by Ward Wagher
“Very well. I believe it is a matter of time before Herr Himmler and I get into what we could call a final contest. It will leave one of us alive. Regardless of who is a live afterward, I expect you to act against the SS. You must kill the top layers of the SS, and immediately began replacing the key SS people around the country.”
Schloss studied Rainer for a few moments. “That does not shock you.”
“It does not. I have been developing such a plan.”
“And who are you relying upon to make this happen?” Schloss asked.
“I have developed a group who believe as we do that this is the only way to save the Fatherland. They are prepared to act.”
“Is this group large enough?”
“No, it is not. I believe we can eliminate the top echelon of the SS. I would suggest that you would need to call out the army to disarm the SS divisions.”
“So we would have a civil war.”
Rainer nodded sadly. “I see no choice. Whatever happens, a lot of people are going to die. My primary goal is to keep you alive, Herr Partieleiter. As long as you and I have been working on this, I have come to realize we could not ultimately succeed without you.”
That's something new, Schloss thought. Apparently I have been planning this coup for quite a while. I wonder if the Alter-Schloss was an altruist, or simply power mad like the rest of the Nazis. How would I ever know?
“If something happens to me, Karl, I think you could prop things up with Hess for a while. But it would be important to get Peter into Ribbentrop's position. He is my ultimate replacement.”
“Does he know this?” Rainer asked.
“No. We have spoken in general terms. He is as unhappy with the Nazis as I am. He knows I am ambitious. But I have said nothing about our plans. No, that will take care of itself, I think. I am more concerned with rebuilding the security apparatus.”
“And the camps?”
“We are going to have to release a lot of people from the camps, Karl. Probably most of them. It's the only way I can think of to keep something like this from happening again.”
“Can we do that without having a revolution in the streets?” he asked.
“We would simply have to move quickly and adroitly enough to stay ahead of it.”
“And what will be our ultimate objective?”
Schloss shook his head. “I do not have a grand vision for a thousand-year Reich, Karl. If I can rid the Fatherland of these evil, vile men, and restore a measure of stability, I will be quite satisfied with my life.” And save the Jews, of course, he added mentally.
Rainer stared down at the floor. He said nothing for several long moments. Finally, he looked up at Schloss.
“I guess that is what I wanted to hear, Herr Partieleiter.”
“Just remember, Karl,” Schloss said. “If we can get this land to where it needs to be, it probably means you and I will have to step down from our duties.” He pointed to the swastika on his arm. “When you think about it, we are part of the problem.”
Rainer said nothing in reply, rather he just stared into the distance.
“What are your thoughts?” Schloss asked.
“It has just occurred to me, Herr Partieleiter, that we will not complete this job in our lifetimes.”
“If we are lucky, we will get the foundation laid.”
“Then we must train those who will come after us.”
Schloss nodded slowly. “You are beginning to understand. And we will have to train our youth to never let something like this,” and he swept his arm around, “happen again.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Oh, yes,” Schloss said. I saw it happen. “But it will be tremendously difficult. Now, I need to get home. Frau Marsden is expecting me for supper.”
Rainer stood up. “Very well, Herr Partieleiter.”
# # #
October 31, 1941; 8 PM
Schloss Residence,
Charlottenburg, Berlin
“What will we do tomorrow, Poppa?” Hans-Friedrich asked.
Schloss looked up from his bowl of beef and barley soup and smiled at the boy. “I suppose we can do whatever you and Anna-Lisa would like. Barring an emergency, I should not have to visit the office.”
“Just tell them no mergencies,” Anna-Lisa said sternly. “They are not to be allowed on Saturdays.”
“A good idea, Hennie,” Peter said from across the table. “You could issue a directive that no emergencies are allowed between Friday night and Monday morning.”
“Yeah!” Hans-Friedrich chimed in.
“Consider it done!” Schloss said and he slapped the table. “Tomorrow is a family day. I think we should celebrate by visiting the zoo.”
The two children cheered. The zoo was a favorite location.
Frau Marsden entered the room carrying a platter of roast pork loin and a bowl of roasted potatoes.
“Here you go, Herr Schloss. I will bring the vegetables in a moment.”
“Thank you, Frau Marsden. This looks wonderful.”
“I am going to have to start watching my weight,” Renate said. “Frau Marsden feeds us better than we ate in Argentina.”
“I've heard the food there is wonderful,” Schloss said.
“Indeed it is,” his sister said. “However, I do not believe I have ever had food like Mrs. Marsden prepares.”
“This is just a simple meal,” the old lady said as she set a bowl of boiled carrots on the table.
“The simple things are best,” Schloss said. “Just in case we don't tell you enough, Frau Marsden, you do a wonderful job for us and we appreciate it.”
She still managed a harrumph. “Just doing my job to keep this family healthy. I honestly do not know how you survived before.”
Schloss just smiled at her. He wasn't sure how to respond without bring Hannelore into the discussion, and the children didn't need that. Renate had intimated that for all her wonderful qualities, Hannelore was almost hopeless in the kitchen. Schloss, of course, had no way to make that judgment.
