If…
The biggest word in the mission. If all the above was successful, he was to bring the boat to a rendezvous point with the cruiser, the Sturm, where they would take on a pilot and bombardier. But that was Phase Two of the mission. And he could not concern himself with—
There was a knock at the door to his quarters, jarring him from his thoughts.
“Yes? Come in.”
The door opened slowly to reveal a young man with sandy-red hair, blue eyes and a lantern jaw. He was tall and broad-shouldered, almost completely filling the threshold. His rank and name were Oberleutnant Manfred Fassbaden, and he served as Erich’s Executive Officer.
“Excuse me, Captain, but you wanted to know when we cleared the pens.”
“Yes, thank you, Manny. Let’s go topside.”
Fassbaden nodded and turned to lead the way down a narrow corridor, made to look even more confining because of his imposing size. The interior of a submarine is by nature claustrophobic and it is no accident that most U-boat seaman are not big men. Fassbaden was an obvious exception.
As they walked toward the center of the boat, Erich noted how fresh and clean everything still smelled. From the new paint to the lubricating oils to the recently-showered crew. He smiled to himself. All that would soon change with the endless confinement and the only new air coming through the “snort.” It was hard to describe what it was like to spend months at a time in a world defined by a narrow tube where everything was eternally damp and dim. The longer U-boatmen were at sea, the more pervasive their use of cheap cologne to mask all the foul odors.
As they worked their way to the control room, Erich took note of how every available space had been used for supplies and foodstores. Despite the U-5001’s larger size, it was actually no more comfortable than its smaller sisters because there was never enough extra storage room. It was a long-accepted part of a U-boat’s routine, and even the greenest recruits never questioned or complained about it. Besides, as stocks were consumed, more space would be freed up.
His crew snapped to attention as he entered the heart of the boat, and Erich wanted it that way. Even though everyone would be seeing so much of one another, he never saw that as a reason to lighten formal military protocols. Some captains believed that in a submarine, everyone became everyone’s brother in a short amount of time, and snappy salutes were out of place.
Erich believed in respect for the traditions of his service.
After shrugging into a parka, he climbed the ladder to the open nest atop the conning tower and Fassbaden followed. When Erich emerged in the open air, he was immediately stricken by the clarity of the night. The air was crisp and cold, the stars piercing the dome of dark sky like the points of lances. The Warrant Officer, Gunther Ostermann, was positioned at the van of the tower, piloting the boat by speaking into a non-electric intercom tube linked to the control room. He saluted, nodded to his Captain and returned to his duty. There was another sailor standing next to him with binoculars masking his face. Pausing to salute his captain, he returned to the watch — ever vigilant for a smokestack on the horizon or a hunter-killer from the skies.
Looking back, Erich could see the dim lights of marker buoys of Trondheim’s harbor and its concrete-hooded sub-pens within. The departure of the U-5001 had been effected at night with none of the old fanfare and ceremony. It had been decided by the High Command the less notice paid to this mission, the better, so the hulking underwater beast of a boat slinked out of its yard like an unwanted pest.
“Beautiful night,” said Fassbaden.
“Yes,” said Erich. “I think we should take a mental picture, store it away for the times ahead, when we might not see the sky for days at a time.”
Neither man spoke for a minute or two, then his Exec exhaled, letting it become a nervous clearing of the throat. “Captain, I know my question may sound unprofessional, but I was wondering — how do you see our chances of success?”
Erich looked at Fassbaden. They’d been friends since their earliest days at the Academy in Flensburg, through their first assignments in Kiel at the Wik Navy Yards. Over the past three years, though, they’d served on different boats, and beaten the odds by surviving the deaths of all of them. When Erich was given the helm of the U-5001, and told to hand-pick his officers, Manfred Fassbaden was the first name he penciled onto his list. Manfred had been on the U-387 when it returned from a mission in the Baltic Sea in late November.
Because of his selection to Captain Bruckner’s crew, Fassbaden did not go out with U-387 when she had her fatal rendezvous with the destroyer, H.M.S. Bamborough Castle. Manfred had tried to make it sound like Erich had saved his life, but Bruckner would not hear of it. Wars were rampant with stories such as theirs — so many as to become meaningless.
Fassbaden was staring at him blankly, and Erich suddenly realized he had not responded to his question. Lost in thought, he’d simply gone away for a moment too long.
“Sorry, Manny,” he said. “I was thinking about something… but to answer you — which part of the mission do you mean? The shakedown phase? Or the one this boat’s been designed for?”
“You mean ‘Phase Two’?”
“Yes,” said Erich.
“Well, since I know nothing of the second phase, I guess I meant the first part. But I will say both.”
Erich shrugged. “Oh, I do not know. If we are smart and a little lucky, I like our odds. We are being told to keep our noses very clean, do not forget. We are to initiate no action with the enemy — even if he hands us a convoy or a flagship on a golden dish.”
“Getting sunk would be bad enough, but to allow the prototype to be captured would be unthinkable,” said Fassbaden.
“And impossible.”
“We scuttle,” said Fassbaden.
“Of course.”
“Comforting thought.”
“The crew knows nothing of that, of course,” said Erich.
“Of course.”
There was brief silence as both of them looked up at the fantastic vault of the night sky. Then Erich spoke: “You know, I cannot help thinking how futile this is…”
Fassbaden sent a careful glance at the other men topside with them, as if ensuring they were not eavesdropping on his conversation. Then he spoke in a guarded voice. “Yes, I have had similar thoughts. But I keep them to myself.”
Erich chuckled as he glanced toward the watch and the pilot. “Do not worry too much about them. If I thought there was any chance of either of them turning on us, they would have never been selected for this cruise.”
Fassbaden nodded as he was reminded of that simple truth.
Erich knew the Exec understood — such treachery was unheard of among the men of a U-boat. Every man depended on every other man to stay alive. Nothing could get in the way of that — not military protocol, not the mandates of the SS, certainly not the twisted philosophies of a strutting martinet.
“Open sea dead ahead, Captain,” said the Warrant Officer.
“Steady as she goes. Maintain current course,” said Erich. “Keep a careful eye, now. We are a big target.”
“Jawol, Captain,” said the seaman of the watch.
Erich tuned back to his Exec: “We stay on the surface as long as possible. When we go down, it may be for a long time.”
Manfred shook his head, wracked his shoulders with a chill. “I do not like the sound of that,” he said.