Sins of the Fatherland (Scott Jarvis Investigations Book 6)
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Sins of the Fatherland
By:
Scott W. Cook
Copyright © 2020 by Scott W. Cook
Table of contents
Contents
Sins of the Fatherland
Table of contents
Acknowledgements
Forward
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Author’s notes
Other books by the author…
Bonus Prologue from Jarvis #7
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Lee Strayer, Mike Roll, Clay Delaney and Bonnie. I appreciate your support and encouragement.
Special note: After the author’s notes, I’ve included the prologue from Scott Jarvis investigations #7 – enjoy with my compliments and please be kind… it’s only a draft!
Forward
Not long after the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Germany ordered its 10th U-boat flotilla to begin operations in the Gulf of Mexico. This was part of their worldwide campaign to impede allied progress by hampering the delivery of war materiel by sea.
Beginning in early 1942 and continuing well into 1943, Nazi U-boats sunk 56 American freighters and tankers in the Gulf. Ironically, this was one of the most successful U-boat campaigns of World War 2, and yet even to this day, few Americans even know about it.
On May 6, 1942, the German U-boat U-507 commanded by Corvettan Kapitan, equivalent to a Commander in the U.S. navy, ordered the sinking of the American freighter Alcoa Puritan. The ship was headed for Mobile Alabama loaded with aluminum ore. At just after noon, the U-boat sunk the freighter with a combination of torpedoes and deck guns. Thankfully, all sixty passengers and crew were able to get off the ship. The German captain even approached and gave them cigarettes, food and water.
This was the first publically reported sinking, but not the first sinking… and it wouldn’t be the last.
The story that follows suggests that even after the successful U-boat campaign ended in 1943, the Germans weren’t quite through with the Gulf. In fact, this story suggests that even after peace was signed with both Japan and Germany that a hidden plan concocted by Hitler himself was already in play.
A plan that would strike a devastating and long-lasting blow to the United States and Florida in particular. A plan so evil in its conception that it was kept ultra-secret even beyond the trials at Nuremberg… And while the plan failed in 1945, this story suggests that the danger still lurks out in the Gulf, only lying dormant and waiting to be discovered… where it could once again threaten the nation and even the world at large!
Of course, this is a work of fiction. The ideas and characters presented in this tale are entirely based in the mind of the author. Any relation to those living or dead is purely coincidental… with two notable exceptions.
The first is Simon Wiesenthal, whose efforts after the close of the war helped to bring many Nazi criminals to justice. The second of course is that of Adolph Hitler. A man so notorious that no work of fiction could ever even approach the reality of how evil he was.
“The greater the crime perpetrated by the leadership, the less likely it is that the people will ever believe their leaders to be capable of perpetrating such an event.”
- Adolf Hitler
“To achieve the extirpation of Nazi tyranny there are no lengths of violence to which we will not go.”
- Winston Churchill
And now… Sins of the Fatherland.
Chapter 1
U-2626: Eastern Gulf of Mexico
October 10, 1945 – 23:00, local time
The war was over.
It had been over for more than five months now for Germany and longer than a month for Japan and the rest of the world. The Fatherland had surrendered and the Fuhrer had reportedly committed suicide in his bunker.
The Nazis, as far as the world knew, were defeated and would never again wave the banner of the Third Reich for the world to see. Once again, for the second time in only three decades, the small country of Germany was a bankrupt, defeated and war torn land.
Once again the enemies of the Fatherland had triumphed.
Yet it would be different this time. Far different.
Captain Reinhardt would see to it. And if somehow the great man with his lantern jaw and his iron cross failed to carry out his legacy, then Ernst Schumer would see to it himself, if it was the last thing he ever did in this cruel and unfair world.
The two men in question stood together on Ariovistus’ tiny bridge. One a decorated submarine commander of the highest order and the other a fresh faced sailor barely old enough to enlist. In truth, Schumer was not even that old. He’d lied on his enlistment papers when he said he had turned eighteen in March. He’d only just turned sixteen.
He suspected the recruitment officer knew, of course. Yet at that time, Germany was so desperate for able bodied men that they were more than willing to play along with such a charade.
And now here he was, this gawky, gangling youth who still battled pimples and who should be back home chasing giggling girls around school rather than embarking on a dangerous and quite possibly suicidal mission.
A mission so secret that Schumer, the rest of his fellow crewmates and all the officers of U-2626 had been kept sequestered away from the rest of the fleet for almost six months. Even the captain hadn’t seen his wife or spoken to her since April.
The likelihood that this long range mission was going to be a one way trip was made all the more probable for the fact that Germany had surrendered. This was not a mission of last resort to try and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. That, as even young Schumer knew, was no longer possible. No… this was a mission of retribution.
