The Last Wolf

by Stephen Ward

  “Donald, this is Lieutenant Stockman.”

  Stockman reached out and shook Winters' hand. “Nice to meet you, Doctor. Shall we take a seat?” he said gesturing towards the green leather chairs at the far end of the room. “Doctor Filmore has informed me of your findings and I have a file upstairs containing your requests. Firstly, let me thank you for your work. I really must commend you on your determination.”

  Stockman settled back into his chair and looked intently at Winters. “You've requested additional funds and a loan of a vessel, I understand?”

  “Yes, that's right,” said Winters in his best businessman-like tone.

  Taking a breath, Stockman continued, “I'm curious as to what evidence you have that convinces you that this lost submarine is where you say it is.”

  Winters had a bad feeling, as he didn't know where it actually was and he felt sure that Stockman knew this. He'd asked a closed question that had only one answer.

  “I don't know exactly but all of the evidence points to it lying somewhere in the Lorient area.”

  “Doctor Winters, Donald, may I call you Donald? The fact is that it would take months to mount a search this immense and anyway how do you know the sub wasn't ordered out to sea or on some mission to Japan or even America?”

  “Well...” began Winters.

  “Donald,” interrupted Stockman, “the Navy appreciates everything you've done in the past but I cannot permit you to search for a boat that could be hundreds of miles away. We take History very seriously here, but times have changed. Haven't you read the newspaper? This boat no longer poses any threat. She's rusting on the seabed somewhere. I can see no reason why we have to document her in person. You have photographs, I understand? So I think it would be best if we open a new Volume and you can compile your data for further study and then perhaps when times are more financially agreeable we can look into the matter, but at the moment the answer has to be a no. Now, Gentlemen, I have meetings to attend if you'll excuse me.” With that Stockman exited the room.

  Winters sat fuming, his temper eating away at his self control. Filmore lent over, “Donald, I'm so sorry. I tried my best and wanted to tell you myself, but Stockman just didn't give me the chance.”

  Winters spoke quietly. “Thirty years I have given to this Navy, thirty fucking years, all to be brushed aside by a jumped up little bastard like that! Well, I most certainly will not close it for further study. This is a historically significant find and the sub must be found.”

  “What can you do?”Filmore asked. “You're one man and that's a very large ocean.”

  “I won't find anything here so I'll leave for Lorient today,” said Winters, looking at a point beyond James' head. “Come with me. It will be like old times. We still have contacts.”

  Filmore shook his head, “I can't, Donald. I have work to attend to here.”

  “Don't give me that shit. You're just used to being dictated to by everyone around here. How long will it be before they put you out to pasture and replace you with a computer or whatever they are called? Wouldn't you like to go out with a bang?” Winters lent forward in his chair, “Two weeks. Give me two weeks. If we haven't found anything by then, then I will compile everything, take up gardening and grow sweet peas or whatever! Come on, what do you say?”

  A long silence fell over the pair. “You always could convince me, you old sea rat” replied Filmore.

  “Thank you, James,” laughed Winters, “You won't regret it,” and the pair rose to their feet and headed back to the Doctor's office

  Chapter 23

  The early morning rays of the sun were just stretching over the City of Lorient as Weib, clutching a bulging briefcase, made his way through the already bustling complex towards an exit on the inland side of the pens. He was both curious and also nervous about the meeting he'd been summoned to attend. “What could it possibly be about,” he wondered. Nothing good was the first answer that sprang to mind but no doubt he'd find out soon enough.

  Closing the weighty metal doors behind him, he soon arrived at the main exit. Its heavy blast door stood slightly ajar and the daylight shone through. With blinking eyes he emerged into the area in the shadow of the pens. Ahead lay the main gate with its fortified concrete bunkers. Trucks and cars milled around and he could see soldiers at their posts. One young soldier manning a pillbox close to the door stood to attention. Smiling at him, Weib reached into his pocket and retrieved his silver cigarette case. Flicking it open, he gestured for the man to take a neatly-rolled cigarette. The man was hesitant at first but after a brief look for reassurance, took one, lit it and cupped the flaming match for Weib. It was rare for the latter to spend time talking to soldiers but today he wanted to show he was approachable and not the total bastard they all thought he was. The two stood in companionable silence as they gazed towards the gate and the access roads beyond.

  Reaching into his top pocket, Weib took out his ornate pocket watch. Checking the time, he noted that it wouldn't be too long now before the car arrived. Indeed, a matter of moments after he had replaced his watch, a black Mercedes pulled through the gate, the red flags of the Swastika fluttering from the front wings. It halted for a moment whilst the guard checked papers before handing them back and the car continued forward, two motorcycle escorts close behind.

