(Story) The Italian Squadron

[danlisa]

Excellent as always.

That was a quick couple of days

[melnibonian]

That was great

[TarJak]

To: U81
From: BDU

Keep up the good work!

Great stuff mate!

[Jimbuna]

Now to sunnier climbs Great stuff dan

[bookworm_020]

Nice to see a new story! Keep it up

[Sgt Swanson]

Good job mate.

[DanBiddle]

Thanks for your replies guys. And many thanks to Danlisa who designed my lovely new sig

************************************************** ***************

The sun had barely risen over the silhouetted hills when the submarine surfaced in the calm, quiet seas. She was moving slowly, only the turbulent water in her wake displayed her movement, and despite being trimmed down, barely any water splashed onto her casing. The blackened and warped decks told their own story, and a casual observer would have been shocked by her appearance.

On her bridge, Hauser stared ahead of the U-boat, identifying the landmarks and steering the submarine up the Gulf towards safety. Next to him stood Merkel, the bulky navigator. The bridge was otherwise devoid of life, although below him seamen were emerging on the casing, preparing the boat for docking. Six days ago Hauser had successfully taken the submarine through the Strait of Gibraltar, and now, as U-81 edged further up the La Spezia Gulf, they were finally about to reach safety.

The steady clanking of the starboard shaft merely served as a reminder of how close it had been, how they had almost remained in the Strait forever. On the side of the conning tower there was a large rent where a cannon shell had scourged the plating, forcing the submarine to dive even as the dead lookouts were pulled below. It was a cruel justice really – it was the lookouts themselves who should have seen the Hurricane in the first place.

Slowly the harbour began to take shape, and Hauser could clearly see the tall hills on either side of them closing in, and up ahead the port rapidly materialising. A sharp order made Hauser turn his head, and he saw the crew lining up on the forward casing in their best white drill, then standing to attention.

Up ahead, he could see the Italian destroyers approaching to escort them into the U-boat pens. Donitz had chosen La Spezia because of its role as a major Italian naval base, and more importantly a submarine base, with ready-made U-boat pens. The hills and the natural gulf made it easier to defend the port as well, and Hauser could just make out carefully sited shore batteries and numerous anti-aircraft guns dotted around the port. For accurate bombing, enemy aircraft would have to fly straight up the narrow gulf, exposing them to a murderous barrage of shells and tracer. Despite this, Hauser could already see the familiar shape of a big concrete bunker ahead; almost exactly the same design as the pens in France.

The destroyers had formed up on either beam now, and one of them surged ahead to lead them through the harbour defences. Hauser merely watched as the U-boat was led through the narrow gap between the breakwaters and then ease up against the greasy piles in the sub-pen. On the dockside, a military band had assembled to welcome them to Italy.

“All secure aft, sir.”

Hauser turned his head as Obst climbed up onto the bridge. He too was wearing his best uniform, the gold buttons glinting brightly in the morning sunlight. He looked strangely alien in his jacket and best cap. For the last few weeks they had seen each other in almost anything but regulation dress.

Hauser had to smile at the contrast between the big, portly navigator and the small, lithe Obst. Despite being only just over five foot six, his hardened, athletic physique had gifted him a solid toughness. Short, fair hair crept from under his cap, and his grey eyes that assessed, calculated and took nothing for granted. His easy grin and keen wit took the edge off his toughness, and Hauser had become firm friends with the restless officer.

“Thank you, Willi. Ring off main engines.”

They saluted and Hauser turned to look down at the dockside again, where some hands were pulling a heavy gangplank into place. Another sharp command and the sailors lined up on the deck started to disperse and head below to gather their gear. The damage U-81 had received on the last patrol meant that the submarine would need to be repaired before commencing another patrol and Hauser was looking forward to a month or so of rest.

Hauser stepped down onto the deck casing, Obst and Merkel following him. The Chief would be telling the maintenance commander the necessary repairs that were needed, and Ulrich was required to stay onboard and assemble the men so that they could be paid and travel warrants handed out. He found himself standing in front of the base commander.

He was genuinely welcoming, his handshake hearty. Other faces moved around Hauser, a pat on the back, more handshakes.

