V4 Vengeance

by Nigel Seed

  “Yes that’s true, boss, but have a look at the helmet markings.”

  Jim turned the helmet over and looked at the badges on the sides. On one side, a Nazi eagle clutching the Swastika in a laurel wreath in its claws as expected, but on the other side were the angular silver lightning strikes on a black shield that signified the SS.

  “There weren’t any SS in the Navy as far as I know, so what the hell were they doing in here?”

  Geordie stepped up and looked at the helmet. “I think I know the answer to that and you’re not going to like it. Come away and look at this.”

  He led them along the side of the dock behind the U-Boats to the fourth dry dock. As they got closer they could see it wasn’t empty, there was a pile of rubbish of some kind in it. It had been used as a dump by the look of it. Geordie led them to the edge of the dock, then after a pause he pointed his large flashlight down into the dock and turned it on. It wasn’t rubbish. It was bodies, lots of bodies.

  Looking down they could see skulls and hand bones sticking out of rough brown uniforms stained with the ooze of long decomposed flesh. Jaws hung open in an endless scream and empty eye sockets stared toward the roof high above them.

  “Bloody hell! Who were they?” said Ivan.

  Jim swallowed as he looked down, and once he had control of his feelings he said, “By the look of those uniforms they were Russian prisoners of war being used as slave labor. But how the devil did the Germans keep that a secret? The SS might have been ruthless enough for this, but the Navy people in here would have been pretty decent and they would have spoken about a massacre on this scale, after the war.”

  Geordie tapped his arm. “Sorry boss, but I can answer that one as well.”

  He led them to the end of the dock and pointed the flashlight down again. On top of the rough, brown Russian uniforms were blue ones. After the Russians were slaughtered, the Kriegsmarine men guarding them had been killed too.

  “Charming!” said Ivan. “These SS types were truly princes among men.”

  “Well,” said Jim, “now we know why none of the builders ever talked about this after the war, but I think that blows any chance of sneaking these boats out of here. We have to report this to the German and Russian military authorities so they can look after their own.”

  “Don’t be quite so hasty Major,” said a voice from behind them.

  They spun round and Jim was pleased to see Geordie and Ivan instinctively move quickly left and right to make the group less of a target. Years of military training takes time to forget. Standing in front of them was the man in the gray suit from London, looking a little less neat after his climb down the rope from the roof entrance.

  “Steady lads, he’s one of ours,” Jim said. The two ex-soldiers relaxed. “Good timing dropping in while we were looking at this horror. Very dramatic entrance.”

  “Thank you,” said the newcomer walking to the edge of the dock and looking down.

  He took the large flashlight from Geordie and walked slowly along the edge of the dock, shining it on the tangled heap of what had once been men. When he turned back to the three engineers he was visibly affected.

  “I understand your feelings, gentlemen and I share them. These men deserve to be identified if we can and then properly buried with the honors they deserve. But after seventy years I don’t think it’s all that urgent. They can be left where they are for a little longer.” He looked back into the dock and then said casually, “I think they will forgive us if we delay that secondary issue for a few weeks, don’t you?”

  Jim could sense Ivan starting to quiver, another statement like that and the gray man was going to end up in the charnel house beneath them.

  “I mean no disrespect,” he continued, “but if we go public on this too soon they will be used as a political football and our employer will not get what he was seeking here. A short delay would be best for all of us, even for these poor souls.”

  Ivan calmed slowly and Jim could feel the tension go out of him.

  “I think we need to talk. Would you care to join me for a walk round?” Jim asked.

  “Certainly, Major, a guided tour of what you have found so far would be most welcome.” They walked away.

  Jim turned to the other two, “If you have finished your initial look round could you have a try at opening the conning tower hatch we tried yesterday?”

  Better to give them a physical task while they were still angry, the extra adrenalin might help. He walked the gray man into the workshop and storage area away from the other two.

  “OK. Couple of points to note here. First, never show disrespect to a dead military man while other military men are present, calling them a secondary issue is dangerous. No dead serviceman is a secondary issue to another military man. Second, never sneak up on people in a dark place. My two ex-soldiers there were ready to take you down until I recognized you. Three, you know more about this place than you have told us and that ends now. And fourth, what the hell is your name and who are we working for?”

  The man looked at him, “Thank you for the pointers on military etiquette. I will be a little more circumspect around your two heavies in future. You may call me John Smith, for the time being and our employer is a Russian called Maxim Romanov. He is one of those unusual Russian Oligarchs who does not spend his money on football teams or huge houses in London full of young blonde ladies, though he does enjoy some of the finer things in life. As to the further information, I do know a little more, but Mr Romanov is keen to brief you himself tonight when he gets in.”

  “Fair enough, I will await his briefing with some impatience. Well, in truth, not much to show you yet. We had only just started to survey the site when you dropped in, Mr. Smith. We have found some SS equipment and the bodies you saw. At the front of the dry docks is a large maneuvering area for the boats, which is also dry. We haven’t looked in the crates over there yet or inside those doors at the back. I assume the large crates we can see stacked up contain spares and equipment for the boats, but we will confirm that as we go. My guess is that those doors lead to workshops for servicing the boats between missions. And we are just starting to try and get a look inside our first U-Boat.”

