[Miss Behavin]

He seemed pleased by that. Perhaps in anticipation that I was in no hurry to eat and get back to my men. He ate more slowly than me. It looked as though he was building himself up to talk about something that was not comfortable for him. After a few moments, I found that I was right.

Laying down his fork, his hands clasped together on the table before him, “You had asked about my wife.” A single statement.

With that, I paused as well, looking up at him. He was not looking at me but staring intently at his hands. I could easily see that this was not easy for him. I really did not want to hear his story. I did not want to become close to any of these people; especially one whom I may very well be killing in the next few minutes. Nonetheless, I had to play the game. Anything else that kept his attention away from anything suspicious was all the better. “Really Captain. I can see that it pains you. You do not have to tell me about it.”

“No, I want to.” For a moment his eyes met mine and I could see his need. From what he had said before I could only presume that she was dead. I could see in those eyes that life had not been easy for him since them. His gaze had gone back to his hands. “Please.” His voice was barely audible. “It will be the first time I have spoken of it with anybody.”

To encourage him, I said, “Then perhaps you should Captain. It is not good to hold things in for too long. I am right here.”

For a brief moment he looked at me again, grateful, before returning his focus to his hands. He actually looked, scared. My God, I thought! Was this man falling in love with me? Impossible! He scarcely knew me. Yet, the signs were there. I silently prayed that he was not. I would never make it in the spying business. I have always had the tendency to care about people too much; especially when they are hurting.

He started by saying that his wife had been dead for over two years now, a heart attack. He had been at sea at the time and she had already been buried a week upon his return home.

I would have liked to have eaten a bit more but to do so would have been rude, not to mention making me look indifferent to his suffering; and I wasn’t either. In a short time I was going to attack this man. I had my self and my crew to think of. If nothing else it was my duty. He was certainly not making it any easier.

I was forced to listen as he continued on; talking of their long years together and of how close they had been. I found myself feeling like a cold hearted bittch as I reached across to lay my hand on his. A false comfort for him as I was already altering my plan to meet the setting.

In my pocket was the packet of bicarbonate of soda. He would not look at me as he spoke and it was the perfect time to slip it into my mouth, biting it open to let it mix with my saliva. While it began foaming, I would have bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood and then let the red foamy mixture escape my lips as I pretended a seizure of some kind. Perhaps overdramatic yes, but enough to alarm him and draw him close to give aid where I would have then attacked; attempting to get his gun from where it rested in his waistband.

Now none of that ruse would be necessary. The Captain was completely immersed in his story as he poured his heart out to me. Taking a deep breath, I rose from my chair, coming around the table to position myself behind him, resting my hands on his shoulders while giving them a gentle squeeze. He was completely oblivious to my ill intent and rambled on. I could clearly see the vital nerve points that Albert had shown me and I took another breath in anticipation for my next move.

Closing my hands into fists with the thumbs extended, I mentally counted to three then, as hard as I could, rammed the tips of my thumbs into the hollows just behind his jaw and under the earlobes. The result was spectacular to say the least. Captain Jóhannsson head snapped back as his whole body convulsed in a spasmodic jerk, at the same time a sharp grunt of pain escaped his lips before he went slack and slumped over. I was hoping that the sound of that did not travel beyond the door but I was wasting no time in pulling the Captain back in his chair so that I could access his revolver.

There was a light knock at the door, “Captain?” It was Leifur, an inquisitive tone to his voice. For a moment I was in a state of panic as the weapon would not come free. Taking a quick, deep breath to calm myself. I recognized the problem and worked the gun free from his waistband, the front sight having gotten caught on the material.

The knock was repeated, more urgently this time. “Captain, is everything alright?” His voice was becoming increasingly more concerned.

I let go of the Captain, allowing his body to slump over to his left against the bulkhead beside the table. Quickly checking to make sure the pistol was loaded, I turned to face the door, “Everything is fine Leifur, but please, do come in.”

