Chapter Eighteen – There Be Pirates!
“How long do you think we’re going to have before anyone starts wondering where the Colonel is at?” asked Albert.
“I don’t know for certain,” I replied, “but if they call in here looking for him, I am relying upon him to be very convincing that everything is alright.”
Albert chuckled. “After that performance earlier today, I would think so. Be careful with him though. Every time he looks at you I can see murder in his eyes. He wants you dead real bad!”
It was almost 3 p.m. We now occupied the weather station and possessed eight Amerikan prisoner’s of war, our grand prize being a full bird Colonel of the U.S. Army; not to mention having liberated a former British Motor Torpedo Boat and a smaller launch located in the boathouse.
Albert and I were discussing our next plan of action while sitting in the rather luxurious settings of the main cabin aboard the torpedo boat-cum-pleasure craft. I am not ordinarily a lover of scotch but I had to give the colonel credit, as I took another sip from the leaded cut-crystal glass, this was really very good, as far as scotch went.
As it turns out, the vessel, amongst other equipment, was given over to the Amerikans when they took over occupation, allowing most of the British military personnel to go home and be reassigned to more critical areas of the war. As it was all but impossible to get about to the various locations on Iceland by any other means than by sea, Colonel Weyland, who was now our prisoner, had taken it upon himself to claim the boat for his own personal use; utilizing his power in rank to have it outfitted quite comfortably. I found it a pity that I could not figure out a way to take it home with me.
Based upon that morning’s reconnaissance mission led by Leutnant Pfennings, we used the information to formulate a plan and capture the enemy weather station. The operation went so smoothly that it was almost sinful. Pfennings had been right. Their lack of proper sentries was shameful to say the least, and had this Colonel been under my command, I would have had him court-martialed for gross dereliction of duty. Interrogation of the prisoners had revealed that the only reason that there was a sentry on the dock was to forewarn the Colonel above of the imminent arrival of a superior, which was unlikely to happen, but even more so to protect his cache of liquor from being pilfered by the men manning the weather station.
Before assaulting the installation, it had been my suspicion that getting any information or cooperation out of a Colonel would be extremely difficult. Therefore, immediately after capturing them, I’d had him separated from the enlisted men, which was common procedure anyway.
Well out of earshot or view of the Colonel, one of them was taken away where, under the duress of a liberated tommy-gun being pointed at him, he was made to remove his uniform whereas one of my men of similar size donned it. Shortly after, I had the Colonel brought to the open door of the weather station. Careful to have arranged our charade so as to have the sun shining toward us, hence making details more difficult to make out, I informed him that I fully expected him to be difficult so I had arranged a special show for him.
With that said, my crewman, dressed in the Amerikan soldier’s uniform, was marched out into the open a good fifty yards away; again so as to make it impossible for the Colonel to discern this man from one of his own. I myself could only make out silhouettes of those involved with the sun almost behind them as it was. The “prisoner” was standing just in front of the two guards who had marched him out, his hands tied behind his back. One of the guards, turned to look in my direction and said, “Kaleun?”
That is when I said to proceed. The ‘prisoner’ was shoved where, preplanned, he fell forward on his face; very convincingly too. It must have hurt and I made a mental note to give him extra liberty later on for his performance. Having spoken amongst my crew to ascertain the correct English words, from his place on the ground, he gave a very convincing terrified scream, in English, of “Please! No!” It was then that the guard who had shoved him raised the machinegun and fired a burst of six or seven rounds into the dirt a few feet to my crewman’s side. The impact of the bullets, as well as the muzzle blast, made him jump involuntarily but, from where we stood, it looked all that much more convincing. One could not tell that he had not just been shot in cold blood.
As the infuriated Colonel rounded on me and cut loose with a stream of obscenities that I will not repeat here, I was praying that none of my men outside would start laughing, hence making the Colonel suspicious of something “Rotten in Denmark.”
Allowing him to vent for a few moments, I then asked him if he was finished. By then he had so winded himself and his face was so red, I seriously worried that he was about to have a stroke. For the moment he could only glare at me with absolute hatred. I then proceeded to inform him that this was an example of what would happen to the others if he did not cooperate, fully. Needless to say, he was very visibly shaken as he was led away. The whole point of this ruse was to persuade him to be convincing, under threat of killing another of his men, should somebody call here looking for him.
