(story) The Grey Wolf

[DanBiddle]

Here's the next part! Enjoy

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In November 1940, shortly after the successful invasion of France, Admiral Karl Dönitz had moved his Headquarters and the whole of the BdU staff from Paris to a requisitioned mansion just outside Lorient. Kernevel was a striking building, and would have once been very beautiful without the large Nazi banners suspended from windows.

Kapitänleutnant Max Donath had been escorted to a waiting staff car almost as soon as the destroyer had docked in Lorient. He was still wearing the same dirty, oil-stained clothing and had barely been able to speak a few words to the survivors of his crew. The driver had not hung about, and Donath could scarcely remember a faster trip to the house.

As he climbed out of the Mercedes onto the gravelled drive, Donath looked grimly at the SS sentries before walking between them and into the carpeted hallway. A young lieutenant escorted him up the stairs and then down the long hallway to the double doors at the end. A small desk and a couple of chairs were outside the door, and Donath was confronted by a bespectacled lieutenant seated at the desk. He had white cloth between his gold stripes.

He snapped severely, “I’m Merkel, Admiral’s secretary. He’s waiting.”

The inner office had once been the master bedroom. Now it was cleared of all the previous furniture and the wooden floor was covered by a large rug. The walls were panelled in dark mahogany and bookcases covered one wall. A table and chairs sat in one corner of the room and a large balcony dominated the other wall. Dönitz was stood with his back to a radiator, his eyes fixed on the door as Donath entered. He waited until Donath had crossed the room and then thrust out a hand.

“Glad to have you back, Donath.” He gestured to a chair and then crossed to a decanter and glasses.

Donath watched him warily. Dönitz was just the same as he had always been. He was very close to his commanders and men, and Donath had known no better leader. Yet, despite all this, Donath had never been more nervous about an interview with the Admiral.

Dönitz offered him a glass. “Nice drop of brandy.” His eyes were fixed on Donath’s, very clear in the enclosed room. “The French certainly know how to make it!” He added dryly.

Donath sipped it slowly, waiting for Dönitz to begin. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I suspect you’ve learnt more about command in the last two days than the rest of your time in U-boats combined, eh?”

Donath nodded slowly, his hand gripping the glass tighter. It was empty, but he had not remembered drinking the brandy.

“Yes, sir. There was nothing more I could do. The escorts…”

Donath stopped as the Admiral held up a hand. “Stop yourself, Donath. I hold you responsible for the loss of U-31, as it should be, but in no way do I blame you. No matter how experienced or how skilful a commander is, eventually the odds are going to turn against him. Three of our greatest aces were lost nearly a year ago now. I don’t blame them either. Talk me through what happened, eh?”

Donath nodded again as Dönitz refilled his glass. “We had been ordered to attack the convoy, and when we received the order we were set up perfected to intercept. A couple of hours steaming and we dived and picked up their tracks a few thousand metres away. It was exceptionally foggy that morning, and we crept in on the surface, on electric motors to keep the noise down.” Donath stared into space as he relived the experience. “We had just fired a salvo of four at a large tanker in the central column when a destroyer came sprinting in from abeam and fixed us in her searchlight. We scarcely had time to avoid the ram, but avoid it we did. I steered hard a port at ahead flank on the surface to clear the destroyer and then crash-dived once we had some room.” He looked up and looked straight into Dönitz’s eyes. “I have no idea how he found us. There was practically no visibility, and we were silent, yet he came for us as if we were highlighted against the sea.” He shook his head. “It was uncanny.”

Donath took another sip of the brandy. “We went deep quickly, and had a moment’s respite before the depth-charges came. We were kept under for six hours, and one of the last charges ruptured the seals on the propeller shafts.” He spread his hands. “After that, it was game over. We managed to surface, but every time the shafts rotated, they enlarged the leak slightly more, made the pumps work even harder. Then, last night just before dusk they were finally overcome, and we could no longer keep the water out.” He took another gulp of the brandy. “I ordered Hans the signalman to send off an SOS and then put the enigma and codebooks in the weight bag. I dropped them over myself after everyone had got out. One of the rafts burst, so we only had two to use, and as you know we couldn’t all fit on them. We were picked up at dawn.” He lapsed into silence.

