(Story) Hechler's war

[DanBiddle]

The walls were richly decorated in red hangings, and there was no sign of any Nazi propaganda. The room could have been from the Kaiser’s Navy. But Hechler saw none of this. He only saw the officer staring back at him with the biggest grin Hechler had ever seen. Korvettenkapitän Dietrich Rahn.

Hechler stared at the younger officer for a moment before moving quickly across the room and resting his hands on Rahn’s shoulders.

“Dietrich, it’s so good to see you again! How have you been, my friend?”

“Good, sir. I’m sti..” He paused as Hechler interrupted him.

“We’re men in here, Dietrich. Friends. Forget the rank for the moment, eh?” Hechler smiled at Rahn, and the younger man smiled back as they sat down in the soft chairs. A young sailor brought some drinks in, and just as quickly left again. Once the man left, Hechler motioned for him to continue.

“I’m still in command of an operational boat, still U-32 as a matter of fact, Dieter. She’s changed so much since you were in command – completely new fittings, sonar, radar, so much different to when you were in command. New faces as well. Not many from 1940 now, Dieter.”

“She’s in good hands, anyway, Dietrich. I know that the U-boat war is completely different to when I was in command, the losses tell their own story.”

“Exactly, Dieter. We’re lucky if we can sink a couple of scows now on each patrol. The Allies are no fools. Every time we set out it’s harder and harder to get back, and tougher and tougher to evade once we get caught. The wolfpacks aren’t working anymore, Dieter. They can leave a couple of escorts to kill the U-boat whilst the rest of the convoy is still well protected. It’s getting suicidal to attack the more valuable convoys now.”

“Hmm, I know what you mean, Dietrich. Stay safe, eh? Even if it’s just for Eva’s sake. You wouldn’t want her to grow up without a husband.”

“No Dieter. Eva’s pregnant now as well. a little girl we think.”

The broad grin across Rahn’s face told its own story, and Hechler couldn’t help but grin as well.

“Congratulations Dietrich! That’s wonderful news, my friend!”

“Yes, Dieter, I’m so pleased. I’ve never seen Eva this happy. I can’t wait for her to be born either.”

They were silent for a moment, both thinking about Eva. Then Rahn looked up at Hechler.

“I was sorry to hear about your marriage, Dieter” he said softly.

Hechler looked away, “It was a mistake, Dietrich. When I look back now, I believe I ever thought it would work.”

“You are blaming yourself, Dieter. You are a good man, definitely not a bad husband. Inger...” He paused, suddenly unsure to go on. He looked down at his glass for a moment before beginning again. “Inger was not the woman for you, Dieter. She had us all fooled, I can tell you. She was at many parties in France, each time with a different escort.”

Hechler grunted in response then looked away. He remembered back to the time he had first seen her when she had taken his heart. She was from one of the old families; the sort senior naval officers looked to marry into in Nazi Germany. He thought back to when he had been recovering at home, after his injury, and she had come home in the arms of an Artillery Major, and another man with a girl almost passed out from drink. He couldn’t remember how they had made up, but looking back now, he must have been mad. She was very involved with party activities, and had constantly urged Hechler to support the party more. Hechler hadn’t the heart to tell her that he wanted as little to do with the Party as possible. The meetings always seemed to leave an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He pushed the bitter thoughts away and looked back at Rahn.

“Thank you for telling me, Dietrich. Let’s talk about something else, eh?”

He had just started to ask Rahn about his thoughts for the coming operation when an orderly opened the door and announced that the Admiral would see them now. Hechler and Rahn both stood, walking briskly along the corridor before entering a room with a large desk to one side. The walls were covered with huge map boards covering all the European theatres of the war and the Atlantic. Red pin marks dotted the map, showing where the major units were stationed. Hechler swallowed when he saw the name Prinz Luitpold on one of them. The he frowned slightly as he looked at where the red flags denoted the various army units.

“You have seen something, Captain?”

Hechler hesitated. “The Twenty-First Division, sir. It is still shown on the Baltic coast.”

“Well?” Not a flicker of emotion, although Hechler could feel Leitner’s irritation and Rahn’s curiosity behind his back.

“It no longer exists. It was decimated a few days ago.” The admiral’s silence was like an unspoken doubt and Hechler added, “I was there, sir.”

Leitner said, “I expect it has regrouped…”

The admiral clasped his hands behind his back. “I am glad you show interest as well as intelligence, Captain.”

Admiral Manfred Willentrop was an impressive figure. He was a large man, at least 6ft 2, and years of office duty had increased his bulk as well, yet he stood straight-backed in the middle of the map room. His heavy jowled face was trimmed with a thin white beard and moustache, and he wore his full uniform coat, having just arrived from a meeting with Donitz. He was a man of aristocratic background, something normally frowned upon in Hitler’s new Germany, but Willentrop had prospered thanks to his grasp of strategy and naval operations which were second to none. He had climbed the naval ladder over the years, and his position was now second only to Donitz. He spoke in slow, thick tones, and had an unruffled manner.

Willentrop walked round behind the desk and sank gratefully into the large chair. He began again, “The Allies are pouring everything into Normandy, even as we speak, there are convoys carrying more men and equipment across from England. We have no way of stopping this continual convoy. The Channel is defended far too well for U-boat attacks, and the RAF has control of the air, despite of what the esteemed Goering tells us. There are not everlasting supplies of men or equipment in Britain, and over the next few months there will be several vital convoys passing from the Australia, New Zealand and India with men, and also across from America. These will all require heavy escorts. Our Intelligence reports are excellent. The British intend to do something they have never attempted before and have two convoys in Northern waters at the same time. A loaded convoy routed for the Russians at Murmansk, and an empty one on the reverse route to Iceland. The Normandy campaign has made the Royal Navy very short of escorts, and this is the only reason.”

Hechler could see it in his mind. The convoys drawing ever further north towards Bear Island to avoid attack from the air and the U-boats in the endless daylight. It had been a murderous battleground for both sides. This was where the Scharnhorst had been lost. It was all Hechler could have expected. An attack on the two convoys whilst the Allies were deployed in strength on the South coast. If they destroyed one or both of the convoys it might give the army the breathing space they needed. Even as he considered it, Hechler felt a lingering doubt. The probing red arrows in Normandy showing the British and American advance made such an operation an attempt only to prolong the inevitable.

