“Captain!” said Frederich Hausser, the U-5001’s cook, who appeared in the doorway holding a dinner plate in two hands in front of him. He sounded surprised as he quickly set down the plate to issue a proper salute.
“The Chief told me to come see you,” said Erich.
“Yes sir! Here you are, sir. My best sauerbraten. And dumplings.” He was thin and sandy-haired with bright hazel eyes. He couldn’t be more than twenty-two, and looked like he’d only recently started to shave. But he had a reputation back at Trondheim for being a fantastic cook, so Erich had hand-picked him.
Ten minutes later, Erich was very pleased with that decision. His meal had been extraordinary, and had easily been the best thing he had ever tasted on a U-boat. Hausser had a talent for his work, no doubt. When he appeared to clear the plates, he looked at Erich expectantly.
“Seaman, that was simply fantastic.” Erich said, then sipped from his coffee mug.
“Thank you, sir.” Hausser dared a small smile.
“Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“It is in my family, sir. Back in Bavaria, my father and his brother used to work in their father’s inn. Later on, my father opened his own restaurant in Augsburg,” Hausser paused, as if uncertain whether he should continue, then added: “After the Armistice, my father’s brother took his family to America.”
Erich carefully placed the mug on the stainless steel table, looked at the cook. “You have relatives there?”
“Yes. In Baltimore. My uncle and my cousins, they run a restaurant there.”
“That is amazing, Hausser. How do you feel about that… and this war? Do you stay in touch with them?”
Hausser looked fearful, unsure how to answer, what to say. Erich gestured with a slight wave of his hand, smiled. “Relax, sailor. I am not SS. You are not the only German with relatives across the Atlantic.”
The cook tried to smile, and did a bad job of it. He shrugged. “Well, I have not spoken to them in years. But we used to be close. I have a cousin my age — Richard, who wants to be a chef. I used to like him a lot.”
“Hmmm,” said Erich. “And… you speak some English?”
“Yessir. Not bad at it, actually.”
“It is not on your papers…”
“No one asked me,” said Hausser.
Erich smiled. “Spoken like a true German. Very well, Hausser. I would like to thank you for the wonderful meal and the enlightening conversation.”
Hausser stiffened a bit, nodded ever so slightly in the fashion of the boat’s officers. “Well, sir, I should be getting ready for the day-crew. They will be hungry.”
“Yes, of course,” said Erich. He rose from the table and headed back to the control deck.
After relieving Massenburg, he waited until Gunther Ostermann reported for duty so he could consult the charts and discuss their position. The U-5001 was running smooth and quiet. So far, she was shaking out to be a fine boat. If the rest of this milk-run went as well, there was perhaps a chance of a successful mission when they picked up the Messerschmitt crew.
“Tell me where we should be, Gunther,” he said without looking up from the charts.
“We are nine miles off the south-east coast of Greenland. We are also experiencing the effects of a strong underwater current, which has been pushing against our intended navigation. Within ten minutes, we shall be in range of a very small enemy base here.” Ostermann tapped his finger over a point on the map. A Godforsaken stretch of ice and mud called Ammassalik where it was rumored the Americans had installed a radar installation.
“Hmm,” said Erich. “Bad timing.”
“Yes, Captain.” His Warrant Officer looked at him with concern. “The batteries…”
Erich nodded. They were both very much aware of the demands of the Siemens electric motors and fresh-water distillers. Drawing down 15,000 amps required a careful schedule of recharging which could not be compromised.
“We have no choice,” said Erich. “Helmsman, schnorkel depth!”
The declination of the deck changed beneath his feet as he felt his boat gently angle toward the surface. Normally, Erich appreciated the feeling of a submarine rising, but he knew he would be coming close to the surface in alien territory, with no guarantee it was any safer than the cold darkness of undersea canyons.
“Seventy meters… Sixty…” said the helmsman. “Stand-by… Forty… Twenty… Fifteen… Schnorkel depth… now.”
“Steady as she goes,” said Erich. “Gunther, inform the Chief Engineer the snort’s operational.”
“Yes sir,” said Ostermann, exiting the con.
Soon the diesels would kick in, which in turn would run the generators to rejuvenate the batteries. This part of a sub’s routine was always fraught with danger because of how much noise the diesels made. Erich could imagine the rumbling clatter through the headset of a sonar operator, and how it would scramble the crew of a destroyer into deadly action.
“Bearing 88 degrees,” he said to the helmsman just as Ostermann returned to the con. “Gunther, we will be passing within range of that American base. Since we have to stay close to the surface anyway, I am going to look about.”
“Yes sir, shall I raise ship-status to stand-by alert?”
“Affirmative,” said Erich. “Up periscope…”
As the helmsman raised the scope, Fassbaden and Bischoff entered the control deck. The communications leutnant relieved the man on the Telefunken equipment, and Manfred assumed duties as Exec. “Reporting in, Captain,” he said.
“Good morning, Manny. Sleep well?”
“A better question for you, sir.”
Erich rotated the brim of his hat around, leaned close to the ocular hood of the scope. “On and off. There will be time enough for sleep.”
Manfred nodded grimly.
“Kress reports recharging initiated and is routine, sir,” said Ostermann.
“Good… good,” said Erich absently as he turned his attention to his only connection to the surface. Despite the best Zeiss optics, the U-5001’s scope afforded a very constrained view of things. The American base lay somewhere northwest of their position, and it was in that direction’s horizon he now scanned.
“Looks quiet,” he said. “Herr Bischoff…? What about you?”
“Nothing, Captain. I hear nothing.”
Erich nodded, continued to concentrate on the periscope view. Even though the cruel waters above them looked calm, non-threatening, he felt a need to be vigilant. His few years of staying alive in submarines had been the result of an almost unending paranoia, and a belief that things were eventually going to go wrong.
The U-5001 was a big boat, almost twice the size of a normal submarine. Her conning tower, radio mast, scope, and schnorkel were all proportionately larger as well. When recharging her batteries, Erich knew he was exposing a larger than normal metallic target to the allies and their radar. If the rumors out of Naval High Command were true — that the Americans had developed equipment many times more sensitive than they had even six months ago — then it was a good possibility he could be detected.
An acceptable risk in the open sea, perhaps, but foolhardy when passing within range of an enemy installation. Erich became angry with himself — although he had taken the time to re-calculate each position where recharging would be required before embarking on his course change, he had allowed his boat to be affected by underwater current. A good captain always counts on the capriciousness of the sea, and he had not.