Meanwhile, the Amerikan prisoner was given back his uniform, no worse for the wear other than a bit of dirt, most of which was easily brushed off. For the time being we kept him isolated from the others so that the rest would think that we had indeed just executed one of their own. As I had suspected, they were all far removed from the war and this was the closest they had come to actual physical violence. We had them scared ****eless and quite cooperative; for the moment anyway. On the other hand, a frightened person can become desperate and dangerous too. Strict orders were given not to become lax in guarding them.
The Colonel was not overly liked by the enlisted ranks and although they would only give name, rank, and serial number when questioned about other things, it was not too difficult to extract from them information about Colonel Weyland. As it turned out, we discovered that the station itself was nothing more than what it appeared to be, a weather information gathering station located on the end of a lonely promontory; certainly nothing important enough to require the presence of such a high-ranking officer as that of Colonel Weyland.
His whole reason for being here was weather, nothing more; unless it was perhaps to make periodic escapes from his responsibilities in his military role here in Iceland; a role of which we had not been able to ascertain as of yet. The Colonel had been a university professor teaching meteorology when the war broke out. Like most other patriotic Amerikans, he joined the lines at the recruiting stations and his education and diplomas all but guaranteed him an officer’s commission. How he had made it up to Colonel, nobody had a clue. All these men
did know was that he made their lives miserable every time he came out here to relax aboard his ‘personal’ yacht and dabble in meteorology; at the same time treating them like they were his personal servants or something.
I did not expect them to love me for it, then maybe they would, but I had full intentions of taking Colonel Weyland off their hands, returning him home with us where I would turn him over to Etappendienst. I did not personally care what he did here in Iceland or how he had managed to make Colonel, all I wanted was his boat. I supposed I could leave him here but figured Intelligence would appreciate the gift. Either way, his career was finished, whether as a prisoner-of-war or when his upper command discovered that he had so easily allowed the enemy to capture him and this station.
Having their radio logs deciphered by one of my crew who read and spoke perfect English, we discovered that the station submitted general reports every Monday supplemented with additional reports should they detect an imminent change in the weather. It was now Saturday and I was hoping to holle that we would be aboard Pedersen’s boat and well on our way home by the time Monday rolled around.
As I sat there with needle and thread, replacing insignia on my tunic, I could not help but chuckle at the mental image of the look on Weyland’s face when we captured him. We had begun our assault on the station at precisely noon that day, guessing that some of them would be sitting down to their mid-day meal; meaning fewer of them moving about and possibly spotting one of us before we could carry off our plan.
One team, consisting of the majority of the crew, had gone above by the same route that the reconnaissance team had taken that morning. They were armed with the two Sten-guns while I, still aboard the trawler with a few men, was armed with the revolver. As the time drew near, the engine was started and we carefully made our way out of the cove and proceeded slowly toward the dock; just another of the myriad of trawlers seen passing to and fro in their business of catching fish.
Earlier, I had gone through what remained of the personal effects of the previous crew. I didn’t expect to find much of a feminine nature but did find a scarf with a horridly ugly flower print on it. This I put over my head, tying it beneath my chin. Perhaps it had belonged to the crewman’s girlfriend or wife. I suppose I’d never know. All of the insignia was removed from my tunic whereas it was then turned inside out, revealing the satiny lining, which from afar, made it look more like something of a woman’s coat. My white blouse underneath would suffice but with what I had planned, needed something roomier so borrowed a white shirt from one of our larger crewmen. I remember giggling after putting it on, thinking it made me look like I was wearing a tent. The trousers would not do however and there wasn’t a thing aboard the trawler that even remotely looked like a skirt.
Dortmund, seeing our dilemma, took a bedsheet and, using various foodstuffs and iodine from the medicine cabinet, did a surprisingly reasonable job of creating a flowery pattern that would pass a glancing inspection. It would never make Paris fashions but was good enough for what we intended to do. This was wrapped about my waist and secured. My shoes looked too regulation so, in the guise of a fisherman’s wife, I donned a pair of old work-boots that had belonged to one of the former crewmen. They were so big, yet the smallest to be found, that I had to wear four pair of socks to keep the things from literally falling off my feet. That was good enough though as I wasn’t going to be goose-stepping anyway, effecting by my plan, nothing more than a shuffle. The final coup de grâce was a pillow, carefully plumped and rounded then stuffed under my shirt. My left arm across my stomach to hold it in place while beneath it lay concealed the Lebel revolver.
