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Authors: Steven Wilson

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“Wheel amidships.” Hardy shook his head. “This is surely the first time in the Royal Navy that an enemy vessel has appeared before members of a King's Bench and been declared innocent of harmful intentions. I don't fancy signaling the results of this inquiry to
Prometheus
.”

“It is not something that I recommend you do, Captain,” Land said, but then he added: “I wonder what the devil she is up to. And where the devil she is. And what the devil she is.”

“That's the first thing you've said to me in the last thirty minutes that makes sense,” Hardy said. “The devils in this business make no mistake about that. But Coastal Command will be up if they're not already and they'll find that elusive creature soon enough. I'd bet your commission on it.”

Chapter 21

The North Atlantic

The U-boat surfaced silently, accompanied only by the soft rush of water rolling from its deck. The teak decking glistened in the moonlight as the boat settled low in the water, gentle swells caressing its bow and traveling along the rust-stained hull until they slapped playfully against the conning tower.

The tower hatch creaked open and fell back on its stops with a clang. Two dark forms quickly emerged in the moonlight and took their positions atop the periscope mast. They began scanning the pale gray sky with high-power binoculars. A U-boat on the surface under a bright moon was a tempting target for British Coastal Command. Even at night the bees came and carried with them death.

Hans Webber,
Kapitan
of U-376, a Type-VII U-boat, followed the two men through the hatch. He swept the horizon as well.

“Lookouts up!” he called down into the hatch. “Ventilate the boat. Disengage E-motors, engage diesels.” Webber knew that everything would be done quickly. The crew realized the danger of remaining on the surface a minute longer than they had to. Under normal circumstances the night would have given them sufficient coverâbut God had seen fit to bless them with a pale moon that could draw every British bee in the area straight to them. Still, things were in balanceâwith a little luck they could see the approaching planes in the moonlight.

“Grubb,” Webber called to his executive officer, “tell me the minute that Funker picks up anything.”

Grubb's pale face appeared out of the darkness of the hatch leading to the control room. “Yes, sir.”

“Have two more lookouts come up. I don't like sitting under a spotlight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Webber heard the additional lookouts clambering up the aluminum ladder and he pushed himself to one side of the narrow conning tower platform to allow them to pass.

“Go to the Winter Garden. One port, the other starboard. Keep your eyes open and no smoking,” he reminded them. “There is enough light out here as is.”

They had just started back when Grubb appeared. “Signal coming from Goliath, sir. We're getting padding now.”

Webber nodded, forgetting that Grubb could not see his response. They had surfaced every night for the past week, listening for Goliath's signalâtheir signal. Instead the giant U-boat radio network had ignored them and they submerged into the darkness once again. It had been difficult to keep his disappointment from showing and he could feel the frustration in the crew as they waited for a signal that never came. Webber could not tell them why they waited and what their mission was once they received that elusive signalâthere was always the danger that they would be attacked and some of them captured and then, inadvertently, someone would say something to the British. There was too much at stake to take chances. Too much to gain if the mission succeeded. Maybe complete victory over England. At least striking a blow so severe that the island nation would never recover.

“Grubb!” Webber shouted down the hatch. “What in hell is taking so long?” He was surprised at his own display of nerves. “Is Funker asleep again?”

One of the lookouts snickered.

“Coming in now, sir. Funker just got our recognition signal.” A moment of silence. “Funker's decoding the message now.”

That was somethingâGoliath had sent a message to them. Maybe to the other eleven boats as well. Webber snorted at his own stupidity. If it came to U-376 it had to go to the others; they were a wolf pack. Good or bad, the message went to everyone.

“Grubb, goddamn it. Has he finished it or not?”

Grubb's torso, his pale face wreathed in a sparse blond beard, appeared out of the hatch. He tore a sheet off the message pad and handed it to Webber with a smile.

Webber snatched it out of his hand. “Are you trying to drive me mad? You and Funker? You come and stand here waiting . . .” His eyes caught the single word hastily scrawled on the sheet:
Umkreis
.

He looked at Grubb, who continued to smile. “Was it worth waiting for, Kapitan?”

Webber nodded, making sure that the word was actually there.

“What do we do now, Kapitan?” Grubb asked.

Webber gently folded the sheet and slid it into the pocket of his gray leather coat. “We wait for a bit more, Grubb,” he said calmly. “Then we destroy the British Home Fleet.”

“We're not goingâ”

“No,” Webber said. “Only Prien could have gone into Scapa Flow, God rest his soul. No. They will come to us.”

“How accommodating of them.”

“Yes,” Webber said. “It will be the last accommodation that they make.”

D.K.M.
Sea Lion

Mahlberg spent most of the morning consulting with his navigation officer and the engineering staff.
Sea Lion
was running at nearly thirty-five knots, which meant that she could easily cover over eight hundred miles in a day's steaming. But thirty-five knots of continuous steaming took its toll on the engines and consumed a tremendous amount of fuelâhundreds of tons a day.

He took a cup of tea from the steward and walked around the report-strewn wardroom table, listening as his officers gave their reports. Mahlberg had reduced the ship's readiness to War Cruising Condition Two; he didn't want his men worn out by keeping them at
Kriegsmarschzustand
âbattle stationsâindefinitely. They had performed well against the British cruiser and he had told them as much. But the next test would be against
Prince of Wales
, and the
Prince
would not be so thin-skinned, nor would her guns lack range. She would be a challenge.

Mahlberg leaned against the sideboard as the charts were laid out on the table. He preferred the atmosphere of the wardroom to the closeted chart room. It was congenial and relaxed and reminded him of the collegial atmosphere of the classroom at Flensburg. It was a place to learnâto share information; the difference was this was not the theoretical theater of intellectual exercisesâhere was reality in its harshest form.