Willentrop said softly, “You look troubled, Captain.”

Hechler faced him. “I think it can be done, sir. My ship…”

“Your ship, Captain, is possibly the most powerful of her kind afloat, and one of only half a dozen major units left in the fleet.” He glanced at the map. “Others are supporting our troops in the Baltic, as you will know better than most, and others are marooned on the Biscay coast whilst more still are badly damaged by air attacks. You will have 7 days leave for your crew in Vejle, and then sail without delay for Bodǿ where you will remain in the fjord there in company with another cruiser. At the right moment you will leave Bodǿ and seek out one of the convoys as directed by OKM.” His eyes never left Hechlers. “And then, Captain, you will take full advantage of the disruption caused and take your ship into the Atlantic.”

For an instant Hechler thought he had misheard or the admiral was about to add something.

“Once there, you will work in co-operation with a U-boat wolfpack commanded byKorvettenkapitän Dietrich Rahn. You will attack convoys as directed by OKM, where you will seek to destroy the anti-submarine escorts first so as to allow the U-boats to attack unopposed. We must stop these vital supplies, and this is the only way.”

The Atlantic. A ship like the Prinz Luitpold could wreak havoc in the sea-lanes before being run to ground. A final, brave gesture as the war reached its culmination.

Willentrop said, “You do not question it?” he nodded slowly, his moustache quivering. “That is good. I would not like to give the ship another captain at this stage.”

Leitner exclaimed, “It is a perfect plan, Dieter!” he could hardly contain his excitement. “A tiger at large, with all the chain of supplies to make it possible!”

Willentrop frowned deeply, his face crinkling in displeasure. “Later.” He looked at Hechler. “Surprise will be total. It will show the world what we can do.” He gripped Hechler’s hand suddenly, his palms tight about Hechler’s. “You will do it for Germany!”

A door opened behind them and Hechler knew that the interview was at an end. The news was so swift, so impossible that Hechler could barely think of it as a feasible plan, but at the same time it was a blessing, a final release from the endless bombardment on the Baltic coast, the lack of sea-room, the air attacks. Hechler was delighted by then news, it was all he had been hoping for, yet at the same time it was such a shock that he was a little dazed and overwhelmed.

Willentrop folded his arms sharply. “Nothing will be said beyond these walls. Only Donitz and the Führer know, and they will let nothing stand in your way.”

Outside the room, Leitner pulled Hechler aside. “Return to your ship. I will fly up to Bodǿ and join you in ten days.” He shrugged. “After that, who knows?”

As he walked off, Hechler shared a grin with Rahn. Action at last. They were driven to the airfield together, both in a comfortable silence as each man contemplated the task ahead of him. Rahn would be flying immediately up to Bergen to set sail with the wolfpack, whilst Hechler would endure the short flight back to Vejle where he would allow some of the hands to go on leave and prepare the ship for war.

Hechler leaned back and though of the mission again. The Atlantic. The vast Western Ocean. The killing ground, where every ship would be an enemy. Leitner’s words stuck in his mind. A tiger at large. He touched the peak of his cap to a saluting sentry and walked out to the smoke-shrouded runway.

The waiting was over.

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

On returning to the ship, Hechler had informed the hands of the seven days leave. It was greeted with mixed feelings. Only married men were allowed home, and the rest of the ship’s company were restricted to local leave in Denmark, with no sleeping out passes below the rank of Petty Officer. The lucky ones returning home would have their precious time pared away by the time necessary to reach home on the bomb damaged and delayed German railways. The men had lined up in the bright sunlight, several grinning at each other as Viktor Suhren had informed them of the dangers of careless talk and the damage it would do to morale.

Suhren had left the ship himself once the men had departed. His home was close to Denmark, in northern Germany, so he only had a short distance to travel. He sat in the crowded compartment, almost totally filled with servicemen, as the train rocked over the tracks. The train crossed the frontier at a leisurely pace, and Suhren was able to watch as the green countryside with its lakes and small villages pass by the window. It was a beautiful part of the country; at least it should have been to Suhren.

He thought of the house on the town’s outskirts, the perfect retreat for a naval officer returning on leave. He shared the house with his wife, Britta. She was Danish and marriages across the border had been very common before the war. He was well known there, respected even, especially since his appointment to the Prinz Luitpold.

When the German army had invaded her country, Britta had tried to discover what had happened to her parents. They lived in Esbjerg, and managed a local newspaper. It had begun with letters and telephone calls, none of which had been returned. In despair, Britta had asked Suhren to make enquiries but he had been met by a stone wall of silence from the security forces. Eventually, a policeman had turned up on the doorstep. He was fairly senior, and was eager to be friendly and understanding. “Your wife probably does not understand the need for security in these matters…” When Suhren had persisted, the policeman had said, “You are a well-respected officer, a fine career ahead of you. Why spoil things, eh?”

When he had talked to Britta, tried to explain that her father may have been involved in some political trouble, and was being held for a while until things had settle down. It had been the first time he could remember her turning on him. She had shouted, “Settle down! Is that what you would call it if the Tommies came here and started locking people up, for wanting their freedom, their own country back?” That leave had ended badly, and Suhren had returned to the ship before the action that would see the captain crack under the strain. By all rights he should have been promoted and given command. If not the Prinz Luitpold then another ship of similar size. Instead, Hechler came.

Then Suhren had received a message from a friend. He had sounded frightened, and Suhren had quickly returned home to find that Britta had gone to her parents’ home alone, despite the strict travel restrictions. She had managed to reach the port of Esbjerg. When Suhren had finally confronted her she had been close to breakdown, angry and weeping in alternate bursts. Suhren had been shocked by her appearance, the bruises where the military police had dragged her from the house where she had been born. When he had tried to reason with her, she had shouted shrilly, “Don’t you see? They’ve killed my mum and dad! Don’t you care what those bastards have done?!”