I watched as the handle turned and the hesitant Leifur poked his head inside. Had the situation not been more grim, I would have laughed as Leifur’s eyes went wide upon seeing the Captain slumped over and then turning to me to find himself looking down the wrong end of a gun barrel.

The moment was tense and I feared that he would bolt. Even if I tried firing, with only his head poking in, I would most likely miss. My fears were alleviated however as he seemed frozen in place, his pallor growing paler by the second. For a moment I was afraid that he was going to faint. I highly suspected that this was the first time in his life someone had ever pointed a gun at him. The Captain could have done a better job of selecting his guards. Poor Leifur, I actually felt sorry for him. The Sten-gun was harmlessly slung over his shoulder.

“Leifur, listen carefully. Your Captain will be okay,” I was hoping anyway. “Come in now or you will not be.” His eyes kept jumping back and forth from the inert form of Captain Jóhannsson to the threatening maw of the pistol. “I like you Leifur, but do not make the grave mistake of thinking that I will not shoot you if I have to. Now, come in and shut the door behind you.”

My words finally seemed to have sunk in. He swallowed nervously and did as ordered, turning to close the door after doing so. Doing that, he turned to face me again, a hurt expression as though I had betrayed him.

“I’m sorry Leifur, but if you follow my instructions, there is no need for anyone else to get hurt. First, carefully unsling your weapon and lay it on the floor.”

Doing as ordered, Leifur slowly slipped the sling from his shoulder; but then, his gaze shifted to his Stricken Captain. “You said there would be no trouble! I believed you!” He jerked the gun up; leveled the muzzle at me and, closing his eyes, squeezed the trigger. I almost shot him right there out of fear that he may have discovered his oversight. It wasn’t necessary however as the weapon did not fire. As he opened his eyes in puzzlement, I let out the breath I had been holding. He looked down at the Sten-gun with a bewildered expression.

“Now Leifur, put it down. I swear before God that if you try that again, I will indeed shoot you.” His shoulders sagged in resignation and he complied, bending over to place the weapon on the floor. At my command he then kicked it over where it slid to my feet.

Without taking my eyes or aim from him, I squatted down and picked up the ugly little machinegun. “From here on Leifur, I think you should stick to fishing only,” as I raised a thumb to flip the safety off. If he looked betrayed before, his expression now turned to one of utter defeat.

To my right, I heard a moan from Captain Jóhannsson, and could see him beginning to stir in my peripheral vision.

Leifur’s eyes widened. “He really is alive! I thought you had killed him.”

“No Leifur,” I replied. “I don’t want to kill anybody and if you cooperate, it will not have to happen. Now go over there and see to your Captain. I imagine he will welcome a drink of that wine to help alleviate the pain.

==============================================


Chapter Seven – Don’t Drop the Ball

While Leifur was assisting in restoring the Captain, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, relatively safe in the small room with the table between myself and them. Full consciousness had returned to Captain Jóhannsson and for the moment was silent as he gently massaged where I had struck him. I was expecting bullets to fly from his eyes toward me but instead he wore an expression more of hurt than anything else. He had been opening his heart to me, the first person for him to do so since the death of his wife, and I had not repaid him in a very kind manner. I think I would have preferred him mad.

“I am sorry that I had to do that Captain, truly I am; but I did not think that you were going to hand over your pistol simply by my asking...”

He shook his head in disbelief. The look of anguish had not entirely gone away. I was wishing that it would. “So,” he said, “just what do you propose to do now Frau Hessler? Sail this boat all the way to Germany?”

“Now, now Captain. Don’t be facetious. You and I both know that this vessel does not have enough fuel for that; and I highly doubt that we could convince the allies to loan us any along the way. Simply put, I intend to secure the freedom of myself and my crew and see to our safe return to France.”