Midshipman Staats, spoke fluent Dutch so was selected to portray my husband. Although German was a common enough language on Iceland, I didn’t want to press our luck, so, Staats replaced his uniform with clothing from the crews possessions and made a very convincing-looking fisherman, including the smell. I don’t think these had been laundered recently for the smell of fish was quite aromatic, to say the least.
As the trawler eased up to the dock at about ten till twelve, the sentry, whose attention was entirely upon our boat, was trying to wave us off. His look of dismay was compounded by the view of what appeared to be a fisherman and his pregnant wife; Staats holding my arm and assisting me to the dock, all the while rattling away in Dutch for a doctor while I moaned and carried on like I was being murdered.
I had been present when my cousin Trudi had her baby and still remembered the spectacle well. In fact, well enough that I knew that I was in no hurry to go through that ordeal myself! I definitely remembered enough of it to be able to give a believable performance of a woman in the advanced throes of labor.
It must have been quite a scene for any who could have witnessed it. The soldier on the dock was becoming more panicked, insisting that we could not dock there. I was drowning him out with my overdramatic moans and screams, and all the while Staats was rattling away with a machinegun staccato of Dutch, none of which the Amerikan soldier understood.
Staats made a very convincing job of looking the nervous would-be father for he didn’t have to act that part. He was already nervous as a cat having kittens as all we had was that revolver which looked pitifully inefficient when compared to the sinister-looking Tommygun that the sentry had. At least he had it slung over his shoulder so as to free both hands, all the better to gesticulate that we weren’t supposed to dock here.
I chose that moment to collapse and lie on my back on the dock, which, as planned, only served to panic the soldier even more. To this soldier, he was utterly convinced that he was about to witness a baby being born right there and then and wanted nothing to do with it! No Siree Bob! He had given up trying to get us to leave about the same time we heard “What in Sam Hill is going on here soldier!”
As it turned out, it was the Colonel who, rather than being up above, had come down to his boat to select some choice tidbits from his personal stash for lunch. God forbid that he should subject himself to eating K-rations with the rest of his men.
The soldier stepped back quickly, allowing the Colonel to come forward, thankful that there was somebody else here to handle this female crisis for which few men knew how to cope. As the Colonel squatted down to have a better look, he exclaimed, “Jesus H. Christ! This woman’s having a baby! That was when my hand slipped under the pillow and came back out with the business end of the revolver pointing right between his eyes. At the same time, Staats, who also spoke very good English, instructed him to tell the guard to put his weapon down on the dock and step away from it..
At such close range, there was no missing and the Colonel was very well aware of it. Begrudgingly, he did as ordered and, with the exception of my wounded, the balance of my crew aboard the trawler, came swarming out of their hiding places onto the dock. The Thompsen was immediately taken into custody by my own men and by my orders, the two were taken aboard the MTB while we awaited the results of the skirmish above, which as it turned out, didn’t amount to much at all.
As the Colonel and sentry, still in stunned disbelief, were taken below, a burst of laughter escaped my lips and some of my men looked at me. I just shook my head and they passed it of as a release of nervous tension. Had they known the truth, or had I articulated with what I had been thinking then, I imagine not a few of them would be laughing too but I didn’t want an uproar from below gaining the attention of any above if the assault party up there was not fairing well. Still I could not suppress a smile as in my head I was rattling off Pirate jargon of, “Aaargh! Avast ye me hearties! Shiver me timbers as this fortress be our'n!”
Not knowing at the time how things were progressing up top, one of my crew manned one of the AA guns on the MTB and swung the muzzle upward. Although it proved not necessary, it would have been a woeful experience for anyone other than my own crew had they poked their nose over the stair-railing above.
Tying off the last stitch, biting off the thread, then donning my tunic, I thought to myself, “Okay Wolfgang, we’ve done our part. Where are you?”
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Chapter Nineteen – The Witching Hour
The initial elation over our easy success in capturing the weather station had worn off. Now everybody was restless with anxiety as we waited for word from U-735. The trawler had been tucked away again, out of immediate sight inside the little cove, and the worst of our wounded had been transferred to the MTB, which is where Lt. Ringelmann was staying to watch over them. Seaman Scheil was still hanging on but Albert was not optimistic that they would be able to save his leg. One way or the other, the war was over for him.