Dönitz cleared his throat heavily. “Donath, thank you for reliving it for me. It can’t have been pleasant.” He raised his voice suddenly, making Donath sit up with a jolt. “But now is not the time for brooding! I need all my men now, and experienced commanders are hard to come by these days. If I allow you leave, then you will come back a wreck, totally unsuitable for combat operations. I need you out there, Donath, at least for the next few months. What do you say? If you don’t feel up to it then I will pull you off combat duties.”

Donath sat up straighter, and looked Dönitz in the eye. “I need a command, sir, now more than anything.”

Dönitz nodded sadly. “Yes, everyone in the service heard about your loss, and we are all saddened by it. Now your boat has been lost as well." He paused. "Chin up, lad, you’ve got a lot to give yet.” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “I’m posting you to the 11th Flotilla in Bergen.” He held up a hand again. “I know, you haven’t heard of them. It’s a new flotilla, and still working up. The commander of U-335 was unfortunately shot by an over anxious sentry last night. It’s Norway for you, Donath!”

As Donath left Kernevel in another staff car, all he could think about was the new boat. A fresh start. He had never needed it more.



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Cheers,



Dan

[Kpt. Lehmann]

Good stuff Mr. Biddle.

[U-104]

[Lagger123987]

More!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[azn_132]

Keep on comin, dont stop now.

[DanBiddle]

Thanks for all your comments guys! They make all the difference - it's nice to know it's being appreciated. The next installment will be along soon - although to be honest, Norway in January does sound decidedly cold!

Cheers,

Dan

[Chock]

Whenever I see threads on forums where someone has written a story, I always hope that reading it won't be a disappointment. Unfortunately it very often is.

But not in this case Dan, I was really very pleasantly surprised by how good both of your installments were. You clearly have some talent for writing, and since I spent ten years writing for a newspaper - still do it as a job now as well as teaching a copywriting course - I'd like to think I know what I'm talking about.

You have a great opportunity here too; whenever anyone is writing historical fiction, especially historical fiction that has to include technical details, there are numerous pitfalls awaiting the author. Not only do they have to consider dramatic structure, dialogue, pacing etc, they've also got to be a meticulous researcher, as one slip of detail in an historical story, and they've broken the spell, and lost the reader.

I suspect that if any errors had cropped up in your story, the rivet-counters would have been on it in a flash! Which means you've probably got some of the best technical proof-readers available to you. So here is a great place to hone your work, and when you've done that, go for the big one - write a novel.

There was always a joke going around the writers at the newspapers and other places I've worked with writers that went like this: There are three kinds of writers, those who are in the process of writing their big novel, those who are waiting to start writing it, and those who sit there thinking 'I bet I could write something better than that', but who never start it. I'm in the former group, having been working on mine for approximately the past three years, largely because it too is set in the past and requires tons of research. :rotfl: So it's nice to see another writer who has got off his ass and actually started doing it!

Keep it up Dan, it's good stuff.

Chock

[DanBiddle]

Kapitänleutnant Max Donath stepped down from the staff car and turned towards the fjord. He heard the base commander giving instructions to the driver about something, and wished he could have been alone for these last free moments. Taking command, even joining a ship for the first time, was a testing business. All the way from Lorient, changing trains, holding on to solitude even in crowded compartments, he had thought about it. Then again on the transport as it flew him up to the fjords.

His new company would be much more worried about what their new captain might be like. Why couldn’t he accept that nothing would ever be the same? U-31 was gone. All the faces, the weaknesses, and the rough camaraderie that made any ship were gone. Eight survivors.

He passed the journey north going over the brief notes Dönitz had handed him, putting names to people ho would soon become an everyday part of his life. Whenever he glanced up from his papers, a ruddy-faced major had tried to force him into conversation about the war. What the navy, ‘the blue jobs’ as he called them, really thought about it, while he took occasional sips from a silver flask that certainly didn’t contain coffee. He had not offered it to Donath. He felt his mouth relax into a thin smile. Just as well. I’d probably have told him!

