North Sea Hunters

by Harmer-Barnes, Brad

  “What?”

  “Nothing, sir. I was just making a little joke.”

  “Are the crew concerned about the shark? Genuinely, I mean.”

  Kleiner hesitated before replying. “I’ve heard some of the men talking about it, sir. There seems to be a feeling that if it could destroy a freighter, then it would make short work of the U-616.”

  “The North Sea is a very large body of water, Mr Kleiner. Our chances of encountering the same shark again are minimal; and I have to say that I don’t like my crew being frightened of sea monsters. I want you to quash these sentiments wherever they arise. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Captain, sir.”

  “What else?”

  “There is one last thing, sir.”

  Krauser grabbed his cigarettes and matches, feeling the need for a smoke on deck. “Oh? And what is that?”

  “There is a fracture in the hull. We took in a little water. Nothing major, and we managed to pump it out and patch it up. We’re stable again, but…I really don’t think we should push our luck in the event of another attack.”

  “You mean the water pressure?”

  “Yes, sir. I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess as to how far we could dive safely, but…just not too far, if you follow me, sir.”

  “I do. Thank you, Mr Kleiner.”

  After dismissing the chief engineer, Krauser headed to see Dahlen, the Norwegian “prisoner of war”. “How are you doing, Mr Dahlen?”

  The Norwegian man was now occupying one of the dead men’s bunks, reading a battered and foxed novel he had found, attempting to drink another viscous coffee. For a man used to working in the wind and spray, he had adapted remarkably well to the noise, stink and humidity of the submarine. To see him relaxing with a coffee and a book, he looked like a gentleman on holiday, rather than a prisoner and recent torpedo and then shark attack survivor. He looked up, his eyes flitting momentarily to Krauser’s bandaged arm. “I am better than you, it would appear. Did you cut yourself shaving?”

  Krauser laughed. The deadpan humour was somehow even funnier in Dahlen’s Norwegian accent. It was hard not to like the man. “A little gift from a fleeting visitor.”

  Dahlen nodded. “When the explosions started, I thought they had us. Is it always that terrifying?”

  Krauser was stone faced. “Yes. Always. You know, I think that this must be worse than being shot at in a combat zone, or in a dogfight with a Spitfire. There you can dodge. You can return fire. You can call on your comrades for assistance. You can at least see or sense where the enemy is. A U-Boat is different. We attack out of darkness, and when we are attacked, we sit in darkness, waiting to see if it is our turn to die.”

  “So, what was it that made you want to work in a submarine?”

  “I’m not sure. A series of choices and events that led me to a job that I do not particularly enjoy, but that I do not hate, either. It is as such with most men, yes?”

  “Indeed. How bad was the damage?”

  “It is not good. I am considering returning for home. We simply don’t have the equipment available to repair it here, and both our offensive and defensive capabilities are hampered.”

  “Then we are heading home early?”

  “I said I was considering it.”

  Dahlen nodded, thinking for a moment. “What will you do if we run into the shark again?”

  Krauser hardened his gaze. “I do not think that will be an issue. I am truly sorry for the fate that befell the Freyr, but the North Sea is a large body of water, Mr Dahlen, and we are a relatively small boat. I think it exceedingly unlikely that our paths will cross again.”

  “Captain Krauser, do you forget my story so quickly? The beast followed our freighter for three days, travelling at a speed that I would imagine far exceeds any that your vessel is capable of. If it has decided to hunt us, then it will catch us. You can count on that. Do you intend to torpedo the thing before it crushes your hull in its jaws?”

  “The shark is not hunting us. The Kriegsmarine is the hunter of these waters.”

  “The Hunter can become The Hunted.”

  “Mr Dahlen, supposing that the shark could track us, why on Earth should it want to? The Freyr left a large wake, and was carrying fresh produce, which the thing could eat. We are a war machine. We leave no wake. We have done nothing to pique its interest and we have done nothing to provoke it. Frankly, Mr Dahlen, I see no reason why your shark should have noticed the U-616 at all. Please, put it from your mind. Regardless of my decision, we will be home within a week, and your shark will be far behind us.”

  Dahlen nodded. “I hope you are right, captain. Because – believe me – if this shark wants the U-616, it will take it.”

  ***

  The repairs were carried out as quickly and as fully as was feasible, but the majority of the damage – the serious damage - simply could not be repaired either with the tools they had at their disposal, or without taking the ship into a dry dock.

  Krauser conducted the funeral service on deck for the ten members of the crew that had not survived the depth charge attack. He did it almost by rote, straight from the manual. Truth be told, most of the men had been new to the crew for this patrol, and he was not close to any of them. In war, it took a while before you bothered to get close to people. It simply wasn’t worth the effort if they were not going to survive. It was cold and it was cruel, but it was the way that things were.

  The submarine steamed through the ocean, and the bodies were thrown off of the side, one by one.

  Leaving a trail of fresh meat in its wake.