Five of the enlisted prisoners were confined and under guard in their bunk-room. A sixth, under close scrutiny, was manning their radio, and the seventh, the one we had used earlier that day to perform our ‘execution’ ruse, was still being kept isolated from the others down below in the MTB. The rest of his friends still believed him dead and for the time being, I wanted to keep it that way; hence insuring their cooperation lest the same happen to them. As far as Colonel Weyland, he was bound and kept with those of us who had elected to stay in the weather station’s radio room. This included me, Midshipman Staats, for his expertise with English, and currently, Petty Officer Reinhardt who kept a watchful eye on the Colonel, one of the Thompsens cradled across his lap.
Wiese opted to stay at the radio aboard the MTB and monitor the frequency that Pedersen had transmitted on previously. Some of the men had been dropping in on him so much that I finally had to order them to leave him alone. He would notify us if anything came through; of course, after issuing such orders, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty myself for ‘dropping’ in on him periodically. He would greet each visit with a solemn shake of his head then we would both sit there, staring at the radio as if willing a message from U-735 to come through.
I had tried to persuade Wiese to turn in earlier and let another relive him but he declined, insisting he was fine. I knew otherwise as I could see the fatigue on his features, but he had such a pleading look in his eyes that I decided to allow it for a few more hours. Operation of the radio was his forte and it was important to him to be the one who received the message that would save us.
The hours rolled slowly by with nothing other than occasional chatter on the radio completely unrelated to us. It almost drove one nuts though as you would be sitting there quietly with your own thoughts only to jerk your head up every time a peep of a sound came out of that speaker.
It was 22:00 hours and although I new that they would not sleep soundly, I had earlier ordered much of the crew to turn in. A bunk had been moved into the radio room for the Colonel and he appeared to be asleep, although I doubted it. His breathing did not match that of a person deeply immersed in slumber.
After numerous protests earlier, he had been threatened with being gagged and since then, had remained relatively quiet. As he still believed that I had cold-bloodedly murdered one of his men, his hatred for me was intense and I was taking no chances; keeping his hands bound and under close guard. Despite the warning that more of his men would be shot if he failed to cooperate, the Colonel knew that he was in a dire situation and I would not put it past him to try something stupid, given the opportunity.
The changing of the guard had just taken place and those relieved had exited the building to head off to their bunks aboard the trawler. It was our plan that when the time came for us to depart, those on the trawler would stay put; while the remainder of us would head down to the MTB and then meet them at the cove where they would then transfer to the Torpedo Boat. The trawler would be left behind where it was my hope that one day the original owner, Captain Gestur Þór Jóhannsson, would be able to retake possession.
Those prisoners not going with us, which were all of them except for the Colonel, would be bound so as not to be of any hindrance in our escape. The soldier imprisoned aboard the MTB would be released but by the time he would be able to climb those stairs from the dock and release his friends, we would be well on our way to rendezvous with the trawler. They would be helpless to do anything about it as we had taken possession of all of their weapons and the radio would not do them much good when shredded with bullet holes.
It had been our plan earlier to use the trawler as a red herring to the enemy, sending it unmanned on it’s way out to sea, however, with the advent of Pedersen coming into the fjord combined with the speed of the MTB, I decided this would be unnecessary and, if anything, would only slow things down once the ball started rolling. On a personal level, I was glad of it anyway as I had already done enough to poor Captain Jóhannsson without causing him the permanent loss of his boat as well.
It was twelve past the hour and I was seriously considering turning in my self for awhile when Seaman Schuller burst through the door, bent over trying to catch his breath while extending a scrap of paper in my direction. “It’s them, Kaleun Hessler!” he gasped. I grabbed the message from his hand and scanned it quickly, my lips moving wordlessly to the words of the message.
NORWEGIAN TRAWLER KAMPETORSK STOP
TO KAPT DRAKKAR ON TRAWLER NACHTGESPENST STOP
NEARLY HOME STOP
WILL SPEAK TO SCOUNDREL WOFGANG IN 2 TO THREE HOURS STOP
HE IS A VERY GOOD LISTENER STOP
HOPE TO SEE YOU SOON STOP
KAPT PETERSEN STOP
Clutching the message with both hands, I brought it to my lips and said a silent prayer of thanks. Those of my crew present in the radio room were motionless in anticipation. I lifted my eyes and, with a smile, I said, “Two hours. We move at midnight.” My statement was met with jubilant conversation amongst the others. Even including the time it would take for us to get down to the MTB, collect those at the trawler, then be on our way, it would take no more than an hour at the most to reach the middle of the fjord where we would then shut down so Wiese could signal them with Morse by banging on the hull with a hammer. Reading between the lines in his message, I had no doubt that all their senses would be attuned for any sort of signal or message from us. I smiled as I imagined the look on Wolfgang’s face when he saw the vessel we had made good our escape on.