The doctor, an old friend had arrived and given her something, and Suhren had joined him over a strong drink once she had gone to sleep. She had let herself go after that. Suhren had always regretted not having children, but the last time he had spoken to Britta about it, she had replied, “A baby? What would you do, give it a black uniform and rubber truncheon to play with?” That leave had also ended badly, and Suhren had been shocked with how much she had changed.

He was walking though the town again, the familiar sights greeting him after the train journey. He nodded at a few passers by, wondering what they were thinking. The navy officer, home again. He was sure that this leave would end up alright. He needed it to, what with the admiral arriving onboard. It meant the ship would be singled out for some mission or other, a chance for Suhren to finally show his mettle, and enjoy some success for a change. He thought of the food lying in the heavy case he was carrying by his side, it would put a smile on Britta’s face. He had written several letters since the last leave, although Britta had only replied to one of them, he wasn’t concerned; Britta had never been much of a letter writer. He walked further down the road and was soon outside his home. He noted that the garden had fallen into neglect, with dry, dead flowers fallen over the drive. That as not like Britta, he thought. As he fumbled for his keys, he thought about the leave. They would have there or four days together before Suhren would have to return to the ship. He expected the door to be pulled open any minute, to see Britta standing there with her flaxen hair, her house dress, but Suhren would only see her as he had when they had met.

He turned the key and stepped inside. The house was quiet, so quiet that Suhren instantly knew it was deserted. A pile of letters lay on the side table, unopened. He moved closer. The official stamp and his handwriting told their own story. She hadn’t even read them. He moved around the house, hoping to see her somewhere, but instead seeing only neglect. He tried to examine how he was feeling. Angry, cheated, worried? All and none of them. There was no point ringing the police or hospital. He would have been told if anything had happened to her. Maybe she had gone away? Where? The sick feeling hit him. No, she had left him.

He picked his heavy case up again and locked the door before walking around to the doctor’s house across the road. He listened to Suhren’s story impassively before saying, “You must face up to it, Viktor, she has left you.” He had continued as Suhren had tried to protest. “She will be in touch, be certain of that, but she must sort things out in her own way. Women are like that.” Before leaving, Suhren left the case of food with the doctor, and waved away his gratitude. He walked slowly back towards the station. She had left him, and he had not even been given a chance to make things right.

Thinking again, he realized how much unlike Britta it had been. She would never have left him. Denmark then? He suddenly felt very sick. Because of Britta’s anguish over her parents, his own advancement and career had been permanently scarred. He had lost the Prinz because of it, because of her. He boarded a train. There was nowhere else he wanted to go now.

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

Hechler stood in the back of the launch, suddenly glad to be out her, on the dark water as the looming shadow of his own ship drew closer. The proud talk, dinners parties, all the uniforms and gaiety had sickened him over the last few days. Only here was reality. His ship, the Prinz Luitpold. The sentry onboard called out a challenge, and the coxswain on the launch shuttered a small lamp. The launch was turning towards the accommodation ladder now. Hechler ran lightly up the ladder and folded back his greatcoat to reveal the black cross around his neck. He felt as if he’d never left her.

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

Well, it gets more action from hereon in, as this is the last major, character setting type installment. Hope you enjoy it

Cheers,

Dan Biddle

[Rose]

That was great. Damn, Rahn's a grandpa now? And poor Suhren .

[Jimbuna]

Absolutely fantastic!...you certainly have a talent for writing Dan...keep it up

[DanBiddle]

Originally Posted by Rose

That was great. Damn, Rahn's a grandpa now? And poor Suhren .

Na, he's only 26! Eva is his wife, and he's gonna be a father. And yeah, the Suhren thing will develop too. Cheers for the comments

Dan Biddle

[Respenus]

Great job, jolly good lad

Go nothing else to add!

[Rose]

Originally Posted by DanBiddle

Na, he's only 26! Eva is his wife, and he's gonna be a father. And yeah, the Suhren thing will develop too. Cheers for the comments

Dan Biddle

:rotfl: My God, I'm thick... I must've mis-read it. I KNEW he was way too young.

[ecm747x]

Very well done indeed. Look forward to your next installment. Thank you for some good reading....

[Rose]

Bump.

[DanBiddle]

Sorry for the delay guy, the delights of A level essay writing kept me away. Anyway, here is the next installment.

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

Hechler sat at the desk in his large day-cabin, watching the light flicker outside the scuttle. Suhren would soon be reporting, and later this evening the ship would weigh anchor and sail for Norway, and the safety of the fjords. He sighed as he looked back at the photos and intelligence reports lying scattered on his desk. Hechler had been reading the reports since they had arrived onboard that morning, and his mind swam with information regarding the war. Faint smoke could be seen flowing out through the scuttle. That would be fro Clausen – he had seen all his heads of department over the course of the day, and Clausen had been remarking on how many charts had come aboard.

There was a faint knock on the door, and Viktor Suhren walked into the room, cap beneath his arm. This was the first time Hechler had seen him since he had returned from leave, and he looked paler than usual, thin-lipped and a grim expression on his face. Hechler thought of the other men from his crew returning from leave. There might be rules stopping people from spreading despondent news or gloomy talk, but there was no way that they could be enforced, and the atmosphere throughout the ship was totally different now. The war was coming much closer to home. Several men had asked for extra leave because of relatives killed or injured in the air raids.

He waited for Suhren to sit down in front of him, and Pirk, the steward to serve the piping hot coffee before starting.

Suhren said, “Everybody is aboard, sir, save for a couple of men, but I’ve posted them as deserters. The escorts have anchored already, and we’ll be ready to sail this evening as ordered.”

Hechler looked at him casually. Suhren had sounded disinterested which was so unlike him with his constant quest for efficiency. “Is everything well, Viktor?”

He seemed to snap out of the mood instantly, but there was a guard dropping in front of his eyes. “Yes, of course, sir!”

“I was just thinking, how did your leave go?”

“The usual. You know how it is.” He dropped his gaze. “A house always needs things.”

Hechler glanced at the papers on his desk, the reason suddenly clear. An upset with his wife. “Anything I can do?”

Suhren replied, almost with defiance. “Nothing sir.”

