Erich nodded. Good news, even though there was no way of knowing whether or not the Americans or Canadians might have a small carrier or seaplanes in the area.
“All quiet on the surface,” said Newton Bischoff as he adjusted a dial on his board.
“Excellent. Steady as she goes,” said Erich as he paced slowly across the control deck in the space between the chart table and the helm. This was typical service-time in the unterseeboot service — long periods of abject boredom, punctuated by moments of hideous terror.
Not surprisingly, he had learned to love the dull hours.
When he could spend some time alone in his quarters, Erich would read history or philosophy and listen to string quartets on a small crank-and-spring driven phonograph. During those moments, he could allow himself to forget he’d climbed into a metal tube which could become his coffin in an instant.
Unless this present mission was successful, it did not seem like the war would drag on much longer. As much as he loathed to consider it, Erich knew he must begin to think about what his life would be like in a defeated Germany. If the allies repeated the humiliation exacted upon the Kaiser in the previous war, it was not going to be a pleasant place to live — especially for a son of a military family like the Bruckners. He had a feeling there would not be many job opportunities for men like him.
Indeed, he had no guarantee he would even have much family remaining. To exactly what would he be returning? The oddest part of that question was that Erich had not even a hint of an answer. There was this… void… a total absence in his thoughts. Quite simply, his future seemed so uncertain, so unthinkable, he could not even begin to conceive of it.
In that way, he was living the perfect existential life. The modern philosophers would be so proud of him. He smiled as the notion passed through his thoughts. But there was nothing truly amusing in it. More like a thin joke in which the humor had warped into something ugly.
His friend, Manfred, had talked about maybe someday running a sheep farm, and had off-handedly asked Erich if he would be interested in being a business partner. The Fassbaden family — now all dead — had once owned land outside of Stuttgart, along the Neckar, and Manfred believed the need for good wool garments would never change. He was probably correct, and to be honest, the prospect of working a sheep farm did not sound all that bad to Erich. It would be in sharp contrast to his wartime existence, and he would be hard-pressed to think of a place with a lower profile or—
“Captain!”
Bischoff’s voice pierced his thoughts sharply, and he felt embarrassed to have disconnected so thoroughly from his surroundings. How long had he been daydreaming?
“Yes…”
“I am receiving a transmission from Berlin!”
“What?” Erich knew he sounded as stupid as he was stunned to learn Naval High Command had broken radio silence. He watched Bischoff scribble out the coded message.
“I’ll get the Enigma,” said Fassbaden, retrieving the 4-rotor decoding device from its locked cabinet.
Erich watched as Bischoff carefully inscribed the coded message onto the Zuteilungsliste, from which the keys to the decoding process would begin. It was a long message, and that meant more time for his radio signal to be detected and triangulated. Something must be terribly awry for High Command to risk the U-5001’s mission.
Waiting for the funkmeister to finish, Erich glanced around the control deck, not surprised to see everyone, including Manny, watching Bischoff, wondering what horrible news awaited them.
“Transmission closed,” said Bischoff, after what had seemed several lifetimes.
“Very well,” said Erich. “Helm, take her down to avoidance depth. On my mark. Manny, inform Kress of our need to resume electric power.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Almost instantly, his engineer responded — they needed more time to recharge the batteries in case of an emergency. Could he wait a little longer?
Erich did not like the vise into which he was being placed. But he acceded to Kress’s request and belayed his dive order for now.
Slowly, Erich regarded the M4 deciphering device with a distinct aversion. He knew he would not like whatever Doenitz needed him to know.
Chapter Seven
As he peeled off his mask and headgear, Dex sucked in a long pull of Chesapeake Bay air. Tanged with salt, it was invigoratingly different from the tank stuff. He watched Doc and Tommy drop into the water and follow the safeline until they were swallowed up by gray-green water. Then he and Donnie went up to the bridge and the divelink base station.
Don sat down in front of the Divelink base unit, toggled it on, and signaled. “Team 2, this is your captain speaking. I’m back on the base… you copy that, Kev?”
“We got you, Donnie,” said Kevin.
“Okay, Doc and Tommy are on the way down. I’m in here with Dex. Just keep us in the loop, okay?”
“Gotcha,” said Kevin. “We’re just about done checking out the entire hull along the sand-line. No sign of any damage yet.”
“Okay, we’ll be listening.”
“Andy wants to look at the aft section more closely too. We’ll keep you updated.”
“Copy that… base standing by…”
Don Jordan nodded, turned back to Dex. Don had a round face, a thick head of hair, and a laid-back disposition. “I’m gettin’ pretty good with that radio, huh?”
“A real pro,” said Dex.
“Anyway, what’s with the sub? We sittin’ on somethin’ good? Or no.”
Running a hand over his buzz-cut hair, Dex shook his head. “No way to tell. I’m pretty sure we’re beyond the three-mile range, so that gives us plenty more latitude.”
“For what?”
“Laws of salvage and stuff like that. There’s something called The Abandoned Shipwreck Act. If we found her within the three-mile range, the adjacent state can put in a claim with the maritime court.”
Don grabbed a fresh can of Mountain Dew from the cooler, popped the top. “Claim for what?”
“A claim to keep anybody else from salvaging the wreck. But I think we’re clear of that, so regular admiralty law applies,” said Dex. “So, as long as we don’t find any bodies down there, I don’t think we’ll catch any shit from the German government, either.”
“I take it they don’t like people disturbing the graves of fallen warriors, eh?” Don sipped his soft drink thoughtfully.
Dex shrugged. “Who would?”
“Okay, so let’s figure no bodies… then what? Is it ours?” Don was smiling that silly smile again.
Dex chuckled. “If we want the damned thing. Couple years back I remember a Tunisian crew found a scuttled U-boat in the Med… perfect condition… and they couldn’t get anybody to buy it. Nobody wanted it.”
“You’re kidding!”
“There’s a lot of U-boats on the bottom, Donnie. It’s not that big a deal in the greater scheme of things.”
Don’s features sagged visibly. “Man, I can’t believe this…”
Dex paused, looked out over the graying skies. “Of course, this one might be different.”
“Don’t forget, we’ve got the size of this boat — almost twice as big as anything else the Nazis built.”
“Yeah, that’s plenty weird.”
“And there’s the configuration — something funny about that too. When we get some good video, we can have a better look, get some ideas. I already have a few, but I’m going to wait and see what we get off the camera first.”
“Tommy’s got the videocam. He’ll get us something,” Don said, tilted back the final swallow of his Mountain Dew. “C’mon, though, what’re you thinking, Dex?”