I reminded Reinhardt and Staats to keep a close eye on the prisoners while I went down to the MTB to send a reply. It was a little more than twenty past ten when I reached the torpedo boat. I had composed my message along the way and Weise was waiting, all previous traces of tiredness vanished with the excitement of imminent rescue. Those of my crew aboard the MTB had already been informed of the message and had gathered around Wiese while waiting for my arrival. I relayed my message to Wiese who, after jotting it down, immediately began transmitting.
WILL MEET AT MIDDLE OF FJORD STOP
NORTH OF BOLUNGARVIK STOP
AFTERWARD WILL BUY DINNER THERE STOP
FAMOUS FOR SMOKED HERRING AND BLUE VELVET CAKE STOP
YOU WILL LOVE NEW BOAT
SEE YOU THEN STOP
KAPT DRAKKAR
Wiese’s expression bore that of a puzzled frown as he hadn’t a clue what I was sending but did not pause to ask, knowing that we had been communicating in rhymes, riddles, and music from the beginning.
After he had finished, I explained to him that I still feared the enemy intercepting our message so, decided to send them on a wild goose chase if they did. Rather than have them scouring Amarfjordur with their aircraft, I chose Bolungarvik well away to the north. I was counting on Wolfgang to remember the cake we had at the Drakkar some months back in honor of one of the boat commander’s birthday. It had been “Red” Velvet Cake, but I didn’t want to risk giving
too much information to the allies. There was no such thing as ‘Blue” velvet cake but I was counting on them not to know that.
We would just have to hope that Herr Pedersen or one of his crew would realize that the combination of herring and ‘red’ velvet cake indicated “Red Herring” in regards to Bolungarvik; another ruse to throw off the enemy. He would know that I would have been hard-pressed in the time allowed from the last message to have gotten that trawler up there from Amarfjordur. I was just glad that it was almost impossible to hit one of these MTB’s with a torpedo should he become alarmed before we could message him; but then there
were those acoustics, hence my addition of ‘new’ boat in the message. I just hoped that the warning would be enough to make his hand pause on the “fire” button, despite our being an MTB.
Even in the event that he did fail to pick up on the clue and turned around, with the speed of the MTB, we would be able to race ahead and periodically pound a message through the hull until we got close enough for him to hear us. Wolfgang was no fool though, he would know.
Wiese was grinning like a loon, shaking his head in wonderment, “Perhaps you should go to work for Etappendienst after this Kaleun.”
I replied with, “Who says that I don’t now?” raising one brow. This threw him for a loop and his eyes grew wide. Although I didn’t, I left him with that to ponder over as, with an amused smile, I turned to one of the seamen and gave him orders to go over and alert the crew on the trawler to abandon it and get over here. We had some time to spare and I didn’t want to waste a single minute when it came time for us to depart.
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For once, the time passed pretty quickly as we prepared for our departure. All of the crew at the trawler had come over and some of them were topside assisting with tying up the prisoners. I’d had the guard doubled up for this as I did not wish for any of them to try something foolish at the last moment. It probably wasn’t necessary when they all just about jumped out of their skins when the report of one of those Thompsens opened up right in the next room. Reinhardt had just emptied a magazine in the process of turning their radio into Swiss cheese. The look on some of their faces told me that they still were not entirely sure that they were not going to be killed before we left.
Colonel Weyland had been escorted down to the MTB and secured snugly aboard. We had still not released the soldier held prisoner there and I wasn’t there when the Colonel saw him, just as healthy as the day before he believed we had shot him, but I was told that the invective that spewed from his lips would have made a whore blush. The crew got a pretty good laugh at his embarrassment of being so easily fooled.