  -NINE-

  The submarine was coasting slowly through the waters as the sun touched the horizon, the sky streaking into purple and orange. Dahlen and Krauser were smoking and conversing by the deck gun as ten or so of the crew milled around, some repairing some of the minor damage from the depth charge attack, the others relaxing, or cleaning the decks. Their hammering, clanging and chatting was a gentle white noise, mixed with the constant hiss of the waves against the hull of the ship. The wind was a nice breeze, and it was not too cold for a change. Krauser was grateful for this, having once again left his windbreaker by his bunk.

  “Will the men not think it odd you are fraternising with the enemy?” asked Dahlen.

  Krauser chuckled. “If anyone asks, I’m escorting a prisoner.”

  Dahlen accepted a cigarette from the captain, and lit it. “Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?”

  “My wife. We have a child on the way. It should be born when I’m next on home leave.”

  “That is good timing.”

  “It was more accident than design, but as you say, good timing, either way. Yourself?”

  “My wife, two sons.”

  They were prevented from talking for the moment by a vigorous hammering noise as Herkenhoff - one of the youngest recruits - took a heavy lump hammer to a handrail that had been bent out of shape. They watched the rhythmic pounding for a while, noticing long before the ensign did that the rail was refusing to budge. “Herkenhoff!”

  The young ensign turned, and Krauser suppressed a smile as he saw the young man’s shock at being addressed directly by his captain. “Yes, Captain?”

  “Try it from the other side.”

  “Yes, Captain!”

  Herkenhoff went to climb over the guard rail to attack it from the water side, causing Dahlen to wince and Krauser to yell out once again, “Herkenhoff!”

  The eighteen year old turned again, eyes wide, one leg over the rail as if he were hopping over a style on a countryside walk. “Yes, Captain?”

  “Get a damn rope and secure yourself first. I’ve lost enough men to the sea for one day, thank you.”

  “Yes…yes, Captain,” he replied, heading off to find some rope.

  “Youth thinks it is immortal,” muttered Dahlen.

  Krauser chuckled. “You see the job I have here? Warrior, leader, office manager and – occasionally – school master. Did you see hi
s eyes?”

  “He looked as though he was worried you were going to cane him, or give him a detention.”

  Krauser laughed out loud. “Exactly! Fresh out of school, and out on the ocean. Poor man. Boy. Whatever.”

  Dahlen exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Here he comes again.”

  Herkenhoff carried a length of rope, one end of which he fastened around a hard point on the opposite side of the deck from where he intended to hop the rail. Aware that he was under the watchful eye of his captain, it was obvious that he was being doubly sure in everything he did. Truth be told, he checked the rope was fast two or three times more than he needed to, but at least Krauser had no grounds on which he could properly berate the boy. He carried the rope across the deck to the battered handrail, and tied a loop around his body, from his left shoulder to his right hip, like a royal sash.

  His confidence buoyed by the fact that neither his captain nor any of his other superiors up on deck that evening had said anything, he grabbed the rail in both hands, and confidently climbed over it. His ankles were at near-on a forty-five angle against the hull of the ship, but he was able to hold the rail in his right hand, and his hammer in the left, leaving him confident enough he would not slip into the water – and if he did, at least there was the added security of the rope.

  “Much better, Mr Herkenhoff!”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  The two men watched the boy at work for a moment, before Dahlen asked “Have you given any more thought as to what you will do next?”

  Krauser sighed. “I don’t like it, but we may have to turn back. I expect you to keep this to yourself, but the radio was also damaged in the attack. If we end up in a worse situation, or in dire need of support, we have no means of calling for help. I dare say that I’ll receive a dressing down from my superiors for being overly cautious, but I won’t risk the lives of my crew any more than I absolutely need to.”

  “You’re a good man, Captain Krauser. This is the right d-”

  A deafening explosion of water fountaining up from the starboard side of the deck interrupted whatever Dahlen had been going to say. The Norwegian fell backwards, instinctively covering his head with his hands. “What the…?”

  Krauser was forced to grab hold of the deck gun for support, but managed to hold his footing. The colossal fountain of water made him think that the submarine had been torpedoed, or that they had struck a sea mine – just his luck when they were already so critically damaged!

  He heard the thudding and rattling of men running around the wooden deck, and the screaming of at least one injured man. He smelt salt water and – no, not cordite or burning - he smelt rotting fish and the iron tang of blood. His arm hairs rose and he knew what he was going to see before his eyes gained focus upon it.

  A cold, genetic memory of fear ran through him as he saw the leviathan up close for the first time.

  Its flesh was blubber and muscle, an old, washed out grey, similar to a Great White, five times larger. Its mouth was a funnel of blood and sharp knives. The largest teeth themselves were twenty-five centimetres long, some brown and broken, some white; all sharp as glass and as hard as diamond. The monster’s one, black eye stared sightlessly along the deck, giving the impression that it was not vision that guided its vicious attacks, but rather some otherworldly sense of prescience.

  Its skin was a mass of scar tissue, telling tales of the battles it had fought and won years, decades, perhaps centuries in the past. It had seen much and defeated enemies and history alike. Krauser could not shake the impression that this was some throwback to prehistory. A relic of a shark, some monster from before humanity or even the dinosaurs had walked the earth, before life itself had crawled out of the ocean.

  This white ghost of oceans past’s name was Death, and it had come for the U-616.

