Sublieutenant Richard Moore grew very serious and his voice took on a plaintive tone. “I suppose it will be a slaughter and thousands of men will die.”
Kapitan zur See Mahlberg rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The 2,365 officers and men aboard Sea Lion were divided into sixteen divisions — everything from personnel for the main and secondary batteries to engineers, technicians, and stokers. Administratively, the workload was at times overwhelming, often boring, but always necessary. Even with his three office stewards, Mahlberg felt that he spent more time reading reports than commanding the ship. His Erster Offizier, I.O., Freganttenkapitan Werner Kadow, was a godsend. The man’s memory and organizational abilities saved Mahlberg from having to do anything but the most critical administrative duties. Yet to Mahlberg, these were too much. He longed to be, he belonged on the bridge with the long graceful bow of Sea Lion spread out before him, gently falling and rising as she bit into the gray sea. He lost himself in the sight of plumes of white spray exploding over the North Atlantic bow, reaching well past Anton, the first of the four turrets bearing the mighty main armament of Sea Lion.
Cadence. That was the word. A relentless, inevitable cadence that drove Sea Lion through the narrow waters between Fjellsund and Norway; blasting through thick, heavy waves that came at her as if they were sent by the Norse gods themselves. But they did not stop her, they didn’t even slow her as her three mighty screws dug into the depths and propelled the huge vessel forward. Rise and fall — as gently as if Sea Lion were a wooden steed on a carousel at a seaside resort; bit in her mouth, teeth bared, and colorful, carved mane frozen in imaginary motion.
And Mahlberg on the bridge.
There was a knock on the door.
Mahlberg, stood, shook himself out of his revelry, and made certain that his tunic buttons were properly fastened. “Come,” he said, his voice crisp and commanding.
It was Ingrid May. She closed the door behind her and looked about casually.
“So this is where the Kapitan zur See finds sanctuary?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, hardly surprised to see her. He had avoided any contact with Ingrid except when they were in the company of others. In some aspects it was a very large ship — but as rumors went it might as well have been a tiny village in some remote province. People had a way of finding out things. But Ingrid would not be denied anything that she sought.
“No?” she said. “I was told by the Fuehrer that there were to be no restrictions applied to my visit.”
“With all respect to the Fuehrer,” Mahlberg said, “he has never before seen the disruptive power of a woman aboard ship. Especially a woman such as yourself.”
“What a kind thing to say, Kapitan zur See,” Ingrid said as she studied the cabin. “Couldn’t the Kriegsmarine have provided one of their most illustrious Kapitans with accommodations more befitting his stature?”
“This suits me,” Mahlberg said. “What is the purpose of your visit?”
“‘What is the purpose of your visit?’” Ingrid echoed. She studied the cabin. “I was certain that your tastes ran to something a little more luxurious. Exciting, perhaps.”
“That was some time ago. In another place.”
“Not so long ago, I should say.” She was wearing a heavy wool coat, which she unbuttoned and dropped on the chair, revealing a thin white blouse underneath. She wore no bra and her ample breasts filled the material. Black, tailored wool slacks contrasted starkly with the blouse.
“Have you anything to drink?” she said as she sat on the corner of his desk. “Or have you given that comfort up as well?”
He moved to a cabinet and filled a tumbler with schnapps. He handed it to her and watched as she examined it critically.
“Not even crystal,” she said. She waved the tumbler under her nose and looked at Mahlberg with mild disdain. “Diesel fuel?”
“Siphoned from the tanks just for this occasion,” he said, watching her carefully, calculating how he might take advantage of her presence in his cabin. He would lock the door of course, and leave orders that he was not to be disturbed, but that would do nothing to quell the talk about her visit. It had been some time since he had been in a woman’s arms; his wife’s in fact. She had performed her service enthusiastically but with little talent. Her duty to the Fatherland, he liked to think — keep her husband happy, provide him with the carnal pleasures that a Kapitan zur See required. Afterward she had made him a splendid meal.
Ingrid sipped the schnapps delicately and placed the tumbler on the desk. Mahlberg had always admired that about Ingrid May — every movement was graceful, unhurried, as if some abnormal machinery in her brain calculated each motion before it was made. His wife lacked grace, but she was, after all, dependable.
“You recall our previous conversation,” she said, wiping a drop of liquid from the corner of her mouth, “about your future.”
Mahlberg offered her a cigarette from a teak box on the desk. He was curious but made every effort to appear disinterested. She selected a cigarette as if one were placed especially for her, her eyes never leaving his as he lit it with a silver lighter. He chose a cigarette for himself. She would take this as a signal to continue, which it was. He decided to let her speak.
“It seems that your Admiral Raeder,” she said, “is closer to… ‘retirement’ than I anticipated.” She shook her head and repeated tsk, tsk, tsk, as if she were truly sorry to be the bearer of such news. “How difficult it must be to command at times such as these. There are so many casualties in war. And not all on the battlefield.”
Raeder’s probable fate was apparent to Mahlberg and was well known in the service. The surface fleet had yet to demonstrate that they could meet and defeat the British. Hood had been their one great triumph but that at the cost of the supposedly invincible Bismarck.
“Doenitz,” she continued, “he is a rather short man, isn’t he? I find short men distasteful. They appear always to be staring at my breasts and yet trying to appear as if they aren’t. Goebbel’s excepted of course. He is only interested in his wife’s breasts.” She changed subjects. “Doenitz and the efforts of his U-boats are well received.”
“Vice Admiral Doenitz is a very capable man,” Mahlberg said. “I would not be surprised if he were to succeed Grand Admiral Raeder at the appropriate time.”
“But he is short,” Ingrid said. She downed the contents of the tumbler and winced. “Disgusting. Your name continues to be mentioned as a potential replacement for Admiral Raeder.” She examined the remnants of the glass and made a face. “Should circumstances require his retirement.”
“I am sure that the Fuehrer will choose the ideal candidate.”
She offered Mahlberg a look of mild disbelief. “Spoken like a loyal officer. Unfortunately loyalty is not the only ingredient needed to advance. Well, you have loyalty. That is in our favor.”
“Our favor?”
Ingrid ignored his comment. “That does not change the situation, however. Positions must be cultivated, nourished. You, Kapitan zur See Mahlberg, are marked for high command,” she said. She stood and moved closer to him. “I told you that I can help you. You need my help, in fact.”
He could smell her expensive perfume and he noticed that the top buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned, exposing the deep valley of her breasts. She wanted to advance at his side, silently, steadily, until she joined the sacred inner circle of Nazi officialdom. She would do it too, if she demanded it as her due. She would not stop until she was truly satisfied. He knew that — he had seen it firsthand. If she wasn’t satisfied after making love with Mahlberg she would ring up one of her girlfriends to join in their unrestrained lovemaking. A bitch in heat, his wife had said of her, looking at him as if she knew every detail about his affair with Ingrid May. She probably did — Kriegsmarine wives were horrible gossips.