Including the Colonel, there would be thirty of us aboard the patrol craft and it was a real snug fit to say the least. Of course, all of the bunks went to the wounded with the rest of us fitting ourselves in wherever we could. Along with me, and my XO, many of the men chose, despite the chill, to stay topside. Leutnant Pfennings, who was qualified on flak guns, chose a position at one of the two 20mm twin Oerlikons and sent one of the men to man the other. I silently prayed that we weren’t going to need them.
By now it was ten minutes shy of midnight. By Pedersen’s last message, he would either be in position or be there within the hour. That was close enough for me. The order was given to release the ‘dead’ prisoner and as the three powerful engines rumbled to life, his bonds were removed and he was seen to the dock.
As we pulled away, I could see his receding figure standing there as he watched us tear off across the fjord. The moon was out tonight, which I would have been perfectly happy without, for it made the white froth of our wake stand out like a signal beacon. I was really hoping that if the allies had intercepted our message, they would fall for my ruse and be concentrating their surveillance on Bolungarvik instead of here. I did derive some peace of mind in the fact that they would be looking for a trawler rather than one of their MTB’s.
“Well, there he goes,” mentioned Albert, “He’ll have the rest of them loose in another ten minutes.”
With my face into the wind, the speed of the craft was exhilarating and I found myself wondering why I hadn’t gone for Schnellboots instead. At Albert’s comment on the actions of the American soldier, I shrugged my shoulders in dismissal. “Little enough any of them can do now.” I replied. “They’ll be cooling their heels until their next supply vessel shows up or somebody comes around to see why there hasn’t been any radio transmissions. By then we’ll be well on our way home.”
I had no sooner uttered those last words when Albert quipped, “What in holle is he doing? Does he think he is going to pursue us with that launch?”
At that I looked back myself. We were well enough away that details were difficult to make out but in the moonlight it could be seen that, rather than head up the stairs to the aid of his comrades, he had opened one of the doors to the boathouse and had disappeared inside. Others of the crew were curious now too, alerted to his actions by Albert’s comment, and were trying to get a look when Zinke, who was on watch with a pair of binoculars, screamed “Down!” At the same time I saw a small blossom of muzzle flash. “What the holle!” I thought when the flash repeated itself and the distinctive whine of a ricocheting bullet whined off of the boat. By the time there was a third flash, I was ordering Lt. Pfennings to return fire.
A moment later, the twin barrels of the Oerlikon had opened up and I had dropped down, or had I fallen, behind what little cover there was on deck while others of the crew were scrambling to do the same. I was trying to figure out why the pounding report of the AA guns, as they ripped the dock and boathouse to splinters, was sounding farther and farther away when it was only a few meters from me. The night had been cloudless but I looked up nonetheless to see what was obscuring the moon and making it darker. The last thing I remembered was the taste of blood on my lips as the report of an explosion reached the MTB when some of Pfennings 20mm rounds found the fuel tank aboard the launch.
The resulting blast completely destroyed the smaller craft and boathouse and the night sky was lit up as the wreckage of the dock and stairway began to blaze. To all of this, however, I was oblivious.
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Chapter Twenty – Cutting It Close
I was watching the inferno as what little remained of the boathouse, as well as the wooden dock and stairway, went up in flames. There must have been a rifle overlooked somewhere in the boathouse or launch and, instead of immediately going up to secure the release of his counterparts, the prisoner we had released decided, for whatever reason instead, to throw some parting shots our way.
He had only gotten off three or four shots before Lt. Pfennings opened up with the Oerlikon; hence silencing him as well as setting the entire dock array ablaze when one of the 20mm rounds found the fuel tank of the smaller launch inside the boathouse.
“Well,” with a certain degree of smugness in my voice, “he won’t be doing that anymore shall he Marlena?”
A voice cried out in alarm, “Leutnant Ringelmann!” My nerves jumped to attention as I turned to see what our new crisis was, half expecting to see a destroyer or the like bearing down on us. Instead, I would swear that my heart literally stopped beating for a moment, as in the sharpened shadows cast by the moonlight, lay the prostrate form of Kaleun Hessler; with Petty Officer Eckermann kneeling over her.
I could not say if I threw Eckermann aside or what, for I truly do not remember, but in a flash I had replaced him as I first checked for signs of life. Besides other duties, I also served as the boats medical officer as, before the war, I had been just shy of my second year in medical school. How I wound up as second to Kaleun Hessler was another story altogether that we shall save for another time.