  Smith nodded, “Do you need a German translator to work out what is in the crates?”

  Jim shook his head, “We shouldn’t need one. All three of us spent time with the army in Germany so we should have enough of the language between us to work it out.”

  As he finished speaking Ivan’s powerful voice echoed from the conning tower of the middle submarine.

  “OK boss, it’s open.”

  They walked back to the center U-Boat. Jim pointed out its unusual markings as they crossed the gangway and climbed up into the conning tower. Smith seemed strangely unsurprised.

  Geordie and Ivan were both red in the face and breathing heavily. Geordie held the stout metal bar they had used to persuade the hatch that, after seventy years, it was time to open.

  Geordie smiled. “We thought our visitor might like to go down first.”

  Smith nodded and started down.

  “Just in case of booby traps,” Geordie finished.

  Smith was back out of the hatchway and standing beside Jim in a second.

  “You’ll have to forgive them, Mr. Smith. Army humor can take some getting used to.”

  Geordie and Ivan were trying so hard not to laugh they were almost crying. Jim couldn’t blame them, it was too good a set up to let it go by and they had done it well. He stepped forward and climbed down through the hatchway, into the upper control room, leaving Smith and the other two on the bridge deck. It was pitch dark inside the boat and the air was stale and smelled faintly of diesel oil. He switched on the lamp on his caver’s helmet and looked around. Thankfully no bodies.

  On the forward bulkhead he saw a dull brass plate. He ran his fingers slowly over it. No dust. This boat had been completely sealed for seventy years. He read the plate, ‘U-3999, Typ XXII, Blohm und Voss, Hamburg. He dro
pped down the vertical ladder into the main control room and turned to look aft. On that bulkhead, above the watertight door, he saw a painted sign Fűhrer Befehl Wir Folgen. He felt he had stepped back in time to those dark days when boats like this plied their deadly trade out in the cold waters of the wide Atlantic.

  The inside of the U-Boat looked very much like the submarine he had visited on the beach at the Kiel U-Boat memorial. Though a little larger it was still cramped with exposed pipes and cable runs. The large instrument dials and control wheels at the various control stations looked archaic, but if they still worked would no doubt do the job. He glanced at the chart table.

  The yellowing chart of the North Atlantic lying there was no surprise. The U-Boat’s major combat area had been the North Atlantic for the full five years of the Second World War. They had nearly won the war right there by starving the British Isles of food and munitions. Nearly, but not quite. The American entry into the war had changed the dynamics of the Battle of the Atlantic and had saved the British, who were almost worn out by the constant pressure of the battle against the U-Boats of the Kriegsmarine. The U-Boats had never managed to overcome the combined fleets. Not for want of trying though.

  As he turned over the Atlantic chart the second sheet he spotted was more interesting, a very detailed chart of the Hudson River right up to Manhattan Island. Now why would a U-Boat need that, he wondered?

  He moved on slowly, looking around carefully. Aft of the control room was the Chiefs’ Mess, then the galley and quite a decent sized storage room for food. Empty now of course, presumably they would have stocked the boat just before she left, to keep the food fresh for as long as possible. Next came the toilets. He must remember to call them “heads,” though why the navy called them that he had no idea. The mass of pipes and levers needed to let them evacuate waste when submerged would take some working out.

  He moved on into a bunk area. Not much room for each man. It must be quite difficult for a big man to even turn over in there, he thought. He had seen deeper bookshelves. No place for people, like him, with claustrophobia, here. Beyond the accommodation space was the engine room with the two huge, gray painted diesels and then the massive electric motors for use when submerged.

  Further on he came to the aft torpedo room. Just two tubes and no space to carry any reloads, so weapons of last resort, he guessed. He moved back through the various compartments and noticed that, although there was a smell of diesel oil, there was no stink of sweat and unwashed bodies or rotting food. This must have been a fairly new boat when it was brought in here, all those years ago.

  Forward of the control room he found the radio operator’s position and the sound man’s position, both looking very crude by modern standards. The wooden case of the Enigma coding machine sat on the desk next to the radio with a yellowing pad of paper waiting for the message that would never come. The next position almost had him stumped until he realized he was looking at a very early radar set, with oscilloscope dials.

  Just beyond this technical area he found what could only be the Captain’s small bunk room. It could hardly be called a cabin with its small size and curtain door. He stepped in. A battered naval officer’s cap lay on the neat bunk with various papers and file folders scattered around it. There was a faded black and white photograph on the tiny desk, of a smiling woman and a small child with Heidi pigtails squinting into the sunlight behind the photographer. They were standing outside what appeared to be a Bavarian style house. He wondered if the girl was still alive and whether her daddy had ever made it home to her, or was he too lying in that obscene pile of bodies. He moved on.