  The shark was rising up the side of the hull, and it was just as big as Dahlen had claimed. Only its head up to its - for want of a better term - neck was visible, but the jaws had to be three metres wide. Young Herkenhoff was trapped in them from the legs down, screaming blue murder and struggling against his grisly fate. Each attempt he made to wriggle from the thing’s maw only caused a hundred teeth the size of meat cleavers to dig in and brutalise him further.

  The shark let out a soundless grunt and Krauser retched as the stench hit him. He snatched his Mauser from his belt and took a few pot shots at the shark, desperately attempting to force it to let Herkenhoff go. Small puffs and gouts of red mist showed where his rounds had struck, but the shark gave little sign that it had noticed. Its jaws merely mashed up and down a few times, causing Herkenhoff’s screams to shoot up an octave.

  Dahlen grabbed him by the arm and shouted “That pea shooter won’t do a thing! Do you have a harpoon? A bill hook? Anything up here?”

  No. Of course they didn’t. They were a war machine, not a fishing vessel. Krauser shoved the man aside and – bravado and adrenaline overruling his common sense, charged directly at the shark, pulling a large knife from his belt.

  The shark let out another gust of foul air, Herkenhoff screamed again, and then the shark slid back into the cold dark water, dragging the poor ensign with it. As it swam away with its meal, the rope still attached to Herkenhoff pulled taut and swung fast across the deck like a clothesline. Dahlen caught it full force in the chest, and was knocked to the deck, winded. Three of the crew were ensnared around their legs and ankles and were sent into the sea with a scream.

  With a quick ripping and snapping sound the rope broke free, and shot off into the ocean. Krauser ran to the entrance to the command room and screamed that there was a man overboard. Instantly, three, four, five men came dashing up the ladder to assist. Of the three men that were thrown into the water, only one was pulled out. Of the other two, there was no sign, but Krauser knew in his heart that the shark had taken them. A three course meal, courtesy of the U-616.

  ***

  As the sun sank halfway below the horizon, Dahlen and Krauser once again smoked by the deck gun, although this time, they were sat on the wooden deck, leaning their backs against the gun itself. After half an hour or more of silence, Dahlen said “Let me guess…it was bigger than you expected?”

  -TEN-

  “Captain, we have to abandon this patrol. Nearly half the crew are dead. Vital operational systems are damaged, along with the radio itself. We must return home. To remain out here is suicide.”

  Hertz wasn’t telling Krauser anything that he didn’t already know. He was embarrassed that one of his patrols should have to terminate early, but he consoled himself that it was more or less entirely due to circumstances beyond his control. Taking on survivors, a strafing run, a depth charge and being attacked by a colossal shark all in one day were not covered in the officer’s training manual.

  “I am aware of the situation we are in, Mr Hertz. However, you must consider my position. It is not you who will receive the sharp end of it should we return early. I have a lot of things to weigh up before making such a decision. Now, I say to you again: I have faith in my men, and I have faith in my equipment. All I ask is that they have faith in me in return.”

  Hertz’s eye twitched, and it was obvious that he did not have the faith in him that he did a mere twenty-four hours ago.

  “Is there a problem, Mr Hertz?”

  “No, sir,” the older man replied, tightly. “There is no problem.”

  “Please take the control room. I have work of my own to see to.”

  “Sir.”

  Hertz turned on his heel and made his way down the crowded corridor as quickly as he was able – which was to say ‘not very’. A submarine is always in motion, with people coming and going and squeezing through tiny doors and small gaps. Krauser watched him go, with a sigh. A calm, Norwegian voice spoke from the space by his head. “He does not like you.”

  Krauser turned to see Dahlen, still reading his grotty novel in his bunk. He didn’t bother to look up to see Krauser’s reaction. The captain let out a sigh
and said, “No. No, he doesn’t.”

  “What is his problem this time?”

  “He thinks we should return home, and – as I said to you upstairs - he has a point. I know in my heart he is right, but my pride doesn’t like it. The boat is badly damaged, including weapons, manoeuvrability and our radio. If we run into a target, we can’t engage it. If we run into a plane or destroyer, it will sink us.”

  “And there is a shark trying to eat us.”

  “Oh, come, man! A freak attack doesn’t mean that that thing is still loitering out there waiting to-”

  Dahlen looked up from his book and said nothing.

  “Yes. All right. A shark is trying to eat us.”

  “You believe my story, now?”

  “I never disbelieved your story in general, Dahlen, but…yes. Now I have seen the beast I believe all of it. This thing is clever. It’s agile. It’s powerful. It…”

  “It is large.”

  “Large? I’ve never conceived of a shark so large. What is it?”

  Dahlen shrugged. “It is hungry. Is that not all that is important?”

  Krauser sighed. “Smoke on deck with me?”

  “Of course.”

  ***

  The breeze felt good after the cloying humidity of the interior of the U-616. The sun was just rising, making the sea turn blood red as Dahlen and Krauser stood against the rail, watching the ocean for any signs of their quarry – or any signs of what hunted them.

  “Have you decided what you are to do? What will win out? Your heart or your head?” asked Dahlen, flicking his cigarette end into the ocean, and lighting another.