A wave of elation came over me as, contrary to my expectations, I found a strong pulse at the base of her neck on the carotid artery. No sooner had I tersely called for it, when her upper torso and head was disclosed in a restricted pool of light that escaped between Eckermann’s fingers as he clasped them over the lamp to prevent the light being visible nowhere else but upon our commander.
A despairing “Scheiße!” escaped his lips as the light revealed a pink, bubbly froth at her lips; a lung wound! I called for help to get her below where I could get more light as well as, more importantly, get her in out of the cold. I did not have to ask twice as more than enough willing hands helped me lift her and carry her down into the cabin of the torpedo-boat.
Despite the crowded conditions, crewmen made way as we carried her to one of the few remaining bunks that was not already occupied by one of our wounded. With Eckermann’s assistance, I removed her tunic and popped buttons as I tore open her blouse. I found what I expected; a sucking wound just below her right breast. The soldier had most likely been using either an M1 Garand or a British Enfield rifle, both of which were very powerful just like our Mauser 98K. Due to the military’s use of full-jacketed bullets, which greatly reduced or eliminated altogether any mushrooming effect, I expected, and hoped, to find an exit wound. If there wasn’t it would mean that the bullet had most likely been deflected by bone and had bounced around inside her chest cavity creating catastrophic damage. That she was still alive and breathing, albeit with some difficulty, I doubted this was the case and I shouted for something airtight to cover the hole with before her lung collapsed entirely. Pulling her up enough to allow my hand to slide beneath her, I was relieved to find the exit wound I was hoping for.
A piece of rubberized cloth, haphazardly cut from somebody’s slicker was handed to me and, before applying this over the hole on her chest, I dusted the wound with sulfa powder from the MTB’s first aid kit. Asking for another ‘patch’, I dusted the exit wound beneath her right shoulder blade and covered the hole with the airtight material. Results were instantaneous as her labored breathing improved dramatically. Carefully holding the patches in place with my hands, thick pads of medical gauze was placed over them and then, with Eckermann’s assistance, her torso was wrapped with bandages to hold it all in place. There was little more I could do for her now but pray that there was not too much internal bleeding. I knew that she was not hemorrhaging or we would have lost her by now. There was morphine but this would be saved for when she was conscious and should the pain be unbearable. All we could do now was make her as comfortable as possible, keep her warm, and pray that they had brought medical equipment and personnel more qualified than myself.
Had there been anyone to see, the patrol-boat continued steadfastly on it’s way across the placid, cold, moonlit waters of the fjord. A peaceful setting as if all was well with the world.
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While working on her wounds, I had heard the Colonel say something but as my English is poor and I was thoroughly absorbed with saving Kaleun Hessler’s life, I had made little out of it other than remembering hearing the unmistakable sound of somebody’s fist making hard contact with a jaw. No more was heard from the Colonel.
Not that she was out of harms way by a long shot, but the worst of the crisis was over so I now had time to take in my surroundings and see what the commotion had been about regarding our captive.
Assigning Eckermann to watch over her and to send for me immediately should her condition appear to worsen, I turned to find a good many of the crew watching me. Their breathing seemed as if in a single collective pause as their searching eyes tried to read mine for news regarding Kaleun Hessler’s fate. It had been a very long day and now I could feel the exhaustion and all I wanted to do was sit down somewhere. This luxury I could not afford however, as there were still other things for me to see too; what with command now resting upon my shoulders. Summoning as much calm to my voice as I could muster, I told them that her chances were very good. This seemed to be all they wanted to hear and they all visibly relaxed, as best as one would under such circumstances, some wanting to shake my hand for saving her.
I elected not to tell them that if our rescuers did not bring sufficient medical help and medicines, I would be highly surprised if she lived to see Bergen again. These men had already lost many of their comrades and, being so close to rescue, I did not wish to plunge their morale any more for the moment. Between now and the time we boarded U-735, I would spend little time away from her side. She was one holle of a woman and commander. There was not a man in her crew who would not follow her to holle and back merely at the asking. I thought of the man who commanded the 735, having met him a few times myself at the Drakkar, and how much she loved him. For her sake, and maybe his too, I just hoped to holle he was worth it.
Regarding Colonel Weyland, who lost no love for our commander, I learned from Midshipman Staats that he had said, during my harried attempts to save her, that should she die, he would personally, after the war, find the soldier who had shot her and give him a medal. Surrounded by men who all but worshipped her and were inspired by her leadership, that was a poor thing to say and most certainly the wrong place to say it. Staats, without a word, had hauled off and cold-cocked him as hard as he could with an uppercut to the Colonel’s jaw.