The base commander was speaking again.

Donath turned towards him. “What is it?”

The base commander replied, “Nothing, Donath. Just a young lad joining. Asking about boats. I told him to report to…”

“I’ll take him.”

He caught sight of a young lieutenant with a pile of ill-assorted luggage and an instrument case. He had a solitary star on his sleeve, denoting the rank of Oberfähnrich.

“Great! Thanks!” The man stared in dismay as he saw the oak leaves around the peak of Donath’s cap. “God, I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t realise!” He added helplessly, “I’m joining U-335, you see.”

Donath nodded, and then smiled. “So am I, as it happens.”

The lieutenant slipped the raincoat off his shoulder and saluted. “Meier, sir. Coming aboard to join.”

Donath returned the salute and then turned as the base commander started speaking again. “The tender is here, Donath.”

Donath nodded. “Right on time.”

The base commander replied, but Donath barely heard him. He was feeling in his pockets, half expecting to find his pipe there, but that had gone too, probably when they had picked him up. All the time, he had been trying to hold on to the other man, hearing his voice. Help me. Somebody help me. And another voice, a stranger’s. “No use, sir. He’s gone.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

“What?” He swung on the young officer almost blindly. “What is it?”

“I just realised what a stupid goddamn fool I am. Who you are. What you did.” He shook his head. “And all I do is…”

Donath held out his hand. “Don’t say it. This is an important day for both of us.” He turned as the tender’s engines coughed astern, and the hull came to rest against the jetty’s fenders with barely a shudder.

A lieutenant scrambled ashore and saluted. “Ready when you are, sir.”

Donath turned to shake hands with the base commander. “Thanks for your help, sir.”

“Good luck, Donath.” The other man saluted.”

The lieutenant was staring at Meier, confused, angry perhaps, that something unrehearsed was happening. He was gathering up his bags, and lastly the instrument.

“After you, sir.”

Donath did not raise his voice. “It’s not vital, Mr Meier, but senior officers go last, right? And you’ll have to leave the instrument and one of those bags behind. There’s no room for anything more.

More confusion, until a seaman ran to carry the unwanted bags back to the hard. Donath could feel the scrutiny, the curiosity, perhaps the understanding, too. The navy was a family, after all. He touched the peak of his cap and stepped down into the boat.

“Bear off forrard! Let go aft!” The boat tore away from the jetty and caught Meier off balance; Donath heard a yelp and a bang as he fell in a crumpled heap on the deckplates. A face he would get to know, and the man behind it, like all the rest of them. He gripped the safety rail until his hand throbbed. But not too intimately. Not again.

He looked around at the high valley sides that enclosed the fjord. They were certainly majestic, and had a sad beauty about them. His gaze fell on the partially completed bunker. That would spoil it, he thought. The launch turned a corner and Donath saw her for the first time. U-335, a type VIIC submarine. Almost brand new, she had been commissioned at Emden in early December.

The launch was slowing down but Donath did not move, although his reefer jacket was shining black with spray.

The young lieutenant, Meier, stared at him, wanting to understand, needing to remember this moment for all of time. A senior Kapitänleutnant, he thought, yet so youthful himself. A face you would trust. Believe. He saw the ruffled brown hair playing in the wind underneath the gleaming white cap and smiled. He could hardly be older than 30.

The launch pulled up alongside the U-boat, her decks wet with spray. Meier made to move but the lieutenant pulled him aside. “Seniors in last, out first! Got it?” Meier nodded vaguely, watching as Donath climbed out of the launch and saluted the second-in-command. Meier could see them exchanging words, and then Donath climbed up into the tower and then disappeared through the hatch.

Meier stared in confusion as he found the officer on the U-boat yelling at him. “You there! If you’re joining, then get a bloody move on!” He scrambled hurriedly up onto the casing, ignoring the grins on the faces of the launch crew. As the launch moved away he climbed down the ladder. He had a lot to learn, he thought grimly.

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“Sit down please.” Donath was seated in the centre of the wardroom bench waiting for his officers to get settled before beginning the introductions. It was a tight squeeze around the table; Dönitz had already mentioned that U-335 would have a full complement of officers.