The base commander said, “Good to see you, Hauser! You’re only the seventh boat to make it through, and we’re glad to have a man of your calibre in the theatre.” He looked past Hauser to Obst and Merkel. “Ah, excellent! I see you’ve brought your second-in-command. If I may have a few words with the two of you in my office, you can send your navigator back to the boat with these instructions.” He thrust a large booklet at Hauser, and noticing his confusion, added, “It’s just information about the Italian customs and rules. We don’t want any unnecessary conflict with them whilst we’re here.”

Hauser nodded, and handed the booklet to Merkel who seemed relieved to escape the scrutiny of the base commander. Hauser and Obst followed the commander out of the pens and into the main base building. Hauser was tired, and despite his clean shirt and best uniform he felt dirty and unkempt. The smells seemed to get right inside you and remained after patrol. Diesel and wet metal. Cabbage-water and sweat. He wasn’t too tired to notice the quick exchange of glances between the base commander and his secretary on the outer desk.

It was a large office, and despite being nearly November, brilliant rays of golden sunlight streamed through the windows off to the side of the desk. The commander sat down heavily, and carefully contemplated the two officers sitting opposite them.

“As I said earlier, you are only the seventh boat to make the passage through Gibraltar, and, like many others you are in need of repair. We’ve got three boats out on patrol at the moment, and another ready to go. The other two are in dry-dock.”

He looked away and pulled an official-looking envelope out from under the desk. He looked directly at Obst. “Oberleutnant Obst, you are to report directly to Kiel naval base in two days time. I am only at liberty to reveal that you are to be reassigned. These orders,” he raised his eyebrows, “have come directly from Admiral Donitz.” He shifted his gaze to Hauser. “Whether Oberleutnant Obst accepts his new duties or not, you will be receiving a new second-in-command. He will arrive here within the next few days.”

The commander stood up and walked across to the window, fiddling with the shutters absently. He spoke again, his back still turned. “Oberleutnant, you are dismissed. My secretary will hand you your travel warrant.”

As Obst left the room, the commander turned back to Hauser. “We are invited to a reception at the Governor’s residence tonight, Hauser, so see that you are rested and well dressed. German submariners are still a novelty here, so be prepared for it.”

He walked back over to the desk and sat down. “You’ll have three weeks leave after tonight, and then you are to report here again whilst we discuss your new duties. I’ll see you later on, Hauser. Good Day!”

************************************************** ***************

The reception that evening proved to be even more breathtaking and unnerving than Hauser had imagined it could be. He had entered through the large, double doors and stared up and around the great pillared hall and at the colourful mass of people that seemed to cover every inch of floor space and the handsome hanging balcony as well.

He took his time scrutinising the scene, as the Base Commander, Korvettenkapitän Franz Becker was exchanging words with another high-ranking official. The grey coats of the army were by far the majority, although the Luftwaffe were out in force, and amidst them were a few familiar blue coats of the sea-officers. Interspersed with the German military were the colourful gowns of the ladies and Italian dignitaries. Off to one side of the hall were several long tables stacked with delicacies, the contents of which made Hauser think he was dreaming after a long patrol.

Their nations were at war, yet the tables were groaning under the weight of food. Meats and huge portions of pie, tempting fruits and a glittering array of silver punch-bowls which were being refilled even as he watched.

Becker rejoined him and murmured, “Take a good look at them, Hauser. A man needs to know whom he is serving, as well as his cause!”

A footman greeted them as they walked further into the room, and after a cursory glance at the assembled guests he addressed them in a voice that could probably have been heard in the harbour. “Korvettenkapitän Franz Becker, KC, Kapitänleutnant Hauser, IC.”

Not that it mattered. There was no break in the tide of laughter or conversation, and hardly anyone turned to examine the newcomers. Becker moved them nimbly through the fringe of the crowd, nodding to a face here, pausing to pat a sleeve or bow to a lady there. It was impossible to imagine him in his role this morning, the Base Commander. Hauser had forgotten that Becker had served in the Embassy in New York between the wars, and was quite the social animal.

Hauser followed the slight figure through the hall until they reached a table at the far end of the hall. Beyond it and the perspiring footmen another doorway opened out onto a great lawn, where he could see a fountain shining in the reflected glow of numerous lights. A few couples were walked outside, and Hauser looked away as a Luftwaffe Major guffawed loudly.