“My plan is simple, it’s as full of holes as your fishing nets, but as long as nobody tries to become a hero, no one will get hurt. With the exception of breaking my neck with your own hands, I don’t think you want that any more than I do.”

While talking, I had removed the magazine from the Sten-gun and pulled back the bolt to eject the round from the chamber, all the while keeping the revolver close at hand. To my surprise, the chamber was empty. Looking at Leifur, a chastisement came to my lips but he already looked miserable enough so I chose not to rub it in. Somehow, I did not think I would be so lucky as to find his counterpart with the other machinegun quite as careless.

Removing all of the cartridges from the magazine, I then locked it back into the weapon. Setting it down and picking up the revolver, “What we’re going to do next could go any number of ways. Leifur is going to take this Sten-gun and return to the where my men are. He is going to tell his counterpart that you wish to see him and take his place at the door. Leifur, you will wait five minutes after he leaves and then tell my XO, Ringelmann, that I wish my headache powders and then hand the weapon to him. Of course, I expect you to inform him that it is unloaded. You will then lead him back here.”

Leifur’s eyes were wide, his head moving side to side in denial. The look of pain had gone on Captain Jóhannsson’s face; now he just looked amused. “Do you really think that I am going to order him to do that?” he said.

“Yes, I do.” I replied, “Because I am going to sit back down in my chair and be holding this pistol in my lap under that napkin there. It will be aimed straight at you. Should anything else occur other than the return of the other guard, I will shoot you. When he does, you will order him to lay down his weapon.”

Now the Captain was looking disgusted. “After what I have told you, do you really believe that my life is that important to me anymore?”

I was expecting something like that. While formulating my plan, I had also come to the conclusion that Leifur was not of the heroic sort. Like most, he was the type who kept his head down, followed orders, and got by. I was praying fervently that I was right.

“No Captain, I don’t. But I do believe that you still care about the welfare of your men, just as much as Leifur cares about yours.” Shifting my gaze to Leifur, “Do you believe that I will shoot your Captain?”

He thought about this for a moment then slowly shaking his head, “No Frau Hessler. I don’t believe that you will. You are not a murderess.”

I looked at him with a sad expression and sighed. “That is too bad then Leifur. You force me then to go to an alternate plan. You will have only yourself to blame for the results.” I rose, pistol in hand, and picked up the pillow from the bed with the other. Placing it over the muzzle to suppress the sound, I aimed it directly at the Captain who stiffened in preparation for the shot, “I am truly sorry Captain; this is not the way that I wanted it.”

“No! Don’t!” Leifur cried. “I believe you! Alright? I believe you, and God dam you for it!”

Lowering the pillow, but still keeping the revolver pointed in their vicinity, I took a deep breath as I sat back down on the bed. Leifur’s expression of emotional pain was even worse than the Captain’s had been. I think he had truly come to like me a bit and now I appeared to him as some dark, cold-hearted murderess. A good thing for me that they did not see through my bluff. A chill ran through me as a little voice spoke in the back of my mind, “Was it bluff? Really?” The part that chilled me was that I could not truly answer that. All I knew was that I was prepared to go to great extremes to see to the welfare and safety of my crew.

With great anguish in his voice, Leifur apologized to Captain Jóhannsson. “I am sorry Sir, but . . .”

“It is alright Leifur,” said the Captain. With a sigh, “By my orders, do as she says.”

I was opening my mouth to speak when Jóhannsson continued, “You had better get hold of yourself first though. Sveinsson is going to get suspicious if you go there looking as you do. Here,” passing the bottle of wine to Leifur, “drink some of this.”

My thoughts were the same, of which I was about to say something when the Captain spoke up. Leifur took a couple of good swallows from the bottle, looking at me with a countenance of utter contempt. By now, the Captain looked merely resigned.

Jóhannsson was looking at me as he said, “Do I have your word Frau Hessler that none of my men will be harmed?” Leifur followed it with a mumbled, “For what that is worth!”

