Chapter 17
It was nearly dark and there were ghosts about. Mysterious shapes slid through the water, the roar of their engines rumbling off the flat sea. Occasionally a signal light would flash quickly, a brief message that told Reubold that the other two S-boats were in position. It was a drill only, but there was still danger. The danger came from above; Allied fighter-bombers who dropped out of the darkness because their radar was superior to anything that the Germans had. It meant that they could see from far away, and what they could see were tiny blips darting across the blackness like water bugs on a pond. Then they would swoop out of the night sky, and strafe and bomb them until the S-boats were flaming wrecks on the black water; or if they were lucky, they escaped. It was that knowledge, Reubold knew, that ate away at morale. The enemy’s planes are faster and more numerous. Their bombs are far more powerful. They have men and materiel in abundance and they will surely come. It was easy to see that the men were affected by the obvious inequities. There was an almost indiscernible pall of inevitability in the pens, and aboard the S-boats. The Trinities were more than a weapon, they were vindication. The test was more than a trial, it was salvation.
Walters was standing next to Reubold in the skullcap of S-788 wondering what would come of this night’s work.
“We have the solution,” Korvettenkapitan Waldvogel had assured him when Walters had showed up unexpectedly.
“We think we have the solution,” Reubold, his dark eyes troubled by more than the uncertainties of the drill, had corrected Waldvogel.
“Then,” Walters had said, “we shall see.” The plan that he had confided to Rommel, unsuccessfully as it turned out, was based upon what these new boats could do; how they could perform against the mass of escort vessels that the Allies were sure to shield their invasion fleet with. He had added that he had wrangled a reprieve from the fieldmarschal with the promise that these boats could very well bring confusion to the enemy at precisely the right moment — when they neared the French coast. Reubold had believed him, which was fortunate because Walters’s plans rested on balancing success with secrecy, sweetly leavened with subterfuge. Never an easy thing to do when so many ambitious men hungrily sought opportunities to advance themselves over the failures of other ambitious men.
Reubold, on board S-788, had led two other boats into the bay, straight to a grounded hulk that the fregattenkapitan knew well. Waldvogel was not with them. His wound had been giving him a great deal of pain and despite his insistence that he be allowed to go along — “It’s critical that I go, Fregattenkapitan. I know the boats and the guns” — Reubold sent him back to the hospital. Walters wondered if the fregattenkapitan was concerned with the odd little man’s health, or if he wished to reap the glory of a successful test without sharing it.
Reubold throttled back S-788 until she barely made headway and turned to Walters.
“Did Rommel or Dresser send you?” the fregattenkapitan asked, his features barely visible by the faint light of the compass.
“Does it matter?” Walters said. He saw Reubold nod his agreement in the darkness and waited while the fregattenkapitan issued orders to begin the test.
“We’ve mounted a doorknocker,” Reubold said, “a two-centimeter gun, on the Trinity. Now we have a quad mount. A bit unstable, but necessary. We are going to fire the Trinities along the same path as the doorknocker, sighting with its tracer round. Theoretically,” Walters saw Reubold smile at the word, “the gunners will fire the Trinity the moment we see the doorknocker tracers hit the target. The guns are on the same axis; it should be simply a matter of sight and shoot.”
“Ingenious,” Walters said.
“Only if it works,” Reubold said. “There is another matter. We will be lighting up the night with our tracers and guns. If the bees show up, we may find it necessary to flee.” He pressed his throat mike, clicked the talk button twice, and said: “Fritz in now.”
Walters heard the roar of the engines increase, but the sound echoing off the water made it impossible to tell from which direction the noise came. He saw a pinpoint of light in the darkness and realized that it was the S-boat, speeding across the water. The phosphorescence of the thin wake shimmered in the rays of a moon partially hidden by clouds. He could tell the boat was moving very fast — incredibly fast — and he felt his excitement building. He may have seen the S-boat, the darkness may be tricking him; but he thought that he saw it up on its wings, gliding over the sea as if it were flying. He knew that the crew of the S-boat could see the target; at least, he hoped that they could see the target, and he wondered what it must be like to be aboard something so fast that from a distance just the sight of it took his breath away.
Walters saw the flash of the doorknocker and then the fiery trails of the green slice through the air and then there was a brilliant flash and a boom. The noise startled him, but before he had time to react, there was a larger explosion followed by a low rumble.
He glanced at Reubold and saw incredulity in the man’s eyes. Had something gone wrong? Had there been some sort of terrible accident?
“Fregattenkapitan?” a leutnant appeared at the hatchway to the radio room. “Fritz reports, ‘Direct hit. All guns.’”
Reubold looked at the young officer in disbelief and simply uttered: “Mueller.”
“It can’t be that easy,” Walters said. “Surely, they can’t have hit the target that quickly?”
Reubold didn’t bother to answer Walters’s question. “Tietjen?” he called after the leutnant. “Have Mueller fire one barrel at a time. No salvos. You understand?”
“Fritz let go everything he had,” Reubold commented. “That may have been just one hit on the target. There’s no way to tell. I want to see how the hits register.”
“He reported…” Walters began hopefully.
“He could be mistaken,” Reubold interrupted. “We tried this before with salvos and hit nothing. We shall see if this idea of Waldvogel’s works.”
Walters remained silent. The fregattenkapitan was right to be skeptical. One boat proved nothing. It might have been an accident. Perhaps one shell hit and Fritz, in his excitement, saw them all hit. The sound of the other boat’s engines broke into his thoughts.
There was a deep throaty roar, somehow coarser than the sound of the first boat, but he found it immediately by locating the telltale wisps of white water playing off its foils. It seemed even faster than the first, and the familiar sense of excitement swept over him. The sound of the engines and the sight of the wake curling back off the hydrofoils made him realize that here was primitive power.
Green tracers raced into the darkness, and he saw several bounce erratically into the air, ricocheting off the wreck. There was a flash of light, and an instant later a corresponding flash in the darkness, far away. More green tracers — another flash from the boat as the second gun fired and another explosion in the darkness. The wreck began to glow and suddenly it was engulfed in flames. Walters saw the S-boat. It had the look of a deadly predator, up on its long wings, hurtling through the light of the burning wreck — a black phantom against flames. Green tracers again and a white flash, followed by a low crack and an explosion on the wreck that sent pieces of its flaming carcass spiraling into the night sky.
Walters turned to Reubold, ready to ask him something. He wasn’t quite sure what, because he was stunned by the demonstration, but stopped when he saw the look on the fregattenkapitan’s face.