I saw to Staat’s swollen knuckles, informing him that I would have to stitch one of them that had busted open as soon as I had the sutures to do so. The Colonel I saw to in a more leisurely fashion, not being, to honestly say, that I cared a great deal regarding his welfare. From the look of the Midshipman’s knuckles, I was surprised to discover that Weyland’s jaw was not broken. He was certainly going to be hurting when he came to and would undoubtedly have more than a few loose teeth to show for his stupidity.
Glancing back at Marlena who lay in a semi-restful state of repose, I wearily ran my hand through my hair and realized that I needed some air. Weaving my way through the crowd of sailors who had crammed into the cabin to look over their commander’s state, I made my way topside and inquired how much longer to the rendezvous site.
I was surprised to learn that our ETA was only another fifteen minutes, twenty at the most. I hadn’t realized how fast time had slipped by while below seeing to Marlena’s wounds and talking to the crew. I turned my face forward where I watched the reflection of moonlight ripple across the black midnight waters of the fjord. I did a silent prayer in my head pleading that this be the last of our tribulations. I just didn’t think I had the strength to deal with any more troubles; I was so tired.
Ten minutes later I was beginning to think that my prayers had been heard when Wiese, whose face I could see was pale even by the light of the moon, silently came up to me and handed me a message. Apparently he had not divulged the content to any one else as there were a few who had followed him in anticipation of learning what it was. Worry showed on their faces as Wiese’s countenance foretold no news of a pleasant nature.
Ever since the launch back at the weather station blew up, taking the dock and stairs with it in an engulfing torrent of flame, the fear that the fire, which could be seen for a great distance, would attract the attention of enemy aircraft or worse, the arrival of an investigating destroyer or other warship. I countered this fear with the realization that regarding us, they would be looking for a trawler and not one of their own military vessels. Even if we were seen, we would most likely be passed by with little or no attention given to us.
That peace of mind had just ended. Reading the message told me that the prisoners we had left behind had freed themselves from their bonds and had somehow managed to transmit a message alarming the allies of our whereabouts and escape. It read:
ATTENTION ALLIED COMMAND
SURVIVORS OF SUNKEN UBOAT ATTACKED AMARFJORD WEATHER STATION.
TAKEN PRISONER COLONEL WEYLAND AND COMMANDEERED MTB
LAST KNOW POSITION HEADING NORTHEAST FROM STATION AT FULL SPEED.
I had personally seen the damage done to their radio when Petty Officer Reinhardt had emptied a magazine of .45 caliber bullets into it from one of the captured Thompsens. I knew full well that there was no way that radio would ever function again. It left no other explanation than that they must have had a spare or replacement unit out in that storage shed. At the time, we had considered taking out the antenna tower but did not have explosives at hand and had apparently made the mistake of assuming that there were no other radios as none had been seen in the radio-room. A cursory search of the other structures had been made when we captured the facility but it must have been overlooked or in a crate marked as something else.
As my stomach turned with the implications, I went about informing the crew and making sure that the AA guns were manned. By this stage of their pursuit along with the damage we had caused at the weather station, I was not overly confident that the presence of Colonel Weyland would prevent the enemy from blowing us out of the water.
“How close are we!” I inquired of Pfennings, our navigator. “We’re there” he replied, “maybe another five minutes.”
“This will have to do. Stop the boat! Kill all engines!” I commanded. I instructed Wiese to start transmitting whereas he went below with a hammer to start beating out in Morse on the hull of the boat, our message of arrival to U-735.”
I prayed that he was here and all but right under us. After that message went out from the weather station, I did not give us more than thirty minutes, and more likely less, before aircraft would be scouring this area. If we were not aboard U-735 by then, there would be no way he could safely surface and we would have no choice but to surrender when Allied vessels arrived on the scene; that is if they didn’t commence firing on us outright. Time was running out and the outcome was no longer in our hands.
As the thuds of Wiese’s hammer boomed out a hollow-sounding message through the water, all eyes that could scanned the sea for any clue of Pedersen’s boat as well as the night sky for the imminent arrival of the enemy.
( to be continued . . . )
At this point, I cannot write more until I see new input from the other players involved.
Hope you have liked what you have read.
Cheers!