I was surprised to find that his remark actually hurt. I did not feel good about what I had to do, but the welfare of my crew was of more importance.

“Yes Captain. With your cooperation I give you my solemn oath that I will see to the safety of your men as much as my own.”

With that, he nodded, then turned to Leifur. “Are you ready then?”

Leifur still looked more agitated than I would have liked but I supposed it would have to do. Where’s a good actor when you need one, I thought to myself. Taking no chances, I handed the unloaded Sten-gun to Leifur with my fully extended arm so as not to have to get any closer than necessary; stepping back afterward.

“Tell Sveinsson that I have remembered something I wanted to ask him about that work he did last week on the engines,” the Captain said to Leifur. “Also tell him that you are not feeling well and that he is to come back and relieve you immediately after seeing me.”

Leifur nodded, then to me, “Anything else?”

I shook my head no, but reminded him, “Five minutes Leifur, then . . .”

Cutting me off, “Yes!” I know, hand over the gun and headache powders. I’m not stupid!” an angry Leifur retorted. He really didn’t like me anymore I thought; as he turned and went to the door, opening it, then disappearing into the passageway. Well, for better or for worse, the ball was rolling.

I went over and closed the door then came back and took my place at the table. Doing that, I then rested the pistol in my lap as I draped the linen napkin over it, effectively concealing it from view by anyone coming in the door.

“Thank you for your cooperation Captain. I really don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

With an unmistakable sound of disgust in his voice, “Please Frau Hessler, do not insult me with your banal apologies. I’m cooperating for the sake of my crew and that only. Don’t take it for anything more than that.”

His words cut to the bone. It hurt, for I truly did care about his loss and suffering. On the other hand, this made it easier. I chose to remain silent and sip my coffee while waiting for Sveinsson to arrive; or for all hell to break loose, one or the other.

===============================================


Chapter Eight – Countdown


Leifur approached Sveinsson who languished against the bulkhead opposite the doorway to the Mess. Fearing that Sveinsson would see the deception in his eyes, he kept his gaze downcast as he relayed the Captain’s message.

“I thought he was with that German woman,” Sveinsson exclaimed.

“He is,” replied Leifur, but you also know how he is when he gets his mind on something too. Go on, he is waiting.”

Sveinsson was looking apprehensive. “Well, I hope he isn’t going to bitch at me about those injectors. I told him they were not the right ones; but did he listen to me? No! Say, Leifur. Are you okay? You’re not looking so good.”

“I’m not feeling so great,” which wasn’t exactly a lie for Leifur, “I don’t think the Saltkjöt og baunir is setting with me too well.”

Meanwhile, my XO and some of the others were already aware of my being up to something when I had left. Word had spread and the level of conversation was subdued as they waited for whatever was going to happen. The attention of my XO, Albert, was peaked as he eavesdropped on the conversation going on outside the doorway. There was no knowing what was happening but at least he had heard no gunfire; so far anyway.

Leifur’s thoughts were awhirl. He wanted so badly to do something. Something that would put everything right, but he was so afraid. What if he messed up, What if he got the Captain killed. Would she really do it? She had seemed so nice before. Maybe he’d just better do what the Captain said. He just didn’t know.

“You look like crap!” said Sveinsson, “Maybe if you’re sick, I shouldn’t leave you alone to watch the prisoners then.”

Oh no, thought Leifur, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to go at all. “No, I’ll be okay, really. If I feel too bad, I can always call Gustav out here.”

“Gústav!” exclaimed Sveinsson, “He’d most likely shoot his own foot off!” Sveinsson rubbed his beard as he contemplated his friend’s appearance. This didn’t help Leifur’s nervousness and beads of sweat broke out on his brow.

Sveinsson frowned. “I think we’ll call Gústav out here anyway. You look like you’re about to keel over.” Sveinsson stepped to the doorway and Leifur started to protest but closed his mouth as his counterpart just raised a hand halting further dissent.

