by Stephen Ward
“Hellfire!” he gasped, “I wish you'd give me some warning before you do that.” realising how mad he must seem, talking to a ghost.
It gestured to the ground and after making his way over, he hesitantly reached out beside the figure's foot and took hold of the other cylinder. Looking up, he sensed the apparition was gone.
Now settling onto one of the old bunks, Forrester began to re-assemble the radio. The plastic casing was cracked but hopefully the water hadn't damaged it too much. Drying the items as best as he possibly could with his cold sweat-sodden shirt, he replaced the batteries. The light flickered on the top and went out. “Damn!” then after pushing the back on harder and finding that the light stayed on, he realised something was needed to hold it together. He decided to use part of his bootlace and by cutting off just enough and abrading it against the metal bunk springs, soon managed to bind the radio back together.
The light shone brightly as he switched the radio on. Turning the dial on the top, he swept the channels until he reached one he knew was currently in use. Keeping the volume low and speaking quietly, he spoke, “FORRESTER TO ANYONE WHO CAN HEAR THIS. PLEASE RESPOND.” The only reply which broke the silence was static. “FORRESTER TO ANYONE HEARING THIS TRANSMISSION …. PLEASE RESPOND.” Forrester waited..........
Chapter 63
Talisman was a hive of activity. All the crew were at duty stations and Admiral Turnbull, Captain Wilkes and Moorhouse stood scanning the horizon. The silence was broken by a shout from the lookout, “There!” he pointed. All three men rushed to the rail and looked in the direction he was pointing seeing a milky white trail of bubbles.
“Periscope,” snapped Turnbull.
Wilkes ran to the radio. “A turret” he shouted. “Periscope, nine o'clock. Acquire target and stand by to fire.”
“Wait!” shouted Turnbull, reaching into his pocket and removing a small pad. “It's signalling “..UBOAT..ON....AUTOMATIC....HIGHLY....DANGEROUS....FORRESTER....
….ONBOARD”
Shocked to the core, Turnbull and Moorhouse looked at each other.
“Fire!” shouted Wilkes.
The other two shouted “No” simultaneously. Turnbull managed to reach the radio just in time to belay the order. “Track that scope,” he ordered but do NOT fire.” he ordered looking at Wilkes who glared back with utter disdain. “What the hell are you doing, Wilkes? You heard me, Forrester is onboard that sub.”
“Admiral, it has fired already. It's my professional opinion that regardless of Commander Forrester's location, we need to neutralise the threat.”
Moorhouse swung round and loomed over Wilkes, his eyes burning into him, “I ought to …..”
“Stand down, Doctor,” ordered Turnbull calmly and he continued, “I understand your point of view, Captain, but we need to find out more first.”
Walking over to the signal lamp, he flashed back a simple reply, “UNDERSTOOD.....STANDING BY.....”
Moorhouse was overjoyed, Forrester was alive. He leant over the rail and gazed towards the scope.
“It's turning, sir,” shouted the lookout. “Oh God, it's heading for Aconite.”
“Communications. Radio Aconite and warn them. Quickly, man,” commanded the Admiral.
It was much too late. No sooner had he issued the order than a massive explosion rocked the ship followed by another three strikes. Blast waves hit them like a warm wind.
Then as they sheltered their faces a plume of fire and smoke rose at least two hundred feet into the air, the intensity of the heat could be felt even from this distance. Everyone on the bridge watched in horror as the superstructure of Aconite disappeared in red and orange flame, a film of oil surrounding the destruction like a burning halo. Men could be seen diving into the sea burning and screaming, only becoming silent as they hit the water.
“Doctor!” murmured Turnbull quietly, “I think you should go below and prepare for more casualties.”
As quickly as she had been hit, the ruined French destroyer began to list and in the next moment had turned turtle and capsized in a shower of water and steam, leaving only the flaming film and black specks floating in the distance. Clearing a lump from his throat, the Admiral croaked down the tannoy, “Emergency crews man the lifeboats. I repeat, Emergency crews man the lifeboats.”
“Admiral, may I remind you that to launch the boats, we have to stop,” grated Captain Wilkes.
Turnbull turned on his heels. “Do you expect me to just leave them?”
Wilkes snarled in return, “If you hadn't stopped the order to fire, maybe that wouldn't have happened.”
Deep down, Turnbull knew the Captain was correct. “Helm. Slow to ten knots but do not stop.”
Another shout from the lookouts sounded, “Torpedo 600 yards and closing.”
“All engines full ahead flank,” shouted Turnbull. “Stop starboard prop and hard to port.”
“Are you crazy?” shouted Wilkes.
Slowly the ship turned but it was too late. The impact threw everyone to one side and the bow was now engulfed in smoke. The windows of the bridge, though still mainly intact, were cracked and smeared with soot. Alarms sounded and crew dressed in fire suits ran towards the bow dowsing it with water jets.
“Chief”, shouted the Admiral, “Come in Engine Room.”
There was no reply.