  The Officers’ Mess was followed by a bunk area and then another, which seemed similar to the Petty Officers’ Mess he had seen in the museum U-Boat on the beach. He had to heave at the half open water tight hatch to move further forward. This was different. A large space with two L-shaped steel rails running the length of the compartment. There were hammocks stowed against the bulkheads. As he moved forward the lamp on his helmet picked out a trolley sitting with its wheels between the rails. Too small for a torpedo trolley although the semicircles cut in the top frame were clearly to hold something of a similar shape. Against the curved walls of the compartment were a number of heavy duty air tanks that seemed to have no obvious purpose. He realized he was standing on some sort of hydraulic powered lifting mechanism, located right below the large deck hatch he had seen the day before.

  He walked through the compartment and through another watertight door into the forward torpedo room. Usually the largest compartment on a submarine, this one seemed small for the size of this U-Boat. As he looked around he could see the four forward torpedo tubes, but only racks for four reload torpedoes. That seemed a small number for the boat’s main armament. Something to be puzzled over later.

  He returned to the base of the conning tower and shouted up, “All clear, come on down.” He waited until the other three were standing on the deck at the base of the ladder and then said, “OK gents, take a look around, but if you don’t know what it is don’t touch it and if you do know what it is don’t touch it either. No souvenirs yet, just photographs.”

  He handed his caving helmet to Smith and climbed back out of the conning tower, grateful for the slightly fresher air of the underground base. He waited, leaning on the side of the conning tower, letting the others explore the boat without him. By the time they had finished wandering the boat and taking photographs, the day was done. Examining the rest of the base would have to wait until morning. They had an appointment with the mysterious Mr. Romanov.

  Chapter 9

  Back at their secluded villa they found two large, silver Mercedes saloons parked inside the tall, shielding hedge. The Land Rover and the small Fiat, that Smith had hired, were in a completely different league. As they entered the house they were stopped by a very large man in a roll neck sweater and black leather jacket. He didn’t speak, and just blocked the hallway with his hand resting on Smith’s chest.

  A voice from the living area called through in what sounded like Russian and the large obstruction stepped out of the way; as he did so his jacket swung open just enough for Jim to register the shoulder holster and the butt of a serious looking automatic pistol. They walked into the sitting room to find a slim, smiling, young man in a well cut, but somehow ill-chosen suit sitting in the best chair. Another two large men in matching leather jackets were behind him. Jim checked and noted that both jackets bulged, just a little, under the armpit. Three bodyguards seemed rather a lot for a law abiding country like Germany.

  The smiling, but strangely cold-eyed, man stood. “Welcome home gentlemen. I am Romanov.”

  They introduced themselves one by one. Jim was intrigued to note that Smith introduced himself as well. Presumably he had never met his client, face to face, either. The three heavies in the leather jackets had spaced themselves out around the room, with their backs to the wall. Whether this was for show or they really did expect their client to be attacked, it made for an uncomfortable situation and Jim noticed that his two men were keeping a wary eye on the bodyguards. Romanov waved the four of them into chairs.

  “A long day for you, I imagine, gentlemen. Can I offer you something to drink? I have some rather nice whisky that I always bring with me when I travel, if you would like to try it?” All four nodded.

  “Andrei! Five more whiskies!”

  A small man in a dark suit appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray with the whisky bottle and the five cut-glass tumblers. He looked like the sort of man who was a past master at fading into the background to avoid being noticed. Jim looked at the bottle as Andrei passed him. A Macallan 12. Now that was a nice whisky. No water or ice was on offer so apparently they were to appreciate it properly. Andrei poured five generous measures and passed the glasses around.

  Romanov raised his glass. “Your good health, gentlemen,” then took a surprisingly large mouthful.

  Drinkers of fine whisky usually savor the smell, t
he look and the subtle tastes of a good whisky; rather like wine drinkers, but with far less pretension. Jim sniffed quietly and then sipped. He looked at Andrei, but saw no sign that this was a joke. He knew this whisky well; it was a Famous Grouse, a good whisky in its own way but tasting nothing like a Macallan. Interesting.

  Romanov put down his glass, “Now I expect that you wish to know what I know about the U-Boat base. My research agents spent a lot of time in dusty archives to make this possible. You have seen the documents I sent to Mr. Smith for you and clearly they were enough to help to find the base and to effect an entry. My congratulations for that, by the way. There will be a bonus in your salary this month. But now, tell me, how much do you know about the German V-weapons from the last war?”

  Geordie was the first to answer. “They were Hitler’s Vengeance weapons when the war started going badly. The V1 was the first cruise missile and was mostly used to hit London from France as that’s a nice big target and they weren’t very accurate at that range. The other one was the V2, a missile that was almost the equivalent of a modern ICBM. The Americans captured some and started their space program with them.”

  Romanov nodded, “That is as much as most people know, but there is more to tell. There was also a V3 which was a huge, smooth-bore cannon system that was also going to pound London to rubble. The first site was captured by the advancing allied armies before it was ready to use and the second site could not hit anywhere very important, but it was used. Interestingly, Saddam Hussein of Iraq also tried to build one to bombard Israel, but that was foiled by some Customs Inspectors in England who found the parts being shipped to him. The Americans also took some V1 flying bombs back for experiments and tested them in various launch methods, including from the decks of landing ships and submarines. They even built some copies of their own to continue the testing. Those are the ones that are commonly known.”

  He took another large mouthful of whisky from his crystal tumbler before continuing.