“Well?” Becker waited until they both had a glass of wine in their hands. “What do you make of them all?”

Hauser turned to study the press of figures by the tables, hearing the strings of an orchestra somewhere as they played throughout the chatter. How anyone could find room to dance in here was a mystery to Hauser.

“It’s like a fairyland, sir.”

Becker regarded him with amusement. “Fools’ paradise is a better description!”

Hauser tasted the wine. Like the glass, it was perfect. He relaxed slightly. The question had put him on guard, but Becker’s comment had shown that he had no intention of testing him.

Becker continued, “Here, you can find proof for the argument that there are always two armies in war.”

Hauser watched him, momentarily forgetting the noise and bustle around him. As he had suspected since this morning, Becker’s social graces hid a razor-sharp mind. A brain which could sift and examine each challenge and problem, and discard everything that was superfluous. The wine was very strong, and the heat of the hall helped to break Hauser’s caution.

“Two armies, sir?”

Becker signalled for more glasses. “Drink your fill. You’ll not find wine like this elsewhere.” He looked carefully at Hauser, studying his features slowly. “Yes, we have the military that daily face the enemy, search out his weakness or try to contain his attacks. Soldiers who live on their feet, know nothing of clean beds or good food. Rommel’s Afrika Korps for example, or like yourselves in the Atlantic.”

“And the others?”

Becker grimaced, and gestured vaguely around the hall. “Behind every great army there is an organisation. The military government, the secretariat, and the traders who live off the fighting like leeches. God alone knows how this war will end. We are fighting on too many fronts, over too vast a span of the world to hope for victory. The Brits in Africa and the Soviets in Russia. If we’re not careful we’ll have the Americans joining in too.”

He placed his hand on Hauser’s shoulder and continued. “To me, duty stands before all else. I would shoot anyone who acted otherwise. But these…” he did not hide his contempt, “these leeches deserve no loyalty. If we must fight a war, we should also ensure they have no gain from our sacrifice!”

Then he smiled, the sudden relaxing of the lines around his eyes and mouth altering him yet again.

“There, Hauser, you have learned the next lesson, eh? First you command respect, then a ship. Next you achieve control of more and larger vessels. That is the way of ambition, without which no officer is worth anything to me.”

He yawned. “Now I must be off.” He held up one hand. “But you remain and continue your education.”

“Will you not stay to meet the Governor, sir?”

Becker smiled cheerfully. “Nobody will meet him tonight. He merely holds these affairs to pay off old debts and to keep his hand in.” He beckoned to a footman. “So enjoy yourself. You have earned it, although I daresay you’d wish it rather Berlin, eh?”

Hauser grinned. “Not Berlin, sir.”

“Ah, of course. A son of the sea. I forgot.” Then with a nod he moved through the door to merge quickly with the deep shadows on the lawn.

Hauser found an empty corner at the end of the table and tried to decide what to eat. He had to have something, for the wind was doing its work well, and he felt unusually light-headed.

“Kapitänleutnant Hauser, correct?”

Hauser turned sharply at the sound of the girl’s voice. He stared at the girl for several seconds, taking in her appearance. She was dressed in a beautiful, low-cut purple gown, and her dark hair, which hung in ringlets over her bare shoulders, shone beneath the chandeliers like silk.

“You will know me if we meet again,” she paused, “Max, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Sorry, I was staring.”

“I think we can forgive you for that!” She smiled at him and ushered him towards the centre of the room. “You may call be Maria.” She watched him closely, and finding no recognition in his eyes continued. “The Governor’s daughter.”

Hauser looked at her again. “I thought you were familiar.”

She turned to face him again. “So, Max, what do you think of Italy?”

At that moment a passing general knocked her into him, and Hauser felt her body close against his, her warmth, and smelt her perfume. It was perfect, just like her appearance. They broke away.

“I think I’m going to like Italy very much,” he smiled unsteadily, “Er...Maria.”

She patted his arm again. “I see you’ve found out how strong our wine is. Come! Let us go outside for a moment.”

As they walked unsteadily across the lawn, Hauser noted that the girl was taking him away from the main building and across the grounds to a smaller, single story one. She opened the door and switch on the light and Hauser looked approvingly at the vehicle in front of him.