He looked around the room and smiled at the family he had acquired after the strange experience at Tempelhof. In spite of the danger, he soaked up the love that was given unconditionally by the children, and even by his sister and brother-in-law. While, in some way, each was dependent upon him, they all generously gave him love and respect. As he sat at the table and thought about this, it occurred to him how barren his life had been. Trudy had been affectionate in her way, and his students respected him. But here was a small group of people who adored him. He now concluded that the Alter-Schloss must have been a very decent man. And the poor fellow was now somewhere else, possibly in a different time and place – and away from what he obviously held dearest.
“A pfennig for your thoughts, Hennie,” Renate said.
“I was just reminding myself how lucky I am to be here with all of you.”
Renate slipped out of her chair and walked around the table. She bent over and kissed Schloss on the cheek.
“Once again, my brother, the most generous and gentle of men thinks of others and not himself.”
And you have done it, once again, Hennie. You are desperately keeping a long row of spinning plates moving against the inevitable crash. And they think you are being noble. They would be shocked to learn that you are no better than these Nazi swine.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
November 4, 1941; 3 PM
The Eastern Atlantic near Gibraltar
Captain Marko Detmar grabbed the handles of the periscope as it rose out of the well. By his order the rating stopped the hood of the periscope just below the surface of the ocean. Detmar duck-walked around the deck as he spun the scope around and peered through the water looking for the shadows of any surface vessel.
“Bring it up another meter, Hans,” he ordered.
Once again he spun the eye piece around as he scanned for anything that would endanger the U-133. To his east he could see the tip of the Rock of Gibraltar as i
t projected itself out of the sea. He could see the smoke from the funnels of numerous vessels, but nothing was close enough to make out the hulls.
“Periscope down, Hans.” He straightened up and leaned against the rail, bracing his back. “Take us down to 75 meters. Make your course 270 magnetic. All ahead slow.”
Depth 75 meters, course 270, ahead slow,” the helmsman repeated.
Detmar looked at the executive officer. “It’s perhaps an hour until sunset. We will wait a few hours, and then surface to charge the batteries. I think we will take a look at things and decide whether to make our passage into the Mediterranean either just before sunrise or wait until just after sunset tomorrow night.”
“I understand, Sir. I guess there is no urgency.”
“I am not anxious to be shot at,” Detmar said with a laugh. I’d try it tonight, but I’d like more of a charge on the batteries. Plus, there is a chance the weather could worsen, and that can only help us.”
“As long as we don’t ground ourselves or hit bottom somewhere.”
“Hush,” Detmar said with a smile. “We are professionals. The only reason we would ground the boat would be if we received orders to conquer Gibraltar.”
The men in the control room all laughed at his joke. Captain Detmar was a careful U-Boat commander, and he paid careful attention to his men. In turn they were ferociously loyal to him. Most of the crew had been with him since the war started in September 1939. They had a respectable amount of tonnage to their credit, although not anywhere near the total scored by the great Otto Kretchmer. However, Kretchmer's aggressive tactics had resulted in the sinking of his U-99 the previous summer and his capture by the English.
Detmar was not afraid of calculated risks, but avoided the all or nothing situations that caused the loss of crews. As a result, the orders to move into the Mediterranean had him concerned. The accompanying orders to avoid attacking anything except English warships indicated to him that a deal was afoot that would maybe stop this war. That had him hopeful that perhaps they would ultimately survive – assuming they could safely transit the Straights of Gibraltar.
“Captain,” the hydrophone operator called, “I have detected a ship dead ahead. Sounds like a destroyer or corvette. Perhaps 4,000 meters.”
“Come to course 90, and make turns for steerage.”
“Steering to course 90 and reducing turns to steerage,” the Helmsman repeated.
“Quiet on the boat,” he commanded.
“Pass the word,” the executive officer repeated, “quiet on the boat.”
Detmar stepped over to the hydrophone console and picked up the spare pair of headphones. He held one side to his left ear and listened. After a minute he pointed to the exec and motioned with his finger. The exec walked over to the captain.
“It is definitely a destroyer,” Detmar said quietly. “I think we will let this one go by.”
The executive office quirked an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing.
“If we take a shot and miss, we don't have enough left in the batteries for an extended run,” he explained. “Now is the time to be as quiet as a mouse and mind our own business.”
Detmar listened to the swishing sound of the destroyer's propellers as it crossed their path behind them. At one point the thrumming could be heard through the hull. It was a sound submariners had grown to fear. Destroyers were the enemy.
“Bearing change,” the hydrophone operator said suddenly.
“Where's he going?” Detmar asked.
“He's turning starboard. I think he's continuing the turn.”
“I wonder if he got a sniff of us,” the captain said. “Helm, port 90 degrees.”
“Port 90, Sir,” the helmsman repeated.
“All engines stop.”
“All stop, Sir.”
Detmar eased over to the dive operator. “How's the trim?”
“Sir, we have a slight up-bubble.”
“Enough to broach?” he asked.
“Maybe in a couple of hours, Sir. We have almost neutral buoyancy.”