  A man in a black leather coat exited the vehicle as it pulled alongside Weib. Opening the rear door he gestured for him to get in. The upholstery was soft to sit on and the car's interior smelt of clean freshness and wax. The leather-coated man said nothing but nodded to the driver to continue. Weib gazed out of the car window at some of the ruined areas of the town, the fronts of the buildings like giant dolls' houses, staircases winding upwards sometimes to break off halfway up. Gradually the structures became fewer and gave way to countryside, the unspoilt green fields stretching out and away on either side of the road. After passing only a few sentry points, he thought it was hard to believe there was a war on. The silence in the car was deafening. Weib cleared his throat and mustered the courage to speak, “This car is very beautiful. The SS must get the best.” Not a word was uttered in return. The officer sat with his hands in his lap, tapping gently on his knee. Encircling his ring finger was a distinctive gold ring showing a curious concentric pattern of a swastika-like design. Weib had seen a ring like this before but was unable to place where. He'd been to many functions over the years and had never seen other SS officers driving such stunning cars. Wherever he was going must be important. Suddenly as they rounded a corner, the car pulled off the road and stopped, tyres skidding and crunching on the gravel. The driver muttered something about a piss break. Now for the first time the officer turned to Weib, “Why don't you stretch your legs? We still have many kilometres to go.”

  Surprised, Weib stepped out of the car into the warm morning sunshine. Reaching into his pocket for his lighter and cigarettes, he lit one but before he could raise it to his lips, he felt a brief, sharp pain, then blackness.

  On waking it was impossible to tell how long he'd been unconscious. His head spun and ached. Trying to move he realised his wrists and feet had been tied to a chair and in total darkness he was unable to tell whether he was blindfolded. Rising panic began to consume him, then a voice pierced the blackness, “Please relax, Herr Weib. You are quite safe but struggling will only make you increasingly uncomfortable”

  Chapter 24

  Wilkes had been keeping his head down since Turnbull had come on board. He had no intention of losing his boat and as Talisman was leading the Exercise he thought it best to polish up on what was expected of him. The crew had made sure that each area was well prepared so all he had to do was not to put a foot wrong on the Bridge and he was home free.

  His mind was somewhat preoccupied by the disappearance of Forrester but Wilkes only saw the matter as a minor setback and so continued pouring over the charts laid out before him. Talisman, along with the American and Italian ships were to proceed out into the Channel where they'd set
up a search grid between Lorient and Portsmouth. Meanwhile, the new German destroyer would simulate an attack run on Portsmouth. Upon reading the plans, Wilkes shook his head. The Germans didn't stand a chance. They may have a new Hamburg-class destroyer but he didn't think much of the crew. In his opinion a bunch of young boys with no experience shouldn't pose a threat.

  Stomach rumbling he checked his watch and realised the galley would be closing soon and that he'd had no dinner. Wilkes' natural paranoia meant that he hated walking the corridors as he instinctively felt that every crew member seemed to be laughing and sniggering after he passed by. On entering the galley he was confronted with a rather unpleasant smell but his hunger put paid to any qualms he may have had as he pushed past a line of seamen to the head of the queue and ordered his usual, three eggs, three sausages, bacon, chips topped by a large spoonful of beans. With his plate piled high, he turned to find a seat but all the places seemed to be taken. He chose one at random and hovered. The junior officer occupying the seat looked up startled. “Don't you know that it's customary to give up your seat to your Captain?”

  The embarrassed young man leapt up, clumsily collecting together his lunch and moved away followed by the other three occupants of the table. Wilkes sat and tucked in noisily.

  Usually captains would eat with their officers but he disliked all of them intensely and knew

  that the feeling was mutual. An hour later, only he remained as the galley crew cleaned and mopped up around him. All he kept thinking about was how he only had to get through these Exercises but how? Turnbull was going to be watching his every move and Forrester was gone. Also, the recent incident with Moorhouse had been less than helpful. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a call over the tannoy, “CAPTAIN TO THE BRIDGE'”

  “What now?” he said to himself leaving his dirty plates on the table and walking slowly in the direction of the Bridge. The tannoy crackled again, “CAPTAIN WILKES TO THE BRIDGE”. Wilkes knew that voice, Turnbull. That man was everywhere!

  Out of breath he panted onto the Bridge to find Turnbull seated in his chair, binoculars in hand.

  “Nice of you to join us, Captain. You have the Bridge.”

  Wilkes took the binoculars from the Admiral and scanned the bay, “The Italians have arrived then,” he said.

  “Yes, twenty minutes ago.”

  Wilkes grunted, “Communications. Signal the other vessels. The Exercise will begin in thirty minutes. Signal the German destroyer. They should remain behind for five hours. That should give us time to get into position. Let's make them run!”

  “Admiral,” came a voice from the starboard entrance, “We aren't leaving are we, sir?” It was Moorhouse. “What about Forrester? Sir, we still haven't found him.”

  Turnbull spoke firmly, “We can't hold up these Exercises for one man. The French have assured me that they'll continue the search until we recover him, but we must get under way. That will be all, Doctor.”

  “But....”

  “I said, that will be all. Captain Wilkes, prepare the ship to leave.”

  Wilkes clicked a button on his arm rest. “Engine Room, steam up all boilers and prepare to give me twenty knots when we get into open water. We leave in twenty five minutes.”