“Hmm, if you say so, Viktor. My door is always open.” He paused as he felt the deck trembled into life. It was a good feeling, the beast stirring after her rest. He looked at Suhren. “It is Norway, Viktor. At least for the moment. We shall weigh at dusk and pass through the Skagerrak before daylight so as to stand the best chance against the Allied air patrols.” He studied Suhren’s reactions. “I want to be off Bergen in thirty hours. From then we will keep close inshore and enter our selected fjord until intelligence reports are more accurate.”

Suhren grimaced. “It will be difficult for the escorts to keep up, sir. Another fjord though.” He sounded doubtful, and Hechler guessed that he was thinking of the great battleship Tirpitz which was lying hidden in a fjord many miles from the sea, yet the British had still found her and crippled her in a daring attack with midget submarines.

Suhren was speaking again. “I had expected to see and admiral’s flag at the masthead when I returned, sir.”

Hechler smiled. “The Admiral intends to keep us guessing, Viktor.” Hechler though of Leitner, and his aide who had brought several large boxes onboard, and important documents locked into secure folders as well. They had been carried below, and all the keys to the compartment into which they had been locked had been removed from the ship’s office, and only Leitner and Hechler had the keys, Hechler’s locked into his cabin safe. He was determined to get the truth out of Leitner.

Suhren watched him from across the table, half his mind carefully tracking the progress of the preparations to get the ship ready to sail once more. But Hechler fascinated him more. Was he really as composed as he made out? Untroubled by the weight of responsibility? He should feel closer to Hechler now. His wife had left him, although no-one had ever discovered the whole truth. Did he fret about it and secretly want her back again?

“We are going to fight again, Viktor. No more gestures, no more bombardments with barely enough sea-room to avoid being straddled.” He thought of other men in similar situations. “Have you ever heard of Nelson?” He saw the surprise on Suhren’s face at the sudden change of conversation.

“No, sir.” He made it seem as if the very thought was showing disloyalty.

“You should, a fine officer.” A grin spread across Hechler’s face. “Misunderstood by his superiors, naturally. Nothing changes in that respect.”

“What about him, sir?”

“He said that the boldest measures are always safest. I believe it, never more than now.” He eyed Suhren calmly. “We’ll lose this war if we’re not careful, Viktor.”

Suhren stared at him, stunned. “Impossible! We can’t be beaten now sir!”

“Hmm, I suppose not. But we can still lose.”

Hechler did not elaborate, but thought of the passage to Norway, and then the prospects for the Atlantic after that. The ship had been installed with brand new detection gear. As good as anything Britain or her allies had yet produced, and Kroll, the gunnery officer had shown rare excitement and glee. It was described as the unseen eye. The Scharnhorst had been tracked and destroyed with it in a snowstorm, and Prinz Luitpold’s was supposed to be twice as accurate, and was the first ship to have it fitted.

Hechler thought also of the new surgeon that had arrived on board. His name was Stroheim; he was highly qualified and much better than most naval doctors – the best were usually in the army for all too obvious reasons. He had arrived with a pink sheet attached to his form. Hechler hated the political interference. He only cared about the men themselves, not their political views. Hechler could not ignore it, though. The image of Oberleutnant Bauer, the signals and W/T officer sprung into his mind. Bauer was also the ship’s political officer, a role which even Hechler couldn’t investigate, even though he hated the small, curt man. It would be a long cruise with him and Leitner on board, Hechler thought with a sigh.

************************************************** ***************
The Prinz Luitpold’s passage from Baltic waters to Norway passed much quieter than expected. They had logged a steady twenty knots the whole way, and had arrived off Bergen within minutes of Clausen’s calculations. After that, Hechler had kept the ship closed up at action stations as they passed the dangerous stretch when they were within 200 miles from the Orkneys and then later on the Shetlands. Despite warnings of heavy Allied air activity, they had seen no aircraft, and had made the passage in solitude. The escorts that were due to sail with them couldn’t be seen because of the thick fog that hung over the sea. Hechler was amazed by the radar, which had allowed him to track the movements and tactics of their escorts despite never catching sight of them once during the voyage.

From Bergen, they headed north and then north-east as the heavy cruiser moved swiftly up the coast. They passed the fortress-like fjord of Trondheim abeam and then further north and across the Arctic Circle. Shortly after that both radar and lookouts reported the Lofoten Islands on the port bow. Off to starboard, the town of Bodǿ was hidden behind the massive landmass. Just over an hour later, the cable was rattling out as the Prinz Luitpold anchored in the fjord. The sides were shrouded in mist and a steady drizzle fell over the water, displaying a miserable side of Norway. Unlike the Tirpitz, they were not alone. Another cruiser, smaller than the Prinz Luitpold, lay anchored over near to the misty walls of the fjord. She was the Lübeck, and there were also some large destroyers and storeships anchored as well.

Hechler felt much happier now that the ship was safely anchored behind protective nets and booms, safe from any marauding submarines. He could consider the anchorage now, and Bodǿ was a good choice, and had a large military airfield. The passage north had affected Hechler in other ways. Some of the tension he had been storing from the endless political dinners and speeches in Denmark had steadily drained away as the ship had moved north, and Hechler was glad to be finally doing something. After the ship had been fuelled from the lighters, things settled down to the normal routine, and they sat back and waited. Leitner would be flying up in a day or two, and the new Arado was due to join them soon as well. Then it would be a matter of attacking the convoy at the opportune moment.

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

The submarine was on the surface, moving through the slight swell at ten knots. Hechler was on the bridge, staring through the heavy binoculars for any sign of movement in the thick, low clouds. The bridge crew was equally alert, very aware that this part of the ocean, the Bay of Biscay, was a nightmare for U-boat crews. The RAF seemed to love the area. Suddenly a wild shout and Hechler tore his gaze away to where the roaring engine noise was coming from. Out of the clouds a large Sunderland flying boat was diving straight towards the bridge. Even as Hechler watched, the forward turret erupted in bright lights as tracer fire swept across the bridge. Hechler was only aware of sudden, blinding agony, the sky suddenly turning into grey bridge plating as he was carried below, the engine noise rising to a whining climax, and the shrill, terrifying ring of alarm bells echoing around his head, clamouring and persistent.