“I beg your pardon, Kapitan,” Leutnant Chyla said. He was B. Dienst-wireless intelligence officer and always immersed in his electronics and codes.

“Yes?”

“Before we transferred the civilians they asked me to convey a message to you. They were quite distraught.”

Mahlberg almost laughed out loud. They couldn't have picked a worse spokesperson. Chyla was a champion in his dark world of glowing tubes and humming radios, but he was strangely out of place speaking directly with another human being.

“Were they?” Mahlberg said. “What is the message?”

“They informed me that when they reached Berlin, they intended to make formal protest, Kapitan. Fruelein May was very upset. Her language wasâ”

“I am familiar with her vocabulary,” Mahlberg said.

He saw a seaman hand a message to Kadow, who read it and then glanced quickly at Mahlberg.

“It will take them some time to reach Berlin, and by the time they arrive we shall have accumulated enough victories to satisfy everyone. Don't concern yourself with them, Chyla. They are faraway and quite impotent. Dismissed.”

Kadow approached and handed him the message, saying only: “Group North.”

Mahlberg read the message. “â
Umkreis
.'” He looked at Kadow with a smile. “It is difficult not to feel at least a little pleasure over this, isn't it?”

“Of course, Kapitan.”

“We are still some distance from complete victory, but this”âhe held the message upâ“places us a bit closer.”

“We've been monitoring Operation Funker since the beginning, Kapitan. It appears to be going as planned.
Prince of Wales
had turned south. The British are not certain of our location. . . .”

“No,” Mahlberg said. “But it is only a matter of time before they locate us. Don't discount the British or their abilities. We've been able to utilize this appalling weather for sanctuary, but soon we'll be out of it. We are bound to be spotted by one of their patrol aircraft.” He lapsed into deep thought. “The chart,” he ordered. “Let me see the chart.”

He pulled a chair back from the table and moved in close, tracing the route of
Sea Lion
with his finger. He stopped and tapped the chart. “
Prince of Wales
has changed course,” he said as his officers surrounded him. “B. Dienst places her here. She has no notion of our true speed and location, so she reckons if she maintains her current course and speed, she has more than an adequate margin of safety. But our calculation places us making contact with
Prince of Wales
”âhe studied the chartâ“here.”

“What if she increases her speed,” Kadow said, “or releases her escort?”

Mahlberg looked at Chyla for the answer to an unspoken question.

“If she transmits any such information,” the
Leutnant
said, “we can decode it almost instantaneously. With the Funker boats we can triangulate her position, again if she transmits, and determine her speed and course.”

“It's like fighting in the dark, gentlemen,” Mahlberg said to his officers. “The first one who makes a noise, loses.” He studied the chart in silence. “Ten hours?” he said to Kadow.

“Ten hours,” his executive officer said. “There is nothing between us and
Prince of Wales
. The only threat lies behind us and they will have their hands full soon enough.”

“Imagine our reception when we return home, sir,” an excited
Fahnrich zur See
said. “There will be a parade in your honor.”

Mahlberg smiled at the innocent. “âPolicy is not made with speeches, shooting festivals, or song, it is made only by blood and iron.' You'd do well to read your Otto von Bismarck and concentrate on the duties at hand. Let the future take care of itself.”

The
Fahnrich zur See
's face reddened in embarrassment. “Of course, sir.”

“Don't take it so hard,” Mahlberg said with a smile. “It is my job to keep excitement sufficiently restrained. Never plan for the fortunate unless you plan for the unfortunate as well. Would you agree, Kadow?”

“Yes, sir,” the executive officer said. “This is an uncertain business,” he advised the
Fahnrich zur See
in a fatherly tone. “We can limit some. Some are beyond our control. Some are beyond our ability to comprehend.”

“Now,” Mahlberg said to the young officer, “you will return to your duty as I will return to mine. Make certain that everything is in order, as I, through my officers, will see done. Tonight, when you lie in your bunk after having checked off every duty in your mind, twice over, you can dream of parades and willing young girls. Understand?”

The
Fahnrich zur See
snapped to attention and saluted Mahlberg. “Yes, sir.”

Mahlberg returned the salute and sent him on his way. He turned to Kadow, a troubled look on his face.

“Kapitan?” Kadow said.

“If we catch her here,” Mahlberg said, “we can have no more than three hours with her. Our fuel reserves dictate three hours and no more.”

“
Bismarck
sank
Hood
â”

“Yes, I know,” Mahlberg said. “In less than six minutes. But she is a battleship and not a battle cruiser. Weren't you listening, Kadow? Plan for the unfortunate as well. We have speed, firepower, and the accuracy of our fire control. Their crew is more experienced, but we are both equally well trained. We must close quickly and overwhelm her with our guns.”

“We have the advantage of range, Kapitan,” Erster Artillerie Offizier I.A.O. Frey said. “We can commence firing well before we come within the range of her guns.”

“Of course.”

Frey continued: “If visibility permits I can gauge range, course, and bearing in a matter of minutes. I will use the guns in bracketing groups, three salvos separated by four hundred meters. Our high-resolution optical range finders can locate the fall of the shot and adjust until we straddle the vessel. With luck, I can do that in a matter of thirty to forty-five minutes.”

“That is very finely played, Frey,” Kadow said. “You're certain that âgood rapid' will come immediately?”

“Yes,” Frey said without emotion.

“Good. Because I will give you no more than three hours,” Mahlberg said. “She will be slippery, Frey, and it will take everything that we have to keep her in range.”

“Three hours, Kapitan. I need no more than that.”

“So be it,” Mahlberg said. “Now. The journey home. The Denmark Strait.” It was a question posed as a statement. He waited for his officers to reply.

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