“But we still have our mission at Karsto to complete,” countered the confused Captain.
Alexander’s voice rang true and clear, his tone commanding.
“Are you challenging my authority in this matter, Captain? As your superior officer, I’m ordering you to change this vessel’s course as instructed, at once!”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Admiral,” interjected the Zampolit.
“But we weren’t informed by Northern Fleet headquarters of any such change in the Lena’s mission.”
“These orders don’t originate from Murmansk,” explained Alexander.
“As a senior fleet officer, I have initiated this change on my own.”
“But isn’t such a thing highly irregular?” observed the Zampolit.
“I don’t really give a damn, Comrade Bucharin!” shouted the angry old man.
“And if you continue with this unnecessary line of questioning, I’ll have you arrested for mutiny, and that goes for you as well, Captain Milyutin. Chart the new course that I ordered!”
Still hesitant to relay these changes to the helmsman, the Captain looked to his political officer for support. Perspiration beaded the Zampolit’s forehead as he dared to express himself.
“Let me assure you, Admiral, that our actions are definitely not mutinous. As fellow officers we’re only questioning the reason behind your sudden change of mind. Only a few hours ago, you were adamant about how vitally important our mission to Karsto was. Why you wouldn’t even allow the Captain to turn around and investigate that collision that we monitored.”
“I’ve never heard such impertinence in my entire naval career!” spat Alexander.
“How dare you question my command authority, Comrade Bucharin. My superior rank allows me to do with the Lena as I please, and I certainly don’t have to clear all my decisions with the likes of a mere political officer!”
Cut down to size, the sweating Zampolit looked meekly back to the captain. Grigori Milyutin hadn’t risen to his current rank by being a troublemaker, and the young Captain graciously bowed to the will of his superior officer.
“Helmsman, make our new course zero-one-zero. Engineering, all ahead flank speed.”
With a single twist of his joystick, the helmsman engaged the Lena’s tail-mounted rudder. As this device bit into the surrounding water, the submarine began a tight U-turn. Meanwhile, back in maneuvering, the chief engineer hit a single pistol switch that would further heat the reactor vessel’s lead-bizmuth coolant mixture. This would, in turn, raise the temperature of the steam generator, the force responsible for turning the vessel’s seven-bladed propeller.
Tightly gripping the back of the captain’s command chair to keep from falling during this high speed turn, Alexander Kuznetsov took a series of deep calming breaths. For better of for worse, he had made his decision.
Heedless to the fact that his entire career would be ruined if his brother’s fears proved groundless, Alexander felt strangely relieved. He could only wonder what awaited them on the edge of the ice pack, for this was the direction that their destinies now lay.
Captain Steven Aldridge was huddled over the chart table with his XO, trying to figure out the Alfa’s ultimate destination, when word arrived from the sound shack that the Soviet vessel was in the process of initiating an abrupt change of course. The Cheyenne had been silently following in the Alfa’s unsuspecting baffles until this point. Fearful of being tagged themselves, Aldridge ordered an immediate drop in speed to loiter velocity. A state of ultra quiet prevailed as they anxiously waited for the Alfa to play its hand. As it so happened, it wasn’t long in coming.
“Our contact’s new course is zero-one-zero,” revealed senior sonar technician Joe Carter.
“And from the way they’re churning up the water, Ivan is sure in a hurry to get wherever he’s bound for.”
“What in the world do you make of that, XO?” asked Aldridge.
Bob Stoddard peered down at the chart of the Norwegian coastline that they had been studying and replied, “It sure beats the hell out of me, Skipper. One minute they had all the makings of a spook mission — low speed and a course that was taking them directly to one of Norway’s most inhabited regions. Now they go and turn almost due northward, not giving a damn how much of a racket they’re leaving behind them.”
“Maybe this is Ivan’s way of clearing his baffles,” offered Lieutenant Andrew Laird. The ship’s navigator pointed to the Alfa’s last position on the chart and added.
“He might have suspected that he was being tailed, and is making all this noise to lure us into showing ourselves.”
