by John Day
Before Klaus could get to his feet, other men pinned him down. Suddenly there was a brief flash of pain and he fell unconscious. He had been struck with a wooden club.
The next thing Klaus heard chanting voices all around him. He opened his eyes and stared at the ground, his face was pressed into it. He saw ants and other insects running through the dust towards him. He turned his aching head and realised he was bound hand and foot with a long pole threaded through. He had been carried to the camp like this and the natives had dumped him face down in the dirt.
Looking to the other side, Klaus saw 6 more men trussed up the same way. Natives danced around the squirming bodies, aggressively chanting, and thrusting their spears ever closer, at their captives.
A loud cry rang out from the tormentors and the dancing stopped. The prisoners’ bonds were cut and they were roughly man handled and presented to the natives’ wizened old chief.
Their weapons lay on a bed of broad green leaves, in front of the frail man. It was likely the shot had drawn the natives to the intruders and so far, in their ignorance, they hadn’t figured out how the guns worked. They’d never even seen metal before.
The chief pointed to a rifle, made utterings and pointed to Klaus. The men holding Klaus eased their grip so he could pick up the weapon. It seemed to Klaus that a warm smile directed to the chief and slowly sinking to his knees in a subservient pose might be perceived as non-threatening.
Slowly Klaus reached forward and grasped the rifle by the stock and barrel.
A crazy thought came to him and he saw no harm in it. He released the clip and as it sprang free, a cry of surprise came from the onlookers. Wooden tools couldn’t do that.
Next, he ejected the bullet held in the chamber and held the shiny brass casing so the Chief and his men could see it clearly. He lowered the gun to the ground and with the bullet in the palm of his hand, slowly passed the other over it.
It took a moment, but then the chief realised the bullet had vanished.
Klaus turned to his crewmate, told him to make two fists and hold them out in front of him. The young German understood what was expected of him and played along.
By sleight of hand and a flurry of hocus-pocus, the bullet was passed to one fist. As Klaus tapped the first fist, the man turned it over and revealed an empty palm. A series of magical passes over and under the other fist revealed the bullet in his upturned palm.
The natives were totally hooked and wanted more…
There was one onlooker though who had a score to settle, it was the huge native who Klaus had humiliated in the jungle. The musclebound giant pushed through the other natives and lunged his spear at Klaus. There was no intention to injure or kill, just threaten.
Remembering his brief military training, Klaus seized the pointed end and tugged hard. He partially turned, bringing his knee up hard under the shaft, snapping the spear. In contempt, Klaus threw the point at the giant.
This would not end here, Klaus knew it.
Picking up the rifle, he worked the cocking mechanism, brought it to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. He was demonstrating to the chief how the gun worked. There was a loud click as the hammer fell.
He cocked it again and offered the rifle to the chief, but held the muzzle to his forehead and indicated the chief should pull the trigger.
Click!
Now Klaus took the rifle back, secretly palmed the bullet into the breech, took aim at the giant and fired.
The man’s huge black head opened up like a split cantaloupe and the dead man fell on his back.
Quickly, Klaus slipped the clip back into the receiver. More shots rang out and the nearest natives fell dead.
It had been Klaus’s intention to show their captors that he had magical powers, beyond their understanding - even the chief could not harm him with the rifle.
Then things took a terrible turn. The other crew men grabbed their own weapons and fired continuously into the crowd.
Natives ran for the cover of the jungle and rained darts and spears down on the crew men as they made a break for it. Six of the men died.
In the confusion, Klaus looked down at the chief curled up in pain on the ground. Somehow, he had been wounded. It was a flesh wound to his upper arm, and the old man was bleeding heavily.
Still hoping to win the tribe over and walk free peacefully, Klaus quickly pulled off his shirt and ripped it to create a pressure pad and bandage for the chief’s arm. Not a sterile dressing, but better than dung and leaves, he guessed.
The old man quickly realised he was not being threatened by the young man and signed his men to leave Klaus to finish. After that Klaus was dragged away and held under guard in a small, dark hut to await his fate…
Stranded.
Benny continued to read through the Logbook.
“It is now the 15th August…”
Logbook entry.
The repairs to the casing are complete. Today, at high tide, we attempted to float off into the deeper water of the lagoon, but with the weight we are carrying, we remain stranded.
I have told Grupenfurer Kaltman that all his cargo and some of our ballast must be unloaded. I know of no other way to break free.
The Grupenfurer has taken Herman Vogel with him to find out what happened to the 8 men I sent into the jungle. I fear they are all lost or dead. He will also try to locate food and water, but mainly to find a suitable cave to conceal his cargo. I doubt such a place exists.
-----
Flashback
The repairs to the casing were the best they could be without the tools of a shipyard. According to Helmut’s calculations on timing and the phase of the moon, high tide was approaching its peak. With clear skies, both day and night, the full moon increased their chances of being spotted. He knew their good luck couldn’t last for much longer.
In preparation for moving into deeper water, the diesels were running to fully charge the batteries. The roll of the vessel as the waves pushed rhythmically against the side of U-159 was encouraging. They decided that the electric motors provided finer control over the propellers, so close to the sandy seabed. There was no way of repairing damaged or broken blades.