It was a Mercedes SSK, a 1929 model. The glassy black paintwork and gleaming silver exhaust vents on the sides of the long bonnet showed the true calibre of the car. It had been known in its time as ‘the Mighty Mercedes’ and even ‘the fastest sports car in the world’. Hauser didn’t want to contemplate how Maria’s father had managed to get his hands on one.

“You like it then, Max?”

“Absolutely!”

She opened the wider doors at the far end and climbed into the driver’s seat. Hauser jumped in next to her as the 7.1 litre engine rumbled into life. The engine growled as the car bounded forward along the straight estate road, the headlights cutting through the darkness like twin white swords. The estate gates were flung wide open hurriedly, and the girl laughed wildly, her hair rippling in the wind.

The tyres screeched in protest as the car turned onto the winding hill road, loose gravel rattling up under the wings. Trees, boulders and small huts flashed in the headlights, distorted into frightening shapes and were swallowed up behind them.

Hauser’s body stiffened as the luminous dial of the speedometer quivering at eighty and slowly rising. The estate had been at the top of the hill overlooking the harbour, and now they were diving down the other side of the hills. He pressed his cap more firmly onto his head. Bloody Italian drivers, he breathed silently.

Maria pressed her foot down harder, regardless of her dress which had blown halfway up her lap. As a wheel grated across a hump in the road, she groped for one of his hands, and breathing hard pressed it down against the smooth skin of her thigh. It lay there, warm and strong, but unmoving as she twisted her head to see his face.

It was at that very second that Hauser saw the small figure standing transfixed in the swinging headlights.

“For Christ’s sake!” He screamed. “Look out!” He scrabbled vainly for the handbrake in the darkness, dimly aware of the rising scrape of the brakes and the sliding, rolling motion of the car. There was a sickening jolt as the front wheels left the road, and a thousand clutching branches scratched and crackled against the metal sides. Then there was silence but for the distance barking of a dog and the patter of falling leaves across the bonnet. The headlamps still blazed, throwing their glare against the trunk of a gnarled tree in which the twisted bumper bar was embedded.

Hauser looked at her and saw her slumped against the wheel, moaning into her hands, her shoulders hunched. She lifted her face and stared at him, her eyes running with tears. Her lipstick was smudged, and the wide mouth hung open almost vacantly, emitting low, strangled sobs. Then she pushed her fingers through her hair, working her jaw and sucking in great gulps of air.

Hauser left the car and stumbled through the undergrowth towards the road. He found the child lying next to the road, and he picked her up gently. The child lay limply in his arms, her tattered clothing ripped away from the shoulders, revealing a series of cruel, ragged gashes which gleamed angrily in the headlights. For a moment he thought she must be dead, but he saw that the two bright eyes, which seemed to fill her whole face, were fixed desperately on his, the small, emaciated mouth twisted into a mask of pain. He moved back to the car.

“Can we get her to a doctor? It’s her only chance!”

Without waiting for a reply, he wrenched open the driver’s door and shoved her unceremoniously out of place.

“What are you doing? What’s happened?” Her voice suggested hysteria, but his whole concentration made him force any consideration for her from his thoughts.

The car responded jerkily to his exertions, and with a rattle of loose metal, he gunned the engine and reversed back onto the roadway. As the great lamps swung across the road, he got a brief glimpse of long, black skid marks and the pathetic pool of blood by the roadside. He muttered in a comforting manner, and it seemed to soothe the child.

As Hauser jammed the unfamiliar gears into position and the car began to move ahead, Maria stared from the child to Hauser in amazement, and without warning, began to sob again into her arms. A high moan escaped her lips, “Oh God! What’ll Father say about his precious car?”

“Shut up for God’s sake! Is that all you care about? Don’t you realise you might have killed the poor little thing?” Hauser kept his voice down, and the hissing words were all the more menacing.

“Don’t talk to me like that, you…you ugly Kraut!” She wriggled in her seat, as if consumed by anger and indignation.

“Where’s the doctor’s place?” Hauser spoke between his clenched jaws, fighting the sickness that threatened to engulf him.

“If you think I’m going down there, looking like this! What’s got into you?”

Hauser followed the curve of the road as it dipped down towards a small village. “Must get there quickly. If anything happens to the child…” he left his words unfinished.