The Captain nodded.
“Interesting thought, Lieutenant.
But there are a lot less drastic ways for a sub to clear its baffles, and this certainly isn’t one of them. No, I say our Alfa just got an unexpected change of orders. Most probably there’s been an emergency of some sort. That would account for their sudden course and speed change.”
“It sure would be interesting to know what it’s all about,” prompted the curious XO, as he softly tapped the empty bowl of his pipe against the edge of the chart table.
“Then what do you say if we just go and find out ourselves?” offered Aldridge with a grin.
“But how will we ever catch ‘em, Captain?” asked the freckle-faced navigator.
“After all, that’s an Alfa we’re talking about.”
Steven Aldridge looked at his young navigator like he hadn’t heard him properly.
“Come now, Lieutenant. I hope you have a little more faith in the Cheyenne ‘s capabilities than that. This old fox might not be a rabbit like that Alfa, but in the end, we’ll be right there at the finish line.”
“Captain, sonar reports that the contact’s new course is remaining constant. Estimated speed is thirty-three knots and still gaining.”
Aldridge absorbed the quartermaster’s report with an exaggerated grimace.
“Well XO, I guess it’s time to get those cobwebs cleared out. Ring up Lieutenant Lonnon, and let him know that Cheyenne Power and Light is about to get a chance to show what it’s made out of. Because I’ve got a hunch that this is going to be a race that’s right down to the wire.”
It took the rest of the night and most of the next day to get the heavy water unloaded from the trawler, transferred up into the sub pen, and then secured inside U-3313’s forward storage compartment. Once this was accomplished, though, the Golden U-boat was ready to set sail.
It was late afternoon when the massive camouflaged door that was set into the seaward side of the mountain was raised. With a minimum of fanfare the vessel’s diesel engines were started. The final mooring line was disconnected, and slowly the sub nosed its way out of the pen where it had been stored for over four decades.
They would travel on the surface until reaching the preselected diving area. Only when there was plenty of water under the boat’s hull would the diesels be shut down and the battery-fed motors engaged, as the submarine descended below the surface into its intended medium.
Otto Koch was beaming with pride as he stood on the exposed bridge that was set into the top of the streamlined sail. Beside him, Captain Charles Kromer was also satisfied, knowing that he had once again managed the impossible by helping get his present command ready for sea so quickly. Two young seamen were also on the sail, their binoculars trained on the seas before them for any signs of ice.
The gray, overcast sky was rapidly darkening. The air was cold and fresh with the salt spray that whipped over the bow and flew as high as the bridge. Soon the whole deck was dripping with salt water, which was already beginning to freeze.
“The engines sound good,” observed Kromer in response to the steady throbbing sound that emanated from below deck.
“They’ll work themselves in nicely enough,” said Otto Koch as he wiped some spray from his eyes.
Kromer quickly scanned the horizon with his binoculars before checking his watch.
“I’ll
still feel better once we’re under, Herr Director,” he commented.
“An iceberg can end this mission long before we can even get to the open seas.”
“How much longer to the diving point?” asked Koch.
“Another quarter of an hour,” answered the Captain.
“We could go under earlier than that, but I want plenty of water beneath us for that first dive.”
“She’ll do just fine, Captain,” offered Koch as he turned and viewed the shoreline still visible behind them.
The hollowed out mountain from which they had emerged was hardly recognizable. It seemed to have long since blended in with the desolate, snowcapped mountain ridges. Only a single blinking beacon indicated the location of the outpost known as North Cape. Several dozen hearty souls would remain there, keeping the facility habitable for the next time that it would be needed.
The sound of a barking dog diverted his attention to the open hatch set at his feet.
“Beowulf, behave yourself down there!” shouted Koch.
Almost instantly the barking stopped, only to be replaced by the shrill voice of a young woman.
“Herr Director, are you certain that you are dressed warmly enough? I have another muffler with me in case you need it.”
Otto Koch looked over to the captain and winked before replying to this offer.