Dieter Hechler opened his eyes with a start, realising his face was pressed into his forearm, the dream extremely vivid in his head. One other fact stood out. The clamouring alarm bells hadn’t stopped when he had woken up. He jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. He was in the large day cabin, and if he had been in his small sea cabin he would have been on the bridge already. The telephone added its ring to the noise of the main bells and watertight doors slamming.

It was Suhren. “Red Alert, sir. An air attack.”

With a haste that brought him back to his U-boat days, Hechler slammed down the phone and snatched his jacket and cap as he exited the cabin heading for the bridge. On deck the ship seemed strangely deserted, only the scattered buckets and mops marking the suddenness of the alarm. He climbed to the bridge, watching as the anti-aircraft guns traversed towards the land, and his men donning steel helmets and dragging belts of ammunition to the short range weapons. He was barely aware of the other officers reporting around him, but looked around the ship.

It was a bright afternoon with only a few clouds marking the sky, and Hechler saw the camouflage netting that hung from the main armament in an attempt to break up the ship’s outline. He looked at the other cruiser, her guns at full elevation as he imagined the other captain comparing the time their respective ships took to clear for action. Hechler looked across the starboard screen. The airfield was invisible from here, but there ought to have been some fighters scrambling by now, Göring’s much vaunted fighter pilots. He hated being at anchor, lying in a trap. The bait. The ship had been at short notice for steam since his return from Kiel, but it would still take at least an hour to slip and work out to some sea-room.

“Come on, get those bloody planes airborne!” That was Suhren, it a very irritated mood after been given steamed up binoculars and having to get the ship to action stations with no warning at all. Too many German warships had been caught in enclosed fjords and damaged beyond repair by daring hit-and-run attacks. The world’s greatest battleship for starters.

The inland battery had opened fire and every man on the bridge scanned the sky with the glasses as the shells left dirty brown stains in the sky.

Suhren exclaimed, “I can’t see a bloody thing!”

Leutnant Ulrich Heyse called suddenly, “I see it! One aircraft, sir, at red four-five!” Hechler sensed Suhren’s annoyance, but concentrated on the bearing and was rewarded with a flash of sunlight off the cockpit cover. Another voice hissed, “Nowhere near the thing!” Hechler watched as the shell bursts gathered in untidy clusters while some earlier ones broke up and drifted downwind. He had to agree with the unknown sailor. The shooting was so poor that the tiny dot in the sky didn’t even alter course. It wasn’t a bomber, and seemed to be totally alone.

This was a safe anchorage and better protected than most. It was likely that enemy agents would know of Prinz Luitpold’s presence here, just as her departure from Vejle must have been known and plotted in London. But there was no need to let some reckless reconnaissance plane to confirm everything.

Suhren spoke between his teeth, “Our Arado replacement is expected, sir.” He sounded anxious. “I hope to hell that headquarters have ordered it to stand away.” Hechler looked over the screen and past the nearest gun-crews as they tried to track the aircraft, their anti-flash hoods making them look like they were from some strange religious order. The aircraft derrick was already swung out, the tackle prepared to hoist the new Arado inboard as soon as it landed in the fjord.

“Gunnery Officer requests permission to use the main armament, sir.”

“Denied.” Hechler knew that Kroll would shoot at anything just for a chance to exercise his men. It was a waste of ammunition as the solitary aircraft was already heading away, flitting between the clouds, the shell-bursts too far away to catch it.

Suhren exclaimed angrily, “Here they are! At last. Late as bloody usual!”

Two fighters screamed towards them from the land, the throaty roar of their engines echoing around the walls of the fjord as they streaked away out to sea, the sun flashing brightly on the large black crosses on their sides. Hechler lowered his binoculars and glanced at Suhren and the others. Suhren was furious, ad probably too angry to notice the coincidence. The anti-aircraft battery had been inaccurate, just as the fighter cover had been too late to do anything. It was as if they had been ordered to hold back, and if that was true, then it could only mean that Headquarters wanted the enemy to know they were there. It was like being in the dark, and Hechler didn’t like being told only a part of Willentrop’s strategy.

“Aircraft at green one-one-oh, angle of sight one-oh!”

The gunnery speaker crashed to life. “Disregard! Aircraft friendly!”

Some of the seamen grinned with nervous relief, but Hechler crossed the bridge to watch the floatplane as it left the land’s protection and followed its own reflection across the flat water. He snapped, “I want to see that pilot as soon as he comes aboard! We may be short of a plane and the man to fly it, but by God I’ll send him back unless he can explain himself!”

All the smiles were gone now. Even young Heyse had enough experience to realise the cause of the captain’s cool anger. If there had been a proper air attack, especially by carrier borne torpedo bombers, the Arado replacement would have been right in the middle of it, and they would have had to hold their fire or shoot it down with the attackers.

“Fall out action stations.” Hechler was making an attempt to control his anger. Moments later the guardrails were thick with men as they gathered to watch as the floatplane make a perfect landing then taxi to the anchored cruiser.

Suhren dropped his glasses. “Extra passenger, sir.” He bit his lip. “It looks like the admiral.”

Even as the plane glided to the ship’s side Hechler saw Leitner take off his flying helmet so that he could don his oak-leaved cap. He said, “I don’t care if it’s the bloody Führer! That was a damn stupid thing to do!” He was as much concerned with his own anger as the admiral’s unorthodox arrival onboard. Was it because there were so many questions unanswered? If they engaged the British convoy, for instance. Would the Lübeck be able to withdraw safely?

Followed by Suhren he hurried from the bridge and down to the catapult, where a side-party had hastily assembled. Leitner pulled himself up from the Arado without waiting for it to be hoisted it aboard. He was flushed and excited, and could barely stop from laughing aloud at Hechler’s grave expression. Together they watched the plane being hoisted up the side, water spilling from the floats as men with guy ropes swung it round. The Arado was brand new and bore no camouflage paint. As it came to rest on the catapult Hechler saw the bright red stripe on its side, as if it were something from the Great War. Leitner stood with his arms folded, still dressed in the white flying suit with his cap at a rakish angle as he had appeared many times in the newspapers.