Another massive explosion, this time closer to the bridge, rocked the ship. Talisman seemed to lift from the sea momentarily with the impact and then she settled back down. The fire control teams at the bow seemed to have disappeared into the smoke. Turnbull looked for Wilkes who was nowhere to be seen. Grabbing the intercom, he called the Engine Room again. “Chief. Do you copy? Engine Room respond.”
A low cough and a voice replied, “Yes, Admiral. It's Craig, sir, Alex Craig.”
“Where is the Chief?” asked Turnbull.
“He's gone, sir.”
Turnbull composed himself. “I see. Can you run the Engine Room?”
A stammered reply, “Er....Yes, sir.”
“OK, lad. She's yours. I need to know the extent of the damage and I need you to keep us powered. Can you do that, Craig? Yes or No?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Good. Give me a damage report and for God's sake, keep those pumps running.” Turnbull replaced the handset and tapped the door frame next to him. “Come on, old girl. Hold together. Do it for me....”
Chapter 64
The morning of the liberation of Lorient brought relative silence for the first time in quite a while. At last the sound of the waves lapping gently on the pebbles and the calling of gulls could be heard from high above the pens. Everywhere there was evidence of a desperate fire fight.
Huber sat, his back to the wall, only one of some sixty men lined up there, knees under their chins, filthy, dishevelled and in some cases covered with dried blood. Looking outwards he watched a company of sweating German soldiers, wearing only white vests and pants, groaning as they lifted the dead onto two American and German flatbed trucks.
Around them stood vigilant American soldiers, guns slung over their arms, just waiting to stop anyone stupid enough to run. The dead bodies seemed to have attracted every blasted fly in Northern France and the stench was almost unbearable. Gazing along the line he couldn't help but notice the lack of high-ranking officers. Most had no place using a razor, let alone a handgun – nothing but scared young boys! The pens had been the last to surrender and had withstood a few days of siege before the inevitable lack of food and ammunition forced them to yield. Huber was not ashamed to admit that he had spent most of that time hiding in the drafts room as far away from the fighting as possible.
The roar of an engine broke his train of thought as a jeep raced round the corner, raising a cloud of dust, tyres skidding on the debris. The motor sat idling as its passenger emerged, a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip. Stopping a few feet away, the soldier took a last drag and flicked the butt away. Then after looking at the clipboard tucked under his arm,
spoke in a very smooth American voice. Huber understood very little of what was said but he recognised the accent as one he had heard in the few Western films he had seen.
“Hubber,” the man said, totally mispronouncing his surname. Huber raised his hand and said, “Huber, sir?”
“Good, come with me.”
Nervously, Huber followed and was ushered into the back of the jeep where he kept his eyes down and felt increasingly apprehensive. The vehicle moved off drove around the perimeter of the pens. Huber hadn't seen the rest of the complex for some time and was shocked to see the measure of destruction. The number of American military vehicles and personnel milling around was staggering. Stopping outside the blast doors they exited the jeep and made their way inside. The two soldiers escorted Huber to the drafts room where he was requested to sit.
The officer spoke slowly and clearly, “My name is Lieutenant West and this is Corporal Philips. You are Nikolaus Huber. Is that correct?” Corporal Philips translated this into German after which the draughtsman nodded his agreement.
West looked at Huber, bright blue eyes boring into him! Lighting a cigarette and sitting back on the chair, he asked, “So, you are a Nazi and you believe you are the master race?”
Huber shook his head.
“Do you have a voice?” asked the Lieutenant. “I asked are you a goddam Nazi,” slamming his palm hard on the desk.
“No” stammered Huber. He looked at Philips. “I am a draughtsman, a designer.”
West smiled nastily, “A fucking Nazi designer. You been designing shower systems, Nazi boy?”
Huber didn't understand the meaning of the latter comment but he frantically shook his head. “No, I design boats and submarines.”
Nodding his head after the translation, West opened a file. Inside was the photograph of Huber along with his identification papers. “Now!” snarled West, “If you ain't a Nazi prove it. I'm half Jewish – here's my hand!”
Huber took the officer's hand and went to shake it but West pulled away.
“Oh, Niki, I believe you, really I do, but you're in a pickle. You German boys have been causing us a whole lot of hassle since we got off the boat and a lot of my friends are dead.”
Standing, West walked around the room, “I want you to explain to me what your function is and what you’ve been doing for the past few days.”
After two hours and a mountain of translated notes, the officer looked under the desk as Huber spoke. When he paused, West raised his hand, “You were sleeping and hiding under this desk?” pointing to a couple of blankets.
Ashamed, Huber lowered his eyes, “Yes! As I said, I'm a draughtsman not a soldier.”
Nodding, West laughed and handed Huber a cigarette. “Oh, don't be ashamed, Niki. These blankets just saved your life!”
He signed the forms and closed the file, “Er....one last thing. This Richter guy. Where is he?”
“That I do not know. He comes and goes.”
“Hmm, slippery Nazi fucker, eh? Niki, you're not going home just yet, plus you may not actually want to anyway now that the Russians have started to seek revenge! No, you're going to assist me and my team. There are a lot of ships and u-boats due to be arriving here soon. I need your help to catalogue them. You're free to move around the complex but it's best you don't go any further. When the time is right, you'll be freed to go home.”