“Thank you, Lottie, but I’m doing just fine.”
“Well, your tea is ready whenever you’d like it, sir,” added his faithful servant.
The old man chuckled.
“That one is a real gem, Captain. She takes better care of me than my own mother did.”
“Are your quarters comfortable, Herr Director?” questioned the captain.
“They’re more than sufficient, Captain. Lottie even got down there beforehand and did a little decorating.
Right now the bulkheads are covered with my Bavar ian prints and my favorite cuckoo clock.”
U-3313’s hull bit into the gathering swell and as Kromer reached out to steady himself, he asked guardedly, “Herr Director, I’ve been meaning to ask you, could you explain to me why we’re taking those prisoners along with us? Wouldn’t it be better to just throw them overboard and be done with them? They would certainly be a lot less bother to us.”
“I understand your concern, Captain. But please bear with me just a bit longer. The young Norwegians will make excellent hostages. Should the need arise, we can use them for blackmail purposes. As for the old Russian, I’ll deal with him myself when the time is right.”
“I gather that you knew this man previously,” probed Kromer.
“Let’s just say that we’re old acquaintances from the war, Captain.”
The excited shouts of one of the lookout’s interrupted Koch.
“We’ve got ice dead ahead of us, Captain!”
“More ice off to the port, Sir!” screamed the other seaman.
Kromer raised his binoculars and quickly sized up their situation.
“I was afraid of this, Herr Director.
The winds have apparently shifted and sent this pack ice down from the north. If we don’t want to risk a collision, we’d better think about going under.”
“Then let’s do it, Captain,” urged Koch.
“I’d much rather take my chances with the bottom of the sea, than take on one of those floating menaces.”
Even without the benefit of binoculars, the ice was clearly visible. It seemed to cover the whole horizon, and came in a varied assortment of shapes and sizes.
Kromer looked at his watch, then barked into the waterproof intercom box.
“Rig for diving!”
As this order rang through the boat, Kromer ordered the lookouts below. As they scrambled down the conning tower ladder, the captain helped Otto Koch climb through the hatch. After taking one last look at the sea in front of them, Kromer descended the ladder himself.
Below deck, the warmth was most noticeable. As an alert seaman took Kromer’s parka, hat and gloves, the captain looked over to the diving station. Standing there, before the collection of vent and hull opening indicator boards, diving rudder indicators, and trim indicators, was Senior Lieutenant Hans Kurtz.
“The boat is rigged for diving, Captain,” informed U-3313’s second-in-command.
“Very good, Hans,” replied Kromer.
“Stand by to, dive! Sound the alarm!”
The compartment filled with a blaring klaxon. And as Kromer readied his stopwatch to record their diving time, he momentarily caught the glance of the bald old man who was responsible for this mission.
Standing calmly beside the vacant fire-control panel, with his dog Beowulf faithfully seated beside him, Otto Koch returned the captain’s glance with the barest of supportive nods.
“Open all main ballast valves!” orded Kromer.
“Open vents of bow buoyancy. Open vents on number one ballast, number two ballast, and the safety tanks. Bow planes at hard dive!”
“All engines stopped and valves closed, Sir,” reported the Senior Lieutenant.
Charles Kromer knew that the moment of truth was finally upon them. In a few more seconds, U-3313 would start to plane below the water’s surface, driving forward with the push of its electric motors.
Back in the engine room, he could picture Chief Dortmund at work making absolutely certain that the hull and engine induction valves were securely closed off against the sea. It was through these valves that the diesel engines were vented and got the enormous amounts of air that they needed to breathe. In the watery realm that they now entered, the diesels would be useless, with the U-boat depending upon its battery-powered engines for propulsion.
“Main inductions closed,” informed the quartermaster.
Kromer felt an alien pressure on his eardrums as pressurized air was bled into the boat. His eye went to the aneroid barometer, and as it gradually rose and the needles held steady, he was positive that the hull was airtight from within.
“Take us down, Hans,” ordered the captain tensely.
