had fallen.
Sharing a cigarette as they leant against the wall, Huber and Adlar both knew the time had come to make their decision. As the sounds of shouts and vehicles drew closer, the older man turned to his young colleague, “Listen, I'm going to remain. As my name is on so many documents they'll obviously wish to interrogate me. Franz, are you sure you won't stay?”
Adlar shook his head, “No, after what I did I wouldn't put it past Richter to have noted it down in a memo and that would mean I'd be wanted for a war crime! No, sir, I need to find my father.” Shouldering his backpack, he shook Huber's hand. Slipping out of the rear door the designer watched as he made his way stealthily down the roadway between K1 and the unfinished K4. Keeping close to the rough concrete wall, Franz headed in the direction of the old Scorff Base with its towering vaulted roofs. A shower of concrete dust and a loud crash halted his progress forcing him to slip into a small recessed doorway to hide for a while. Huber who had plucked up sufficient courage to pop his head out to see, saw Adlar running down the path. This time, however, there were shouts of “Halt!” and “Stay where you are!” in an American accent. “Don't move or we'll shoot,” Huber couldn't see where the command had come from, but a well-placed bullet cracked into the concrete some six inches from Adlar's head. The young man raised his hands but a misplaced step caused him to trip forward on a loose chunk of masonry. A shot rang out and echoed through the complex. The sniper may have found his mark but in doing so, had given away his position. A German soldier hidden behind a partly open door picked him out, fired and he fell from his position high up on K4's walls.
Huber shouted, “No!” and caring little for his own safety, ran straight down the lane, skidding to his knees beside the now motionless Adlar. Shouting at the soldier for help, he was ignored, as the man had no intention of breaking cover. Franz lay in an ever-widening pool of dark blood which stained the chalky white concrete, trying desperately to reach inside his breast pocket. Huber heard a weak, “Please… my father!” and as blood began to leak from the corner of the boy’s mouth, he pulled out the lad’s notebook, pages now blood soaked. Finding the sketch of Horst Adlar, he helped the lad hold it to his heart for one final time. He felt the young man's arms fall limp as his last breath rattled in his chest.
Gunfire continued to rain over Huber’s head as he gazed sorrowfully at the young man. Then he ran tripping and stumbling back to his hidden doorway and lay on the floor inside, gasping for breath. The short spurts of machine gun fire and animated shouting now seemed just metres away. Only minutes later, he heard the speakers located around the Base sputter to life with a news broadcast piped out of the Communications Room. It told of Germany's unconditional surrender to the Allies.
Despite the demoralised state of many of the men in the bunker, most refused to acknowledge the defeat. Instead, believing it to be a trick designed to force them to yield. Owing to this, the two days of fighting that followed were amongst the most bitter and bloodthirsty of the conflict.
Chapter 61
Stein knew the situation was precarious. Since the Allied invasion, merchant and escort traffic was extremely heavy and he had only forty eight hours in which to prove all the systems on this sub worked efficiently. Although the Channel was a relatively small area with a high risk of confrontation, the sooner she was tested, the sooner he could take her out into the big North Atlantic
shipping lanes.
He and his second-in-command stood on the conning tower and stared at the flat, calm sea.
“Two days, Kurt! “Two days to show that she's up to scratch. That's not long enough but given the current circumstances I'd have preferred to take her out on patrol and make my own luck. Being in the Channel feels like suicide.”
Kurt Wagner nodded, “But that's what we do best, isn't that so, Walther? Come on, let's get on with it.”
Still laughing, Stein shouted, “Herr Gunt, increase to flank, if you will.”
“Increased to flank, aye,” was repeated and echoed through the boat. Soon the bow was cutting through the waves, the wash spilling over the deck. The view from the conning tower was undoubtedly impressive.
With the wind wafting his beard and hair. Kurt grinned, “She runs well, Walther.”
“Yes, indeed! She's a big improvement on your old tub!” laughed Stein.
“Hey! That's my girl. She may be slow but she's never failed to get me home and that's enough for me!”
“Oh, and being one of the only submariner aces left isn't part of the satisfaction when you get home is it not?”
“Well, maybe that helps me score with the frauleins!”