Herr Wolfe’s last vengeful strike from beyond the grave. One last chance to make those who had destroyed him hurt and hurt for a long, long time. It was not an act of desperation but of pure spitefulness. Even an act of un-disguised evil.
That was what had been whispered from the torpedo room to the electric engine compartment. That their Fuhrer was simply using his last precious resources to commit a war crime so heinous it wasn’t even spoken about. A crime that would be all the more heinous coming from a combatant that had submitted. A breech of the oldest conventions of war.
And this suited Ernst just fine. It was his one and only chance to make the Americans pay for taking his one and only brother. Herman Schumer had made a promise to his younger brother when he’d gone off to fight. It was a promise both boys knew he couldn’t keep, but one they both had clung to for over two years… until the day the letter had come stating that then corporal Schumer had died in the line of duty just before Christmas of 1944.
It had broken their mother’s heart. It was
her slow weight loss… the hollow look in her eyes… it was watching a once cheerful and vibrant woman steadily decline into a sullen and inconsolable shell of her former self that had driven Ernst, even more than losing his beloved older brother, to lie about his age and enlist in the Navy. He knew that on a U-boat, he’d have plenty of chances to strike blow after blow at the allies. To kill as many British, French and especially American sailors as he could. To try and satiate his desire for revenge and to attempt to cover the wound of Herman’s loss with the blood of their enemies.
“You’re quiet this evening, young Schumer,” Reinhardt said in his crisp no-nonsense tone.
“Aye sir,” Schumer replied, his binoculars practically glued to his face.
“You seem thoughtful for such a young man,” The captain remarked casually.
Although the great man’s tone was conversational, Schumer knew that the crafty old sailor was always testing. Probing his men and officers for weakness or fear or ignorance. Not in an attempt to use this against the man, however. Although Karl Reinhardt was a hard man and at just over forty had seen more submarine actions during and before the war than any other captain on the active list, he was also even tempered and kind. He was a teacher, and his probing was designed to help guide his charges to become better sailors. More efficient tools for the Reich’s use.
“Just thinking about… family,” Schumer commented as he slowly rotated and scanned the dark horizon.
“Ah,” Reinhardt commented, “Your brother, Herman? Or your mother’s broken heart, perhaps. The reasons you lied on your enlistment papers to get aboard my submarine.”
Ernst slowly lowered his binoculars and stared at Reinhardt. Stared into his unreadable ice blue eyes. Unlike most U-boat commanders, Reinhardt was a captain by rank, a full Kapitan Zur Se. His reputation was legendary and he had a force of personality to go with it. Suddenly, a knot of fear tightened in the youth’s belly.
“Sir…” He stammered, “I…”
Finally, the Old Man smiled at him. The hard and handsome face took on a softness that even reached his intense eyes, “Stand easy, Ernst. I’ve known all along. A submarine commander knows his men.”
“Then why…?” Schumer tried to ask but his voice failed him.
“Why didn’t I report you?” Reinhardt asked bemusedly, “Turn a sixteen year old boy off my ship so that he could do what he should be doing at this point in his young life? Well… let’s say that I have my reasons. And far be it from me to deny a man, even a man in training, his right to defend his homeland.”
Schumer gulped nervously, “Thank you, sir.”
Reinhardt nodded and took up his gaze at the placid sea stretching out all around them, “It’s why I asked you here to share this watch with me, young Schumer. I wanted to talk with you a bit.”
Whatever Reinhardt had been about to say was interrupted by the appearance of Gunter Bausch, the ship’s executive officer. To Schumer’s mind, never had two men been more unlike one another. Reinhardt was tall, svelte and handsome. And although he, like all modern ship’s captains, was colloquially referred to as “The Old Man,” he was anything but. His uniforms were always immaculate, his posture always erect and he had a quiet thoughtfulness that made it easy for him to relate to even the lowliest Matrose Mechaniker, third class torpedoman, like Ernst. In contrast, Bausch was short, portly and sloppy in his habits. He carried himself as if he were above everyone and had made it clear on more than one occasion that he didn’t like rubbing elbows with the common sailor.
How this ill-tempered and rather unappealing man had become the second in command of Ariovistus Schumer would never understand. His only saving grace, as far as any of the men or chiefs was concerned was that Bausch did know his business. He was an excellent technical submariner and had seen no less than five war patrols.
“Einsvo,” Reinhardt said companionably. On a German submarine, the first watch officer was also the executive officer or Erster vacht offizier . This was casually shortened to Einsvo, “How are you this evening?”
“Kapitain,” Bausch said a little too formally, squeezing his bulk between Schumer and the captain. The bridge of the type twenty-one U-boat was barely big enough for three men. Especially if one of the men had a belly that protruded over his belt, “Sonar reports transient engine noise to the northwest. Extreme range. Yohan is waiting with a report for you, sir.”