This was all the senior lieutenant needed to hear to move the levers of the main ballast tanks. The compartment filled with the loud hiss of the air being vented through the tops of these tanks, followed by the onrushing surge of seawater that poured in to replace this air from the bottom valves.
“Pressure in the boat. Captain. Green board,” reported Hans Kurtz.
Kromer walked over to the diving station to note the time it took for them to reach a depth of 35 feet.
Next he studied the bubble angle indicators, that showed them down by the bow at about eight degrees.
This meant that the top deck was thoroughly submerged now, with the sail soon to follow.
At forty feet, Kromer ordered the bow buoyancy vents closed. At forty-five feet, he instructed Hans Kurtz to close all vents, informing the planes man to level them off at a depth of sixty-five feet. Only then did the captain look at his stopwatch and exhale a long breath of relief. A hand gently touched him on the shoulder, and he turned to be greeted by a warm, almost fatherly voice.
“Nice job, Charles,” complimented Otto Koch.
“You have made this old man very proud.”
This was the first time that the veteran had ever called him by his first name, and Kromer felt the bond between them further tighten.
“Thank you, sir,” he humbly replied.
“But it’s this crew of ours that deserves the job well done. They handled themselves like true professionals.”
“Sonar reports ice dead ahead, Sir,” relayed the quartermaster.
Called back to duty, Kromer turned to his second lieutenant.
“It’s time to see how tough this old wolf really is, Hans. Take us down to 450 feet. All ahead full. We’ve only got the Kongsfjord Strait to transit now, and then it will be nothing but open sea all the way to the Rio de la Plata!”
Throughout the boat, the crew began settling in for their long voyage. Electricians crawled into the dark pits that st
retched almost the entire length of the hull, monitoring the vessel’s hundreds of batteries, while other seamen focused their attentions on the minor leaks and other petty mechanical difficulties that were an inevitable part of any such submerged run.
In the forward storage compartment, the only indication of the great depth in which they were now travelling was the ominous creaking of the outer hull.
Locked inside a wire mesh cage that was previously utilized to store foodstuffs, the U-boat’s six prisoners tried to make the best of their captivity.
The cage itself was barely large enough to permit all six of them to lay down on the cold metal decking at one time. Each of them had been permitted the luxury of a single woolen blanket. The toilet facilities consisted of two metal buckets, one of which held foul tasting, tepid drinking water, and the other to be used for bodily eliminations. This spartan arrangement was particularly distressing for the only female present, and it had been Knut who had suggested rigging up a blanket to give Karl a bit of privacy.
Since their capture, they had been fed only a single time. This feast consisted of a can of cold pork and beans, that had to be eaten with the hands as no utensils were provided.
Adding to their mental discomfort was the view that they were forced to endure. Secured to the deck immediately in front of them was the heavy water that only a few days ago lay on the bottom of Lake Tinnsjo. The precious fluid had been transferred into several dozen heavy plastic carboys that looked temptingly close, but for all effective purposes were miles away.
Just visible on the opposite side of the room was the locked cage in which the gold was stored. Mikhail Kuznetsov found this particularly ironic. Here it had taken him fifty years to track this treasure down, and now it appeared that his life would end with the gold within his sight, yet still completely out of his reach.
The white-haired Russian was taking their incarceration particularly hard. Since being locked inside the cage, he had done little but sit in the corner, his blanket wrapped tightly around him. He seemed completely deaf to whatever conversation was going on around him. Instead, his attention was focused inward.
Haunting Mikhail’s inner vision was the face and figure of a single man. It had been half a century since he had last laid his eyes on Otto Koch. Though the years had aged him considerably, Mikhail knew who he was the instant he came hobbling into the radio room. It had been his eyes that had given him away. The cold, steel-gray orbs flashed with the same vicious cruelty that had characterized them fifty years ago. They were a direct channel into hell, and Mikhail would never forget staring into their evil depths on that fated August day in 1941, when Koch physically and mentally scarred him for life.
The Golden U-Boat Page 29