“ALL STOP” shouted Stein, then “FULL ASTERN.” He had pulled out his stopwatch and timed full stop. Shaking his head, he showed the dial to Wagner who readily acknowledged that she was slow in reverse, but then all subs were. After manoeuvring tests, the huge sub fared quite well.
“Now for the big test,” growled Walther.
“New crew?” said Wagner, “Let's make their asses fall out!”
Standing beside the hatch, Wagner behind him, Stein bellowed, “ALARM....ALARM. AERIAL PATROL ….CRASH DIVE.” The pair slid down the ladder with Wagner slamming the hatch behind them.
“How far to the bottom, Vermon?” asked Wagner. The red light reflected from Vermon's sweaty brow as Wagner grinned at Stein, surreptitiously.
Checking the systems, Vermon reported, “260 metres, all sand and silt, sir.”
“Good, very good!” answered Stein. “Take us to the bottom, Heinrich, if you please. Make depth 260 metres and level off.”
“Sir, that's way past crush depth,” said Heinrich.
Wagner glared at the young seaman, “Do you not think your Captain knows this? If he requests you to drive this thing into a cliff, you do it without questioning the order. Now, make depth 260 metres.”
“Aye, sir, 260 metres.” The depth gauge slowly moved past 120 metres, creaks and groans broke the tense silence.
“Passing 160 metres.” Still the submarine dived. “Passing 200 metres, sir.”
Suddenly the radio chirped, “Captain, we have water leaking through the shafts.”
Stein returned, “Seal them, Chief.”
“215 metres. Approaching crush depth, sir” reported Vermon. “220 metres, 40 metres to bottom.”
“Captain!”
“Yes, Chief?”
“Water through both shafts.”
“Keep them turning, Chief, they'll hold!” grated Stein.
“Helm, are you levelling off?” asked Wagner.
“No, sir. I'm getting resistance from the planes. She won't dive past crush depth.”
Wagner shouted, “Dive, you baby,” and pushed the controls violently. The rudder control jolted sideways twisting his wrist before returning to Dead Ahead. He was shocked but retained his cool. Looking up at Stein, saw that the captain was as amazed as he.
“Blow main ballast. Prepare to surface. Whatever that fancy stuff is up there, prepare to put it to good use!”
Vermon checked the screen, “Nothing above, sir. All clear and no contacts!”
“Very good. Blow ballast. Prepare for snorkel running. Then when snorkel is raised, dive to 15 metres.”
Gunt radioed an aggressive, “Aye, sir!”
Stein gestured for Wagner to join him for coffee and they descended the ladder to the galley.
“What's wrong, Walther?” asked the second-in-command.
“It's this ship, Kurt. It has me worried. Ok, it runs well enough but she won't stop. She won't reverse and now it won't bloody dive!”
Just then the lights began to flicker, “What now?” he thought, pressing the intercom for Engineering. He let go of the button as an electric blue spark arced through his hand.
Cradling his burnt hand, he poured hot water making the two coffees and flopped onto a bunk. Sipping from his white enamel mug, Wagner sat opposite him and asked, “How's your hand?”
Stein considered his friend’s question briefly, and then said, “It's not funny. Maybe I should have ordered Huber to come along for the ride. Then he would understand the consequences of shoddy workmanship to us seamen!”
“Come on, Walther. Six months to build a boat! That's nothing. They're just teething problems which can be sorted out when we return to Lorient. As for the handling, you're equating the ship to the 7s that you're used to and you know they're much more agile in comparison.”
Chewing his lip, Stein responded, “I guess you're right.” No sooner had he lain down to rest, than Vermon popped his head through the hatch, “Sorry, Captain. You're wanted up top.”
“Fuck's sake! What now?”
As Stein appeared on deck he saw Gunt struggling to raise the snorkel.
“Captain, it seems to be jammed. It won't budge and we can't dive with it like this!”
“Have you tried hitting it?”
“Yes, sir. I've tried everything, even a mallet!”
“ALARM!” shouted Vermon and the klaxon sounded from inside the sub. “Destroyer smoke!” Wagner spun round. “Smoke heading straight towards us. How the hell did the system not pick that up? Chief fix that bloody snorkel !”
“Can we use batteries?”
“Negative, sir. We didn't have chance to charge them after our last dive.”
Gunt kicked and hit the snorkel, bending and chipping off metal and paint until he finally had it up. Despite it being far from fixed properly, he grunted, “Done it, sir!” holding onto the shaft.