Hechler watched the pilot and observer climb down to the deck and then said, “I’ll see you later. You might have got your arse shot off!” The pilot turned and stared at him and then pulled off the black helmet and goggles. Hechler stared as a mass of auburn hair tumbled over the pilot’s shoulders. The admiral made one last attempt to contain his amusement and said, “Captain, may I introduce Erika Franke. One of the finest pilots in the Third Reich, I believe!”

She eyed him without curiosity, her lips slightly parted as she shook out her hair from her flying suit. “Quite a welcome, Captain.” She did not offer her hand. Hechler could feel the side party’s astonishment giving way to broad grins, and Suhren’s pink faced disbelief that this had happened.

Hechler looked at the admiral. “What I say still goes, sir.” She was watching him, amused or merely bored he could not tell. Erika Franke, of course, he thought. Her father had been an ace pilot who had died attempting a lone flight across a desert in Africa. She had one several prizes within a year of obtaining her license. And she had even made her name in the war when she had flown into an encircled army in Italy to rescue one of the Führer’s top advisers before the whole place had been taken by the allies.

Hechler made another attempt. “I am not used to…” It sounded defensive, foolish. She turned away to watch as the two fighters came roaring back across the water. “Evidently, Captain. We must try to change that, eh?” Leitner clapped him on the shoulder. “It will be a different war, Dieter. For all of us, yes?”

The girl turned and looked at the calmly. “I’d like to change and have a shower, if I may.” One corner of her mouth curled up and she touched her upper lip with her tongue. “Even at the risk of getting my, er, arse shot off, eh?”

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

Enjoy

Cheers,

Dan Biddle

[america person]

good job dan, do you have a site or someplace where we can read them in chronological order?

Oi
AP

[Rose]

Every chapter is here on this thread and in chronological order. Just start from post #1.

[Jimbuna]

WOOHOO!...crumpet for dinner Mr Hechler

[DanBiddle]

Sorry for the delay in posting - it was quite a large update, and I had some lovely coursework essays to do as well. Enjoy!

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

Kapitän Dieter Hechler rested his hands on the rail as he gazed out across the water. The black outline of the fjord sides where clearly visible against the starlit sky, and the night air was crisp and quite cool, and Hechler relished the refreshing soft breeze. His breath was visible in front of his face, and his jacket did just enough to keep the cold out. The water in front of him shone like molten glass as the lights from the wardroom lit up the surroundings. He could hear the pleasant sound of numerous voices rising from the open door, and noticed another launch hooking on at the base of the accommodation ladder and two women in colourful gowns stepped onboard in the company of some officers from the airfield. Korvettenkapitän Froebe greeted them at the top of the ladder before pointing them towards the wardroom.

Hechler, like most of the ship’s company, had expected things to move quickly once the admiral had hoisted his flag above the cruiser. Instead, they had remained in the fjord and tonight a party was being held onboard. Leitner must have a powerful influence, Hechler thought. There were many women onboard, and most of them German apart from the wives of some local officials. It was amazing that they had travelled all this way for a party, he mused. They had all come aboard with excitement, some even in awe as they stepped aboard the Prinz. She was a legend, and Hechler hated the waiting, and longed for the open ocean, away from the vulnerability of the enclosed fjord.

He glanced back at the water as the launch cast of and moved away towards the shore again, her foaming wake gleaming in the moonlight. He looked towards the sky again, imagining the same stars being observed by others. Rahn would be down near the Azores by now, he thought. Rahn, in command of U-32, also commanded the 9 boat strong wolfpack. They had been ordered to remain undetected until offensive operations would commence with the Prinz Luitpold. Hechler had at least been told that the air attack had been planned, and headquarters wanted the Allies to know that the heavy cruiser was at Bodǿ, and apparently a couple of the storeships would be anchored in such a way to fool the allies into thinking the Luitpold was still anchored in the fjord once she had broken into the Atlantic.

He turned as a step grated on the steel plating behind him. It was Stoecker, a Petty Officer. Hechler smiled at the young man, “What is it, Stoecker?” The man looked nervous, and hesitated before replying. “The admiral, he requests your presence in the wardroom, sir.”

“Very well, Stoecker. Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.” As the Petty Officer disappeared, Hechler grimaced. He was half-dreading the party, and Leitner’s exuberance, his overwhelming optimism for the war effort. As he moved quickly down a ladder, he spotted the patrol led by Leutnant zur See Ulrich Heyse. With so many visitors onboard, Hechler had ordered regular patrols of the ship to check that nothing had been tampered with, or sabotaged. He heard the one striper call his men to attention. “Hard luck, Heyse. Rank has its privileges, you see.” The man grinned at him. Hechler moved on towards the wardroom, Heyse’s patrol already fading into the darkness. Suhren was waiting to greet him outside the wardroom, “All going well?”

“Yes, sir. Like old times.”

Hechler stepped past him into the wardroom, thronged with figures, some in uniform, others in gowns. He sensed the occasional glances and even some bold stares from some of the women. He saw Leitner near the centre of the room, speaking loudly as several men and women looked on, his arms waving about as he talked excitedly about something or other, Hechler couldn’t tell, nor did he particularly want to know. He heard a woman laugh and saw the auburn hair glinting under the decklight. He made his way over towards her. Erika Franke wore a long dove-grey gown, its hue setting off her hair and skin. He was still uncertain about her. Leitner had said that her orders came from Willentrop, and higher. She was here to stay, and incredibly there was also a camera team as well.

She called, “Why, Captain! You have come amongst us after all!” He faced her surprised and angry at the way she managed to get beneath his skin, make him feel clumsy and defensive. He faced her, “I hope you are being looked after?” She had long lashes and eyes that seemed to change colour under the light. Hazel and then tawny. “You are staring, Captain.” She smiled at him as he looked away, sipping from the champagne glass which had been thrust into his hand.

“Yes, I am sorry.” He looked at her again. “And I also apologise for the way I greeted you onboard yesterday. I was still angry about the air attack.”