“If you must make a fool of yourself! Turn right here and follow the track.” She tried to move closer to him, her voice suddenly pleading. “We could have left the kid at one of those houses. They’re used to this kind of thing. The kids are always dying off, here!”

He eased her free with his arm, his face like stone. “I’m not surprised,” he murmured quietly.

She straightened up in the seat, pulling her dress over her knees and trying to fix the gaping front of it. Her tone was hostile, yet ashamed. “I didn’t mean it to be like this!”

“No. I don’t suppose you did.”

“You have to leave the road now. There’s only a pathway.”

Even as she spoke he saw a building through the trees, its high whitewashed walls reflecting the moonlight. A crude red cross was daubed on the roof. He braked as gently as he could, and got out, picked the child up as he stood up.

“I… I’ll stop here,” Maria called after him, “I’ll wait, if you like?”

“No, don’t wait. Come in if you like.”

He heard her clash the gears. “I can’t stand the sight of that traitor!” She was shouting now, “And you’re drunk!” Her other words were drowned in the roar as she let in the clutch. Hauser was already hurrying towards the house.

He reached the house and saw that it overlooked the valley, backing onto the same hills that faced the sea. It was quite a large building, and must have once been a perfect sight. He banged on the door, conscious of the child’s sharp breathing. The door opened and a small man appeared, dressed in a typical Italian garb.

“The doctor, is he in?”

The man held the door wide and Hauser followed him into a small waiting room, deserted now, but painted in warm hues. There was a smell of disinfectant and sweat which made Hauser’s stomach twist uncontrollably. The man hung the lantern on a wall and held out his arms commandingly.

“Please! The child! I take to Doctor!” He gathered the limp body with surprising ease, and pushed open a side door with his foot. A shaft of light flung his shadow weirdly across the floor, and he regarded Hauser dispassionately. “You wait here, if you want!” The door swung shut behind him.

Hauser sang down into a chair, only now realising that the man had spoken to him in English. He was grateful that he had stayed in England for a few years before the war, enough to speak and understand the language fluently. His hands moved ineffectually over the stains in his uniform.

He stood up and paced the room like a caged animal, his mind racing. The pain in his head could hardly be endured, yet he could think with a fresh clearness and a bitter understanding. If only the sickness in his stomach would go. Then perhaps he could at least act like a human being. He shook his head, trying to shake off the nausea. It was more than that, though. It was the sickness of real despair which held him so remorselessly.

He glanced at his watch unseeingly, having long lost all sense of time. I can’t stand this, he thought wildly. Must go and find out what’s happening in there, and then get away. In his mind, the picture of his barracks room wavered like a glimpse of heaven.

Hauser gripped the door handle and softly eased his way into the other room. For a moment he blinked to accustom his eyes to the glare of a paraffin lamp, which was being held over a white sheeted table by the little servant. Hauser held his breath, watching the bending figure of a man who was making final adjustments to the bandaging of the child’s chest and shoulders. Pieces of stained cotton-wool lay on the bare wooden floor, and the child’s torn clothing had been tossed hastily onto one of the scrubbed chairs. Under the lamplight she looked frail, and only her eyes showed the flickering life of childhood.

He watched the doctor’s long hands working with swift, practised ease, and noted the dark, untidy lock of hair falling across his face, which was turned away from him. He could only make out the firm, sun-tanned cheek and well cut chin. He was surprisingly young, a few years shy of thirty, he thought. The man stood up wearily and stretched his shoulders.

The servant stared woodenly at the child, and smiled gravely. “Nice job, Doctor Felton.” He pointed with his chin in Hauser’s direction. “That man’s here now, Doctor.”

“What the devil!” Felton swung round angrily, and Hauser shrank back in horror, as the remaining half of the doctor’s face became visible under the harsh light.

The whole of the left side had been savagely scorched away from the eyebrow to the chin. It was as if a sheet of greaseproof paper had been stretched across a loose tangle of raw flesh. Above the smooth nightmare of crude surgery, the left eye squinted in horrible concentration, and the whole effect made Hauser retch helplessly, a cold sweat breaking across his brow.

“Well, well, Paulo! So the gallant U-boat Captain is honouring us with a visit!” The tone, though soft, was filled with scorn. It was spoken in English too. “Have you come to see the results of your handiwork? Or did you want to look at me?” The dreadful eye gleamed like a chip of glass.