“Clear the deck,” called Stein. They slid down the ladder and the hatch slammed shut. “DIVE… DIVE!”
Just as the sub began to dive, Gunt jumped into the tower screaming, “WAIT!” He tried to turn the hatch but it was jammed. By this time Stein had realised Gunt was still outside, and so desperately he and Wagner worked feverishly to open the hatch. “Stop the dive!” ordered Stein.
“It's too late, Captain,” groaned young Heinrich.
Realising he was unable to get inside, Gunt knew he had no option but to swim. However, as he pushed off, his belt became snagged and he was quickly pulled under the water. Desperately, he tried to fight free but all too soon, with a last exhalation of bubbles, it was over. As the sub passed into the dark green depths Gunt's belt unclipped and released his body to the deep.
Chapter 62
With an increasing feeling of helplessness, Forrester desperately began flicking buttons, switches and levers, anything which might possibly stop the thing, but to no avail. Nothing he tried had any effect whatsoever. The engine noise altered pitch, the drone became faster and a noticeable list indicated that the ship had changed direction. The lights on the dim screen flickered and flashed.
Below he could hear machinery start up and realised that the tubes were being readied. “Stop! Please don't do this.” he begged.
There was no answer, instead the lights flicked from white to red. That voice suddenly spoke up, “I believe it's best that you should see what is going on. Come, watch.”
From above, the periscope slowly lowered. Forrester had to look. Taking position, he peered through the scope and his view was immediately drawn to the intended target - a French destroyer making a good turn of speed, its bow cutting through the waves, its Tricolore billowing in the wind.
“Why are you doing this, they've done nothing to you. Your enemies are long gone. These people have families just as you did.”
Believing that the only chance was to keep the spectre talking he placed his finger on the Morse light switch. Surreptitiously he began signalling despite knowing there was only a slim chance that Aconite would see it and recognise it for what it was.
The voice sneered, “Trying to signal again, Forrester? Forrester, that is your name isn't it? There is no possible way on board this vessel that you can warn anyone again. Even if you should make an attempt, I promise you pain.” Then, the arc of electricity that the commander had grown to fear, hit him square in the chest. Once again he held onto the periscope handles in an effort to keep upright.
“Now watch!” The opening of the bow tube doors sounded ominously. Four lights on the wall turned green one at a time. Then all four went out accompanied by a rush of air.
Helplessly, Forrester watched as four trails of white bubbles streaked towards the unsuspecting ship. His eyes followed them right to the point of contact with the other vessel, a sickening thud and a succession of concussive explosions followed as the destroyer erupted into flames. The commander's heart sank. The sound of imploding bulkheads and muffled booms carried through the water.
“Bastard! You bastard! I'll find a way to destroy you and I'll make sure you go back down to the depths of hell where you belong, and if I don't, others will.”
“Brave words for someone as helpless and trapped as you!” replied the voice.
Forrester dreaded what he would see when he looked through viewfinder again. When he did so, it was even worse than he had imagined. Figures were now jumping from the now sinking Aconite, some covered in flames, others simply leaping from the rail and into the sea. He knew that it could just as easily have been his own ship.
There just had to be a way to communicate with the fleet, but how? The thing seemed to control everything. If only he had a radio. Wait a second! Maybe he did. Remembering that on boarding, he had dropped his torch and small two-way radio. They had very limited range but maybe, just maybe, they could be made to work. Doing a cursory check around the foot of the ladder he couldn't see them anywhere. They had to be somewhere here. Desperately scanning the surrounding area, he caught a glimpse of something in the corner. Now he wished the lights would come on again but the red light was better than nothing. Feeling around in the shadows he located it but something was wrong. It felt broken and there were jagged edges. Holding it up in the poor light he saw that the back had separated and the batteries were missing. Those had to be found so he began to crawl about on all fours, his hands feeling forward and sideways. He thought this is like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. Then his left hand nudged a cold, metal cylinder – hah, that's one, where's the other? Searching for what seemed like ages, his hands becoming increasingly cold and wrinkled in the water, he felt like giving up. Suddenly a shadow moved from the gloom. Forrester's heart leapt and then settled somewhat as he realised it was the captain's spectre standing watching.