Gústav Helgason, the trawlers ‘chef de extraordinaire” poked his head out of the galley whereas Sveinsson motioned him over with a jerk of his head. “I want you to stay out here with Leifur and watch the prisoners until I get back,” stated Sveinsson. “He is not feeling well, which was a definite fact regarding Leifur’s mental state at the moment. “Leifer, give him your gun. No, wait,” as Sveinsson eyeballed Gústav, thinking that he had probably never handled a firearm in his entire life, “instead, you watch the prisoners Leifur, but Gústav,” turning his attention to him, “if he looks like he is about to pass out or something, you take it and watch them, okay?”

Gústav didn’t look overly enthusiastic about the idea but nodded a quiet assent. With that, and somewhat reluctantly, Sveinsson headed off down the passageway to find out what the Captain wanted to bitch about this time.

With a bleak expression, Leifur looked at his watch and made a mental note of when five minutes had passed. Gústav was immediately fidgety. “I can’t wait out here!” he exclaimed, “I have things going in the kitchen!”

Almost relieved to have anything to talk about that would take his mind away from what he was doing, Leifur replied, “Sveinsson will kick your butt if you don’t do as he said.”

With an air of bravado, now that the burly Sveinsson was not present, “No he won’t,” said Gústav, “not if he doesn’t want to be running to the head every ten minutes again.” Defying Sveinsson’s instructions, he flipped the towel he had been holding over his shoulder and proceeded back through the Mess to disappear into the realm of his kitchen.
Leifur couldn’t help himself; a snort and chuckle escaping his lips as he remembered the scene of Sveinsson running for the head with a panicked expression; unbuttoning his trousers along the way. At least he was smarter than Sveinsson. It is not a good idea to get your cook irritated with you. He glanced at his watch again.

From within the Mess, Albert had taken note of Leifur’s preoccupation with the time and turning his head, gave a slight nod to the other officers and non-coms. They discreetly nodded in return and carefully, so as not to attract attention, positioned themselves so as to be able to better spring to action when the moment arrived. It was right then that they all involuntarily jumped when a muffled, distant gunshot reached their ears from the passageway, some of them rising to their feet in a state of apprehension.

Leifur’s head snapped in that direction, looking back down the passageway, then as quickly at his watch. Four minutes had passed. My God he thought, what is happening. Has she killed him? His face screwed up with worry, trying to decide. Then he remembered, the gun was unloaded, there was little he could do if these men decided to rush him. Looking into the Mess, he was startled to see that they looked like that was precisely what many of them were about to do. Marlena’s hunch had been right. Leifur was no hero. Four minutes was close enough. At that, he stepped into the Mess, extending the Sten-gun in an unthreatening fashion to Albert whose eyes, needless to say, had gone wide with surprise. With a resigned sigh, “She said to tell you that she needed her headache powders.”

Leutnant Ringelmann quickly overcame his shock and grabbed the weapon from Leifur’s hands. Giving Leifur a shove toward the door, he exclaimed, “Lead the way! NOW!”

A procession of officers, non-coms and crewmen, led by Leifur and Hessler’s XO armed with the Sten-gun, stormed rapidly up the passageway toward the Captain’s cabin; along the way Albert pulling back the bolt to ensure that the weapon was ready with a round locked and loaded in it’s chamber. He brought up short when to his dismay, the bolt stayed locked back because of the empty magazine. His mouth agape, he looked at Leifur questioningly. Leifur cringed under the accusing glare. In defense, “She did it, not me!”

Albert shook his head in disbelief, wondering just what the holle he was supposed to do with an empty machinegun. Nonetheless, with the sound of that gunshot echoing in his mind, he removed the magazine thus allowing the bolt to go forward, locked it back into place and, with a deep breath of resolve, resumed his hasty progress toward his Kaleun’s location, hoping to holle that he didn’t meet with an armed confrontation along the way.