She smiled at him again, her tongue touching her upper lip again as she had done when she climbed off the catapult the other morning. “That must had have cost you a lot, I expect you are not used to bending your knee – especially to a mere woman!”

Hechler looked away, trying to suppress his anger. She was taunting him again, throwing his apology back in his face. He noticed Leitner walking across the room towards them. He stood next to Hechler and clapped an arm over his shoulder. “A good party, eh! It will make everyone believe we are part of a local squadron. Here to stay. How wrong they all are!” he beamed at them, showing his perfect teeth, his tan contrasting with the brilliant white grin. Hechler looked away, annoyed at the admiral’s constant strutting. He saw Suhren by the door, rapidly making signals at him. He turned as Leitner remarked, “A night full of surprises, as it should be.”

When Hechler looked back at the door, his insides turned to ice, desperately trying not to believe what his eyes were showing. Her hair was short, the blonde curls cascading over her head showing her ears with the perfect pendant earings gleaming in the light. Several officers had stopped talking to stare at her, questions clear on their faces. It was common knowledge that Hechler’s wife had left him, and he couldn’t believe that she had turned up here. Hechler put down his glass. Inger had always commanded a lot of attention – it was how Hechler had first seen her. She had an escort, a young political officer, yet evidently quite senior. That was typical, he thought bitterly. She had always hung around the politicos, craved the attention she demanded as a daughter from one of the old aristocratic families. Hechler would have laughed at the hypocrisy of the Party if he hadn’t felt so lost, so trapped.

Leitner was saying something to him, one eyebrow cocked as Hechler brought his mind back to the present. “She asked to come, Dieter. What could I do?”

“Your wife, Captain?”

Hechler looked at the flyer, her hair rippling in the light as she turned towards him. “Yes.”

“She is very beautiful.” She was watching him, suddenly interested. “You seem surprised?”

Leitner smiled. “It is only right, Dieter.”

She wore a red silk gown, cut very low at the back and front. Hechler guessed that she wore very little beneath it. That would have been enough to render him helpless. Once. Now he could hardly contain his disgust, the sheer nerve at turning up here of all places. She presented her hand for him to kiss, and again it was perfectly done, and Hechler could smell the perfume on her skin. The one she had always worn. He realised Suhren and some of the others were watching him, learning something new about their captain.

She was looking at him, amusement in her expression. “You are looking tired, Dieter. Doing too much again. A pity it is not reflected in your party work.” She looked towards the girl. “And who is this?”

Erika Franke met her gaze, unconcerned by Inger’s imperious, casual tone. “I work here. I shall go and enjoy myself.” She smiled at Hechler before moving off into the throng of people nearby. Inger looked at Hechler, “I thought I knew her. The flier, am I right? She has been in some bother I believe.”

Hechler felt the old anger again. Her casual dismissal of others, as if everyone was beneath her. How could he have ever seen anything in her? Hechler didn’t want to discuss it. “What are you doing here, Inger? It is over.”

“You think so?” Her hand rested on the four golden stripes on the sleeve of his jacket. “You will always need me. Nothing has changed, Dieter. They talk of you a lot in Berlin; some say you are a hero. A pity you do not share the views of the Party, though. You political views are also well known, Dieter, which is why you need me, marriage into an aristocratic family, enough to overlook your political inadequacies. You have needed me to get to where you are, and you will need me again to have any hope of further promotion.” Her eyes shone in amusement as she glanced at her escort talking with Leitner. “Andreas invited me. A fine officer, you would do well to follow his views.”

“My political views have nothing to do with it, Inger.” He looked away as her amusement grew. He had been glad that they had been separated for the better part of the last year, free of her endless talk of politics, the almost daily parties full of the transparent political drivel. He had never known her to turn down an invitation. “What do you want, Inger? You didn’t come here to laugh at me, to taunt me.”

She was looking at him, her eyes steady, her lips shining and slightly parted. “I need you to love me.”

He looked away as Suhren appeared next to him. “What is it, Viktor?” Suhren was staring at Inger, but seemed to snap out of his trance when Hechler addressed him. He tilted his head and spoke in hushed tones into Hechler’s ear. One of the guests had injured themselves. It was someone important, and Suhren thought Hechler should know.

Hechler looked up, and spoke quickly. “Get the senior medical officer, Viktor.” He hadn’t met the new surgeon yet, and he could barely remember the man’s name as he watched the thrust of her breasts. “Stroheim.”

As Suhren moved away, he looked back at Inger. Her mood had completely changed, she was staring at him in complete disbelief. “What name?”

He said, “Karl-Heinz Stroheim. He’s new onboard. Do you know him?”

“Don’t you dare question me! I’m not one of your sailors!” Her eyes were hot, and she glared at him before turning away. “I must leave.” Hechler watched as her escort moved over to claim her, heard her mentioning something about a headache, then both of them walking briskly out of the wardroom. Leitner moved over as they headed for the door. “Not going with her, Dieter. I am surprised.”

Hechler turned his back on the others and faced Leitner, his voice dangerously calm. “You knew, did it deliberately, sir. For a moment…” He was cut off as the admiral said loudly, “I shall set an example and retire, Dieter.” He looked at Hechler for a moment before saying, “First degree readiness.” He shook his head as Hechler made to speak. “Not yet. Our guests are watching. We shall weigh tomorrow evening, and as soon as these people have gone, you can tell the other officers.” Hechler watched as he left the room, and other guests following soon after. He didn’t know what Leitner had been planning with Inger, but it was definitely uncharacteristic. Why would she suddenly throw herself at him now, after nearly a year of ignoring his existence? He shook his head as he left the wardroom, craving the crisp, cold night air. He would have to see Stroheim soon, ask him about Inger.

He spent the next few hours walking the upper deck, his feet noiselessly pacing the deck. The squadron would weigh tomorrow evening, Leitner had said. Hechler imagined the squadron slipping out of the fjord under cover of darkness, the two cruisers at the centre. He wondered what the other officers would say if they knew the Prinz Luitpold’s true mission. He was still thinking when he entered his cabin four hours later, noting the small light and thermos full of coffee by his bunk.