Helmut hoped to reverse gently into deep water, while the men used poles cut from trees to prise and lever the vessel free. The stern would then swing out and away from the shore, dragging the bow with it. Theory and practice were not singing from the same hymn sheet. The submarine was not floating in deep enough water and remained beached.
When the engines shut down, Kaltman boarded and headed for the conning tower. He wanted to know what Witte planned to do next. Caracas was still the place he had to be, his new life was on hold till then. “Are we stuck, Helmut?”
“For the moment, Franz. I will get the men to dig a deeper channel and try again when the full moon exerts the strongest tide. We must also lighten the boat, considerably. Your cargo will have to come off, also some of the ballast. The bilges are dry, so we cannot do more there. I will unload all the ammunition, but there is nothing I can do about the 33 tonnes of torpedoes. I cannot handle them at 1.5 tonnes each and they will be needed when I get back on mission.”
Franz snapped back. “You can’t just abandon my cargo on the beach, it is far too important.”
To you maybe, Helmut thought.
He tempered his thoughts with a helpful reply. “May I suggest you find a cave to put it in and come back for it by boat from Caracas.” Franz had to face up to the fact the cargo was never going back on board. The cave idea was feasible, and they had seen no sign of human occupation.
“Helmut, what do you think happened to the 8 men you sent out for food and water?”
“Lost or dead I expect.
“I dread to imagine what evil lurks in that jungle. There could be natives in there watching our every move.
“We heard the gunfire up on the slopes, they ran into something. I had hoped it was a sounder of wild boar.
“Perhaps they encountered a big cat an
d tried to kill it, how do I know?”
“Don’t you think we should find out? The men could also look for a suitable cave.”
“I have 33 men left. I need every one of them to manage the boat, when I get back to my mission - not to mention getting it off the beach.
“I can send one man with you to find a suitable hiding place. He can also try to find out what happened to the others.
“That is the best I can do!”
Franz wasn’t going to leave the problem there. “What about getting the cargo up into the cave?”
“Well Franz, if you find a suitable place and get back safely, and we have moved out to deeper water, after camouflaging the boat we will help you carry it.”
“OK Helmut, who can I take with me?”
“Herman Vogel is a handy man to have with you. He has some ability with navigation and has a cool head. If you find a suitable cave, you will need to return to it. He can take a fix.”
This seemed like a good idea. With a set of coordinates, an expedition from Caracas would be able to bring it back. If a few gold bars were transported back on the sub to Caracas, Franz would easily be able to finance the recovery.
“With your permission, Helmut, Vogel and I will set off early tomorrow.”
“Send Vogel to me, Franz, and I will give him his orders.”
***
The night finally turned to dawn and both armed men headed off into the fetid jungle, following the same trail as the previous 8 men. The crushed foliage was easy to see and it saved them from cutting a new path, so they made brisk progress.
By mid-day they had reached the land slip where the men had found water. Muddy tracks showed shoe and bare foot prints. Drag marks led them to the substantially eaten corpse of Klaus’s friend, who had died from a poison dart in his neck. Animals had gorged on his remains.
Herman Vogel looked at the torn flesh and gnawed bones supporting blood-soaked rags. “That explains one missing man.”
Other tracks led to the scenes of a fight, but no bodies. They crept stealthily onwards, following the trail for about 700 metres.
By now, the sun was low in the sky. Vogel realised night would descend on them very soon and they should find a safe place to sleep.
In the distance, they heard the voices of natives in the village where Klaus was held prisoner. With great stealth, both men eased forwards along the trail to see the cause. What shocked both soldiers to the core was the sight of beheaded human bodies. A dozen of them had been gutted and were roasting on spits, over a long fire.
Each body was forced along a horizontal pole, that bridged the long strip of glowing fire. The poles were supported at each end on stout vertical posts. The victims’ limbs were dismembered and also lashed to spits.
The wood fuel had become an intense bed of red coals that flared up into flames, as fat ran from the charred flesh. It was impossible to tell if any of the dead were the missing men, the charred skin resembled blackened pork crackling, split, and running with juices. Franz and Herman caught the smell of the well-cooked meat as smoke drifted their way. It was hard to tell whether it was more beef or pork.
The sheer number of bodies explained the amount of gunfire they had heard on the first day the men left. There must have been a fierce battle with no German survivors.
Native women and children carried large clay pots of vegetables and placed them around the fire to cook. To accompany the meal there were regularly spaced broad green leaves, piled high with fruit. Meanwhile, men were painting up their bodies and preparing for the celebration.
With nothing better to do now night had fallen, Franz and Herman peered through the bushes and watched.
The men, presumably warriors, filed in to the large area between the fire and the tribe, who now sat facing the food and into the fire. Drums and something that sounded like flutes began to play, and as the tempo increased, the warriors danced faster. Their long spears stabbed the night in unison and they brandished brutal hardwood clubs with increasing menace.
Even motionless in the bushes, the two spies were drenched in perspiration from the heat of the day.