Hauser pressed his palms back on the wall, digging his nails into the rough plaster. “Sorry, Doctor, I didn’t realise. I mean, I just wanted to find out how she was!” It sounded empty and stupid, and the bile in his throat threatened to choke him. The face floated in a mist before him, and he knew that if he left the safety of the wall, he would fall.

“She’s alright as it happens,” the answer was like a slap in the face. “No doubt you enjoyed your party with the Governor!”

Hauser’s legs quivered, and helplessly he sat down on a carved camphor-wood chest. “Please excuse me,” he choked, “I’m afraid I’m making a bit of a fool of myself!”

One half of Felton’s lip curled contemptuously, the other half, a red slit, remained still and dead. “We’re very sorry about that, I’m sure!”

The child made a small noise, and immediately Felton bent over her. With her eyes like dark pools, she reached up weakly, and explored the man’s face with her small fingers. Hauser felt a lump rising, and a sharp pain behind his eyes. The complete lack of fear or pain in the little creature’s expression filled him with awe and a sudden humility. It was more like a wild dream than ever. All the things that were happening around him tore at his heart in a way unknown to real life.

Without leaving the table, Felton spoke over his shoulder, his calm voice trembling with anger, “Well, aren’t you going? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I wasn’t driving. It was an accident.” How ineffectual it sounded. “We got her here as fast as we could!”

“We? So there are more of you, eh? The Governor’s daughter, I suppose! Well, this isn’t her first victim by any means. Not that you care, of course!”

Hauser dropped his head in his hands, not caring what they thought. Nothing they said could be too bad, and he felt the resistance draining away from him.

He heard a door open, and a new voice, a soft, gentle sound, penetrated between the protection of his clasped hands.

“I’ve sent someone for her father, Brian, and I…” there was a pause, and a quick intake of breath. “What’s happened now? I saw the car drive off. Now who’s this?”

Hauser raised his head slowly, the figure of a girl forming mistily before him. Dressed in a long, rough white overall, the girl looked at first glance like a child. Hauser stared incredulously at the dark cloud of rich chestnut hair, swept hurriedly back into a loose knot at the nape of her slim neck, and the perfect sun-tanned, oval face, seemingly dominated by wide, hazel eyes. Her soft, moist mouth was parted, giving her an expression of surprise and alarm. Even as he stared, she nervously lifted her small hands to her hair, her smile fading.

“It’s the new U-boat Captain.” Felton spoke as if Hauser was not in the room. “He and his friends have just bought the child here as you know. What you don’t know is that he’s actually sorry about the accident!” He turned lightly to Hauser and again the face glared angrily in its distorted mask. “As if one child is anything to worry about with the millions your kind has killed in the concentration camps.”

The words split through Hauser like a knife, the agony of that terrible day all coming back to him. “We’re not all Nazis,” he murmured brokenly.

“Get out for God’s sake! You and your kind make me sick! Keep away from me while you’re here, and be damned to you!”

Hauser staggered to the door, his eyes burning.

The girl’s face was all at once hovering beneath him. “Are you alright, Captain?” Her eyes were filled with concern, which made Hauser feel even more desperate. It was too much. First that ghastly mask, and now this soft, beautiful face, which was perfection and loveliness undreamed of.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Felton,” he muttered, groping for the door. Behind him he heard Felton laugh sarcastically. “I beg you to excuse me. I must get back to my ship!”

With unbelieving eyes he watched her hand on his sleeve.

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to manage?”

He nodded helplessly, and as the cool air fanned his face, he found himself in the roadway. She stood uncertainly watching him, her teeth white in the moonlight. “I’m not Mrs. Felton, by the way,” she said softly, “I’m his sister.”

He reached out for her hand, which he seized eagerly. “Tell your brother I’m sorry,” he faltered, “He thinks that I…” his voice died away.

“Don’t mind him. He’ll understand.” She disengaged her hand, and Hauser stood staring at the closed door.

As he walked back up the road, the gravel scrunching under his feet, the silence helped him appreciate the magnitude of his loneliness, and the realisation of his recent behaviour filling him with scathing contempt. As he walked away up the hill, Doctor Felton’s sister was rarely absent from his thoughts.