  Turnbull nodded, “You have the Bridge, Captain.” He walked out starboard way exiting onto the deck and saw Moorhouse leaning over the rail. “He'll be OK, Paul. He's a tough son of a bitch.”

  Moorhouse nodded.

  The ship's vibration changed and behind him the funnel expelled a plume of grey smoke. It seemed to seal the fact that they were leaving Forrester behind. Both men gazed in silence out across to the other vessels, each showing signs of readiness to leave.

  The doctor muttered, “I hope so, Sir. I hope so.”

  Chapter 25

  Dark, not the kind that your eyes can become accustomed to, but real thick blackness. That's what currently surrounded Forrester following the sharp clang of the hatch above him as it slammed shut. He could feel the panic rising up from his knotted stomach. The military trains you to suppress fear but somehow this was different, deep and primal. His hands trembled and his breathing quickened.

  “Get a grip, Forrester!” he said to himself, leaning his forehead on the cold, damp rung of the ladder that he clung to. After he'd settled for a few moments he reached upwards. Making certain that his feet were firmly placed, he grasped the large wheel on the hatch above and attempted to spin it with all his strength. It wouldn't shift. Over and over again he tried until finally the blood had run from his arms and they ached. It was no use. It was shut tight.

  They say that when one of your senses is cut off, the others heighten to compensate. Well, that was happening now. He felt very cold and could hear splashes far off in the darkness below. Clearly, there was just one way to go. Down. What he did next was possibly the bravest thing he had done to date. Taking a breath he started to move down, feet tapping on the metal rungs as he did so. Cold and damp, he was soon badly disorientated. He pressed on regardless lowering himself, rung after rung, until with a splash, his right foot hit water. Not deep but enough to break his concentration. Forrester found himself on a hard floor, albeit partially immersed in three inches of water. He felt hesitant to leave the relative safety of the ladder, his only point of reference to the outside world but he knew he couldn't stay there forever. If he wanted to get out he had to explore his new surroundings thoroughly.

  He resolved to go slowly and not too far. Tentatively he placed his fingertips on the ladder and walked round 360 degrees keeping contact with the ladder and shuffling his feet. As he did so, his foot hit something just below the water – small but heavy which seemed to move easily. Forrester instantly knew what it must be – his torch. Hoping and praying, he carefully reached down and searched around in the cold water until he felt the rubber-coated torch in his hand. It felt intact. Hoping against hope that it had just turned off and not broken the bulb, he felt for the switch. It clicked and with a little persuasive tap, came to life! Forrester had never been so relieved. The pale yellow beam wasn't great but it was so much better than the intimidating darkness. Flashing the beam around, he started to explore the space he was in. It was a room no bigger than twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide. The ladder came down towards the back of the room. Forrester could make out six bunks set against the wall. Just behind the ladder, the chains that held the bunks from the wall were rusted and the thick grey blankets were wet and soiled. Ironically, despite this, the beds were still neatly made and seemed ready for occupancy. No sign of personal effects, pictures or posters could be seen on the small shelves behind the bunks. Moving on around the room, he noticed the valves and pipes above him. Gauges and other controls lined the ceiling. Forrester soon realised it was beginning to look more like a submarine but it still did not fit with what he expected. Illuminated by his torch beam two chairs side by side came into view. He knew what these were for – Dive controls. The chains were rusted but still usable and the Dive wheels still painted red but showing their age and disuse.

  Forrester couldn't understand how this boat could have been been underwater for so long yet so much still be intact and watertight. The far end of the room comprised solely of a large control desk with tubes and old switches all labelled in German. The controls still looked like new with grey painted panels and large black Bakelite knobs. A screen, green in colour, with lines like a grid was set into the panel. “Basic radar” thought Forrester. If it was, then this sub was a great deal more advanced than any U-boat he had ever seen on display or even read about at the Academy. Flicking some switches back and forward and turning various dials, he found they still clicked perfectly – German engineering, you had to admire it.

  Turning, he continued on around the wall to the last corner. A drip of water landed on his forehead causing him to look upwards. The periscope hung from the ceiling, water dripping from its base. Forrester's curiosity got the better of him. Reaching up, he pulled the two handles d
own from their folded positions. Then drawing them towards himself, the scope came down with ease, followed by a small gush of seawater which he only narrowly avoided. Blinking the water away, he looked through the eye holes and waited for his eyes to come into focus. At first what he saw seemed to make little or no sense. He strained his eyes and concentrated. Either there was water on the lens and it had filled up or… No, not possible. The water was half over the periscope already. The submarine was going down, it was submerging.

  His heart started to race and that primal panic returned. He suddenly became acutely aware of how dire his situation was.

  Chapter 26

  Keller had been working so hard recently that he'd forgotten all about Weib's disappearance and even the fact that there was a distinct lack of a yard foreman. In retrospect, he couldn't say he minded at all as they'd accomplished so much over the past few months. The hull was almost watertight and the machinery was inside. The electricians were in now. All that worried him was the main conning tower which was the only part being manufactured off site due to its size.