He looked around at each one of them before beginning. “Very well. I don’t believe I’ve ever met any of you before, but some of you may know me from Lorient or earlier in the war. Some of you are as new to me as you are to the service.” He let his gaze rest on Meier, who grinned at him. “Later we shall get to know each other better, all I can say for the moment is to look to your departments and make sure they’re all up to scratch. We will be heading out on patrol this afternoon, so make sure you’re all sorted.” He smiled at them. “Now, I’m sure we will get along fine.” He looked to his right, “And now if the first lieutenant could introduce you all I’ll be able to put names to faces!”

Donath looked at his first lieutenant as he began to speak. He was tall and thin, and had the slight stoop all submariners acquired after a time. He held an arm out and motioned to the officer sitting directly to Donath’s left. “Oberleutnant Ludwig Altern, Engineering Officer.” Donath had a quick impression of dark curly hair and a broad grin. He nodded, aware of Donath’s scrutiny. The first lieutenant moved along to the next man. “Leutnant Wilhelm Hartmann, Navigation Officer.” Hartmann nodded, “Sir.” Donath looked at the man who would become a key member of their little community, yet he seemed vaguely out of place. Handsome and well-bred, with the easy drawling tone of one who could be slightly contemptuous of those around him. His grave features betrayed no emotion, and his pale grey eyes were calm and assured. A hard man to know, Donath thought to himself.

The others were Leutnant Manheim Brezinka, Torpedo Officer; a dour looking man with sharp features and darting eyes. He seemed on edge, and Donath wondered if his nerves were betraying him. The last member was Oberfähnrich Hans Meier, who Donath had already met. As junior officer, he was assigned the task of decoding and coding up their signals and generally learning everything he could about submarines. Fresh-faced and with almost delicate features, it was hard to picture him as a man of action. He still wore a broad grin, obviously not too upset that his luggage had been cut down to almost a third. Donath knew from his documents that Meier had passed his submarine and gunnery courses at the top of the list. There was obviously more to him than was instantly recognisable.

The last member was Oberleutnant Rudi Frenzel, the first lieutenant. He had been watching the man during the brief introductions, and his even tone suggested that he was a dependable man. He was the most experienced officer on board aside from Donath, and he was also one of the oldest.

“Very well, men. Prepare the boat for sea. We leave in two hours.” Donath nodded to them as they stood up and left the wardroom, departing to their particular parts of the boat. Hartmann was no doubt going over his charts and specialised equipment, Frenzel off to make some last check of the stores.

As first lieutenant, he was responsible for the trim of the boat at all times. He had to supervise the loading, and take account of the tiniest addition of weight. He would be kept busy for the entire cruise, and had to be totally on top of his game; it had been known for a U-boat’s bow to rise right out of the water when a torpedo was fired, all because the first lieutenant had forgotten to take into account their loss in weight. Frenzel looked like a pro, and Donath was quite content in trusting him to get the job done.

Meier was the only one who hadn’t moved. He was no doubt curious, and as Donath watched he could see Meier’s eyes roving all over the wardroom, taking in all the new sights and smells. He had seemed quite incredulous when he had first come aboard; most are shocked at the cramped conditions. He seemed happy enough about it now though. Donath stood up and walked slowly to his cabin. He sat down and brought out the orders he had been given by the base commander a few hours earlier.

It seemed the 11th Flotilla was to be engaged well up in the northern reaches of the Atlantic. U-335 had been given orders to patrol grid AD78, approximately 5000 kilometres away, bang in the middle of the Denmark Strait. Donath hoped BdU had seen fit to equip the crew with cold weather gear, or it would be a very unpleasant cruise.

Two hours later he stood at the front of the bridge, watching as Meier’s deck party took control of the mooring lines. He heard the diesels rumble into life behind him and saw Meier wave to him as the last line was cast off. He bent down and uncovered the voicepipe. One last glance around and then he spoke to Frenzel down in the control room.

“Take her to sea, Number One.”

He was back.



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Cheers,



Dan