He nodded and moved over to the hydrophone station. He didn't need to pick up the headphones again. The sound of the destroyer passing directly overhead was clearly audible through the hull. Everyone looked up, as though they could see above the U-Boat.
Detmar waited for ten minutes. “Okay, Helm, give me turns for steerage.”
“Turns for steerage, Sir.”
“Take us to 100 meters.”
“100 meters, Sir,” the dive operator repeated.
The U-Boat began easing forward again. It nosed down slightly as they eased it down another 25 meters in depth. Because they were barely moving, the boat responded sluggishly to the controls.
Detmar looked at the executive officer. “Pass the word to Engineering and ask them the state of the battery.”
The exec nodded and pointed to one of the ratings, who slipped out of the control room.
“Bearing change,” the hydrophone operator said.
Detmar held one of the headphones up to his ear as the operator manipulated his controls.
“Helm, starboard 90.”
“Starboard 90, Sir,” the helmsman repeated.
Detmar listened some more. “Helm bring us to one-third power.”
“One-third power, Sir.”
Detmar looked at the exec. “I want to put some distance between us. He made a radical turn and it'll take a while before his phones settle down.”
Detmar made a habit of telling the executive office everything he was doing. If the captain was injured or otherwise incapacitated, the exec would have to fight the boat. It was important to have as much information as possible.
“Helm, all stop.”
“All stop, Sir.”
Detmar kept the headphone to his ear and waited for the flow noise to subside.
“What's the status of the forward tubes?” he asked.
“Nominal,” was the executive officer's curt reply.
“Captain, I am picking up another ship,” the hydrophone operator said.
Detmar held up a hand to forestall him. He listened carefully.
“It sounds like we have someone else joining the party. What do you think, another destroyer?”
“That what it sounds like, Sir. I make it maybe ten thousand meters.”
“Very well. Not an immediate problem. Let's let this fellow get past us and then see if we have a shot at him.”
Once again they heard the sound of the destroyer overhead.
“Helm ahead one third. Make your depth 20 meters.”
“All ahead one third, depth to 20 meters.”
Detmar moved over to the periscope and waited for the submarine to work its way to periscope depth.
“Sir, our depth is 20 meters,” the helmsman said.
“For heaven's sake don't broach us,” he told the helmsman.
“Sir, I will maintain depth at 20 meters,” the helmsman replied.
“Up periscope.”
Detmar again squatted to meet the eyepiece as the periscope rose out of the well. Once the top of the scope was out of the water he quickly spun around to get a quick appraisal of the situation.
“The second ship is still hull down, but I can see his smoke.”
He spun back around to look at the immediate threat.
“Bearing mark!” he said quickly.
The exec was standing close and observed the markings on the collar of the scope. “Bearing mark,” he repeated.
He studied the target destroyer for a few moments, then suddenly swore.
“Down scope. Diving operator, give me fifteen degrees down bubble. Helm, all ahead two-thirds. Make your depth 200 meters.”
The crewmen repeated the commands and the U-Boat surged ahead. Detmar looked over at the executive officer.
“That is an American destroyer. He has probably radioed the English. That's what the other destroyer is.”
The executive officer nodded. “I would be tempted to sink the Am
erican on general principles.”
“Now, now, Hans,” Detmar said, “if this game was easy anyone could play it.”
“The Ami's are absolute nuisances,” the exec replied.
“I grow weary of it, too. But our orders are clear. Berlin does not want to add a war with the Americans to its list.”
“I just wish they would stay on their side of the ocean.”
“I know what we have up there now,” Detmar said, “and we can ignore them. I don't think they have a clear bearing on us anyway.”
“200 meters, Sir,” the dive operator said.
“Helm, slow to steerage speed.”
“Turns for steerage, Sir.”
Detmer walked over to the diving station. “How's the trim?”
“Sir, we are slightly nose heavy.”
“Very well, do what you need to trim the boat in the next five minutes. Helm, I want a reciprocal of the current course. Umm, bring it starboard again. Let's try 80 degrees for right now.”
“Turn to starboard, new course at 80 degrees, Sir.”
Ten minutes later the U-Boat ghosted along at 200 meters’ depth. At that depth the water pressure almost eliminated the flow noise of the submarine. Detmar and the hydrophone operator both listened carefully. The sound of the American destroyer drifted away.
“We must be under the layer, Sir,” the hydrophone operator said. “I think they lost us.”
“Do we still have the other destroyer?”
“Yes, Sir. You can just hear it. I think he's close, but I do not have a bearing.”
“Exec, what's the battery state?”
“Twenty-eight percent, Captain.”
Detmar slipped over to where the executive officer stood next to the periscope.
“I think we are going to have to kill this squirrel. I don't think we can get far enough off to surface and charge the batteries.”
“I agree, Captain.”
“Very well. Helm, we are going to start easing up to periscope depth. Just give me a five-degree rise on the planes.”
“Five-degree rise, Sir.” the helmsman replied.
Detmar walked back over to the hydrophones. “Just as soon as you can, I am going to need a bearing. We won't have time to get the scope up.”