The dancers’ almost naked black torsos and thick muscular legs, glistened with sweat in the bright glow of the fire. The humid night air and scorching radiant heat from the fire seemed to have little effect on them as the pace quickened to a climax an hour later.
Following the dance the warriors joined their families, cross legged on the ground, close to the feast.
An old man with a blood stained white bandage on his arm did a circuit, talking with his people as he went. The bandage looked suspiciously like the remnants of a German submariner’s shirt.
By now the moon was just a nibble short of a perfect pale disk, amongst millions of bright stars shining down on them, through the jungle canopy. The party was over and the discarded white bones lay scattered around for someone to clear up in the morning.
Franz and Herman crept away to find a climbable tree, away from the deep throated growls of large hunting cats. What both men feared most of all, was the dry rasp of scales of nearby snakes in the branches. In truth, the jungle nightlife was so loud that they would never hear the threat. The agonising burn of venom would be the first and only warning that it was too late.
***
The sounds of early morning as nocturnal creatures headed home, prompted the two men to leave the area. They headed back to the watering point and refreshed themselves, before heading away from the village.
Herman Vogel seemed to know exactly where they were. Franz however, was completely lost and even with trails to follow, he doubted he could find his way to the beach.
It was Herman who found the tall, deep cave, formed millennia ago, when huge slabs of rock pushed up and fell over on each other as the mountain formed.
Covered with a thick layer of soil washed down from above, and screened by stunted trees and foliage, a tall door-opening sized black hole was the only thing visible. A massive stone slab formed the floor and the apron outside. The smooth weathered surface where they stood looking in, would show no paw prints and neither man was volunteering to walk in.
Big cats tended to like places such as this. They could see out with their large yellow eyes, but they remained invisible in the black shadows.
Herman cleared his throat nervously and suggested, “I will make a torch with dry branches and we will look inside, together.”
“Good idea Herman, I have my lighter, the cave looks perfect if it runs back far enough. We need to fit two truckloads of cargo in there.”
Herman groaned inwardly. It was a long hard climb to get here and that is a lot of cargo to carry.
The danger of snakes curled up in the dry leaves under ledges was foremost in the young man’s mind, as he probed for dry sticks and tinder. Perhaps it was his lucky day or, more likely, not sunny enough for snakes, inside the dark green canopy of tall trees.
He made the torch from bunches of twigs tied with growing vine, ripped from ancient trees. Dry moss and leaves were forced into the voids. The combustible mix ignited easily and when the torch flared brightly, they entered the cave. Holding the flame high and shielding their eyes with their hands, like the peak of a cap, they could see into the dark recesses.
This was not what the leopard had expected. Men, yes, but not the bright burning thing they carried. The male beast had never seen fire before and even from a distance, he could feel the heat.
A loud roar should do it, he thought, and gave it all he had.
The interior of the cave was very wide and it amplified the roar at the narrow entrance.
Instinctively, Herman thrust the flame ahead of him and crouched low. Franz hid behind Herman. The pair stood petrified. How big was this creature? The deafening sound was all they had to go on.
The flame was not going away and with the two humans huddled together against the cave wall, it left a clear path for escape. The whiff of carnivore breath and rancid fur as it barged past was all they k
new about the cave dweller. Even in the instant they turned to look back, it had vanished in the brilliant white light outside.
“Donner und Blitzen!” exclaimed Herman. Franz was lost for words, even expletives froze in his throat, as he regained his wits.
“Let us hope it doesn’t come back.” added Herman.
Still hugging the cave wall, they slowly turned and played the flickering yellow flame against the innermost recesses of the cave. Being so large, it was more like a cavern.
Apart from carcases licked clean to the bone, it was empty.
Franz thought there was ample space for the cargo, and it was as clean and as dry as the heap of white animal bones in a corner. The entrance could be sealed using nearby boulders, rolled into place.
Franz was eager to return to the relative safety of U-159. They both ached with hunger, though anything with meat was off the menu. He wondered if the smell of roasting human flesh would ever leave his memory.
“Herman, can you take a fix so we can find our way back to the cave?”
“We have to wait till dark, so I can use the stars.” He patted the satchel he carried, looped over his shoulder.
“I will climb a tree and take my readings from there, but I don’t need a fix though, to find my way back here.”
“Perhaps not, but you may not be around when I return.” Franz was thinking about the expedition from Caracas, but then it occurred to him that if the submarine was stranded, Herman might decide to come back himself and raid the cave. Unlikely, but the man was far from naive.
Herman sensed he had said more than he should have and changed the subject. “We had better stay overnight in the cave. We can light a small fire at the entrance to keep predators away.”
“I know we are short on water, but it will be cool in there and we should be fine till we get back to the shore.” Herman nodded, what could he say to his superior officer?
That evening, Herman climbed until he could take a reading with his sextant. He wrote down the coordinates in pencil and handed the paper to Franz.
The night seemed to drag, the small flame flickered hypnotically as wood was added sparingly. Herman longed to curl up and sleep, but hunger and thirst nagged at him as he kept watch. He envied Franz who looked very relaxed, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.