Reinhardt nodded and picked up the bridge telephone, “Zentral, bridge. Yohan, tell me about our friend out there.”
Bausch turned a cold eye on Schumer. The young man raised the binoculars and looked off the port bow, “Good evening, Corvettenkapitan.”
That was all he could say. Bausch, who held the rank of a senior Lieutenant Commander, should by all rights have his own boat. Of course, with the war officially over and his reputation, that would obviously never happen. A submarine commander needed more than expertise in operating and fighting a submersible ship. He needed to have the personality to go with it. The personality that could stand living inside a two hundred and fifty foot cigar tube with a hundred other men for months at a time.
This was true of all submarine sailors, of course. Yet the captain had to be special. He had to maintain the fine balance between the aloof great man and the approachable equal that blended with the unique informality that came with submarine service.
Bausch did not possess these qualities. It was probably why he’d volunteered for this mission in the first place, Schumer thought. No one else would have him.
“Captain, mechanical noise at extreme range,” Lieutenant Yohan Verschmidt reported. He was the ship’s diving officer and third in command, “Range is forty-five thousand meters. Signature is weak, indicating electrical motors. Target appears to be heading due east at five knots.”
“Submerged?” Reinhardt asked.
“Difficult to say, sir,” Came the reply, “We’re training all sound heads on him now… at this distance it’s hard to tell, but I would guess not. Machinery signature matches American Balao-class submarine. Assess diesel engine noise.”
“On training maneuvers no doubt,” Bausch said disdainfully, “Reveling in the glory of their certain victory without a care in the world.”
Reinhardt eyed him sidelong but said nothing. Schumer didn’t like the Einsvo but he did agree with the sentiment. The captain only frowned.
“All stop,” Reinhardt ordered, “What is the status on our battery bank?”
“Aye, aye,” Verschmidt replied, “Maneuvering answering all stop. Battery charge is fifty percent.”
“Hmm…” Reinhardt muttered, “That gives us an entire day at slow speeds… but only hours if we have to maneuver or fight the ship quickly… what are your thoughts, Einsvo?”
Bausch shrugged casually and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his blouse pocket and lit it. He took a long drag and blew a stream of smoke that the light breeze carried right into Schumer’s face. The youth could tell that Bausch resented his presence on the bridge, but he could hardly object to his captain’s choice of lookout in front of Reinhardt.
“I’d say no danger,” Bausch stated, “The American is probably recharging if he’s running so slow. And if not, it matters little he’s far over the horizon. I recommend shutting down for an hour or two and then running our diesels to complete the charge.”
Reinhardt nodded without seeming to agree or disagree, “Where do you have our position, Gunter?”
Bausch pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and peered at it quickly, “Twenty-seven degrees, thirty minutes north by eighty-five degrees, ten minutes west. Approximately three hundred kilometers west of the entrance to Tampa Bay.”
“Which appears to be where our friend is going,” Reinhardt mused, “And the topography of this side of the Gulf between us and Florida?”
“We’re in about two-thousand fathoms now,” Bausch said, “However, within a hundred kilometers east, the bottom rises sharply to between forty and sixty meters. It dips again another f
ew dozen kilometers shoreward from there… although only to about two hundred meters before shoaling again. As you know, sir this side of the Gulf is quite shallow even as far out as two hundred kilometers.”
Schumer suddenly realized that the Old Man had known all of this information himself. He simply was either checking on Bausch’s knowledge or double checking himself. He couldn’t help but admire the man, even as he suspected that his captain might not share Bausch’s or even his own feelings about this mission.
“Thank you, Gunter,” Reinhardt said, “When you go below, please instruct Yohan to keep his team listening intently. I don’t’ like that submarine being out there just as we’re about to make our final course correction.”
“You suspect she knows we’re here?” Bausch asked indignantly, “Impossible.”
“I hope you’re right, Einsvo,” Reinhardt stated, “But I make it a habit never to underestimate an adversary. Would you please have chef send up coffee and sandwiches? I wish to continue young Ernst’s training.”
Bausch knew enough to know he’d been politely dismissed. He acknowledged the order and disappeared down the hatchway.
“What is your impression of this mysterious vessel ahead?” Reinhardt asked Schumer.
“I must agree with Herr Bausch, sir,” Ernst replied, “The war is technically over and the Americans have no reason to suspect danger. Especially from us. Our war ended months ago.”
Reinhardt nodded thoughtfully. He considered the blonde haired and blue eyed boy beside him. Schumer was intelligent and possessed of a surprising self-assurance for someone so young. Partly, Reinhardt knew that came from the boy’s nearly eight months of naval service, of course. Yet he also knew that this self-possession sprung at least partly from a darker source. The very same well spring that had spawned the Nazi party and was the driving force behind the abominations and atrocities they’d committed.