Huber was so relieved that he nearly cried. Standing, he shook the lieutenant's hand.
“Hey, Niki. Calm down. Go get cleaned up and find a fresh change of clothes. Report here at 1700”. After the designer had left, West turned to Corporal Philips, “All these fucking Nazi officers have run.”
“Do you believe that guy?” asked Philips.
“Yeah! He would have sucked my cock let alone shook my hand to prove his innocence. Real Nazis are fanatical. He's just a scared boy, same as the rest of them out there. No, the rats have deserted the sinking ship.”
Chapter 65
“What the hell...?” shouted Stein. “Take us up.”
“We can't, Captain. He's gone,” whispered Heinrich.
Stein pinched the bridge of his nose and wiped sweat from his brow. “OK! Take us to 15 metres.”
“Aye, sir, 15 metres.”
Stein pulled down the periscope. “Now where is she?” Slowly he turned the scope. Ah, there you are. Vermon, are you picking up any other vessels in the area?”
“Nothing on the screen, Captain, but it's hard to say on the phones.”
Kurt stood behind Stein and spoke quietly, “Do you think she saw us?”
“It's hard to say. We got down quickly but I wouldn't like to take the risk. If we saw her, she could just as easily have spotted us.”
Stein nodded, “Let's move off slowly and see where she goes.”
“Captain, we could have her,” said Vermon. “The first kill for the UX505 – a destroyer would be an excellent kill.”
“We don't know yet if all the systems work as there hasn't been chance to test them. We'll wait to see if she's alone. Heinrich, shadow her but keep your distance and watch for the propeller wash. Possibly they'll stop engines from time to time to listen.”
Gesturing for Wagner to follow him, the pair descended to the lower levels towards the relative privacy of the weapons bay. “First that fellow was crushed before we even left port and now Gunt. This boat makes me nervous,” sighed Stein. As he climbed down the last ladder he looked around the racks of huge torpedoes “and all of this – there's so much that could go wrong, my friend.”
Nodding in agreement, Wagner leaned on one of the torpedoes which lay in readiness on the tracks. “It's the future, Walther. Everything must move on.”
“I guess you're right. Hey, Otto, what are you doing?”
Otto Wilhelm was tinkering with one of the torpedoes that Richter had brought aboard.
“I'm just looking, Captain.”
“What can you tell me about them,” asked Stein.
“Captain, they're like nothing I've ever seen. They may look similar to standard torpedoes but that's where the likeness ends. They contain chemicals, I know that.”
“Ok. Leave them stored, Otto. I don't want them mixed up with our standard complement. Now, how confident are you that if needs be we can fight?”
When Otto paused momentarily, Wagner told him, “Come on, man, spit it out! Can we fight or should we dive?”
“We could fight but we haven't tested anything yet. In my opinion, some of the systems aren't ready, sir”
“Then we're best to avoid conflict until we've had a chance to test the systems in question,” said Stein.
A crackle from the intercom sounded and a voice spoke crisply, “Captain, we have a rudder issue. The helm won't respond and we're circling.”
“Thank you. I'll be up shortly,” responded Stein. Looking at Wagner, eyes flashing and burning, “This is bad. I have a feeling that something is terribly wrong with this vessel.”
Just then, the tracks on the torpedo loader powered up. The low drone of the motors filling the room. Moments later both tracks had shells lined up in front of the tubes.
“Otto! What the hell is going on?”
Stuttering that he didn't know, Otto denied touching anything and wondered if it could be a short circuit.
“Well, sort it.”
Otto pressed buttons and turned pressure valves. “It's not responding, sir.”
An audible clunk was shortly followed by another. “The doors,” exclaimed Wagner, “Look!”
Lights danced on the control panel and levers moved seemingly of their own accord.
“It's possessed,” hissed Otto, “It must be.”
“Captain,” crackled the radio. “That destroyer is escorting a vessel – a white liner, some 23,000 tons, Hospital ship markings. It must be heading for Dover.”
“Steer us clear, Helm.”
“I can't, Captain. We're now lined up in a perfect firing position.”
Suddenly, without any warni
ng, the tube inner doors swung open and the torpedoes slid into place as though pushed by an invisible hand! The doors then closed and with a rush of bubbles both tubes let loose and the shells sped off.
“Otto, stop this thing, NOW!”
Stein and Wagner moved quickly up the ladders, reaching the bridge just in time to feel the submarine rock slightly from a blast. Pulling down the periscope and finding the relevant bearings, Stein saw a destroyer some nine hundreds metres off. The torpedoes had hit their target which blazed brightly against the sky. Plumes of smoke and fire engulfed the vessel while explosions rocked it sending burning equipment and screaming men skyward before they plummeted into the sea.
“Sir, we're moving again!”
“Then stop us. You're the helm officer, aren't you?”
Heinrich wrestled desperately with the controls but was still unable to master them. The engines revved and the sub increased speed. “Oh what the hell is happening?” groaned Stein resting his forehead against the scope.
“Wagner, get down there and help Otto stop that machinery in any way you can.”