When Pirk, his steward entered silently to switch off the light he found the captain fast asleep, still fully dressed. He sighed and swung Hechler’s legs onto the bunk. He smiled with satisfaction as he turned out the light. The captain would see them through all right. He always had.

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

Hechler sat in the steel deck chair, watching as the long bow rose and fell regularly in the swell. They had put to sea over 48 hours ago, and sailed west arounf the Lofoten islands and then north, towards the British convoys. He glanced at the armoured conning tower and fire-control box above him, and then slid from the chair to walk out onto the port wing and stare aft, looking at Lübeck following half a mile astern. He stamped on the gratings to restore his circulation, watching as the watchkeepers’ backs straightened as they covered their allotted bearings.

He looked across at the destroyers, following their stations exactly, but having a rougher time of it than the larger, more seaworthy cruisers. Every now and then their bows would dip and massive welters of foam break over their forecastles before cascading off through the guardrails. The Prinz Luitpold had a new bow built on in her last major refit, the High Command learning from the Admiral Hipper’s raiding, and realising that the straight bow made for a very wet and unpleasant ride in rough seas, which was why Prinz Luitpold had a larger, curved bow, termed an ‘Atlantic bow’. It was slicing through the waves like a knife through warm butter right now, and Hechler thought it was a great improvement from the previous bow. The motion was so different from a U-boat, he thought. He had been in command for nearly a year now, and he still found the motion surprising. In a U-boat, they would be rising and falling over the waves, like a seagull floating on the water, whereas in the Prinz Luitpold, they sliced through the waves, cleaving them aside in large streaks of foam.

Hechler heard a loud droning and spotted the large Focke Wulf Condor through a gap in the overcast as it made another pass over the squadron. The Condors were their eyes today, searching out the British convoys whilst keeping a protective overview of the small squadron. Hechler still found it amazing that they were actually in the air; he had seen precious few of them over the Atlantic, where they were meant to search out convoys for the U-boats. Hechler thought again of Rahn and his wolfpack, now waiting near to the Canary Islands, waiting for the cruiser to join them and wreak havoc against the D-Day re-supply convoys. Apparently, there was another wolfpack gathering around the British convoy. Intelligence reports stated that they had torpedoed the escort carrier, although two U-boats had been lost, it did at least mean there wouldn’t be torpedo bombers to worry about.

He thought of yesterday morning, as they had cleared the fjord. Leitner had been ready to make a speech to the company, but Hechler had bluntly asked to speak to his men in his own way. He thought of the silence when he had said over the loudspeaker, “We are going into the Atlantic…” There should have been cheering and rousing music, but Hechler felt the silence meant so much more to him, the close comradeship he shared with his men. He thought of the camera team, which had been on the deck for most of the morning, taking advantage of the beautiful salmon-pink skies that had greeted them that morning. ‘Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning’, Hechler thought to himself. A warning to the convoy, maybe, but the Prinz Luitpold would be one of the most powerful ships near the convoy, as reports had stated that a covering force of a battleship and two heavy cruisers were stationed well to the north in an attempt to protect the eastbound convoy. They would take advantage of this and attack the westbound convoy. Not filled with supplies, but an important convoy nonetheless.

Oberleutnant Ahlmann was the officer of the watch this morning, and he stood legs braced apart gazing through the glasses towards the horizon. A handset buzzed loudly, the sudden noise causing some of the lookouts to jump. Hechler moved across the bridge as he saw Ahlmann pick the handset up, then turn to Hechler. “The lady flier wishes to come up to the bridge, sir.”

Hechler looked away. He had not seen her since they had left Bodǿ, and he could picture her amused expression at the party, before Inger had arrived. The thought of Inger still left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he hadn’t had a chance to speak with the medical officer yet, and questions were racing around his head. According to Leitner, the flier and the two girls on the camera team would be transferred to a supply sub before the Prinz Luitpold ventured far into the Atlantic. His endless enthusiasm was irritating, and Hechler wondered whether Leitner would use Willentrop as an excuse for everything. He said, “Very well.” He heard he voice at the bottom of the ladder, and turned away, towards the sea again.
As she was ushered onto the bridge, he turned to face her, and he took her appearance in. She was wearning a leather jacket, much like what the fighter pilots wore. Her hair was messed about and her cheeks red from the wind and Hechler guessed that she had been exploring the upper deck. “A wonderful view, Captain!” She looked across at him, her eyes dancing. “I should love to fly right now!”

She sat in his steel bridge chair, and Hechler walked away, out onto the port wing again as he observed the Lübeck, her funnel vapour streaming off abeam as her bow rose and fell against the sea. They carried on like this for a while, Hechler deliberately ignoring her, lest she make fun of him again, whilst she sat in the chair, observing the watchkeepers go about their work with interest, or watching Hechler with amusement.

One of the sailors at the back of the bridge listening to a voicepipe announced suddenly, “Radar reports strong echo to starboard sir, fifteen miles.”

Hechler turned on hearing the announcement and walked briskly to the chart, passing the chair in the process. He could see Franke’s interest out of the corner of his eye, and he gave her a brief smile as he passed. Ducking under the canvas cover, he scrutinised the chart. It was probably only a fishing boat, he thought. Nothing to worry about. He walked back to the centre of the bridge, aware that the girl was looking at him. “Direct Hans Armin to investigate. Then tell the admiral.” He looked over to Ahlmann. “Alter course to port. Steer zero-two-two. Set revolutions for 20 knots.” He moved back over to the port wing, standing close to the chair.

Ahlmann looked up from a voicepipe and reported. “Steady on zero-two-two, sir. Revolutions one-one-zero.”

He turned and saw her watching him. She shrugged. “It’s so different.” She gestured towards the long bow, rising in the swell. “So huge. You feel as if nothing would stop her, as if she could run away.”

Hechler nodded at her. “When I was a young watchkeeper, much like Ahlmann over there, I often thought that. Especially at night, the captain asleep, nobody to turn to, alone except for the seagulls and the stars. I used to…”

“Gunnery officer requests permission to train Anton and Bruno turrets at the echo, sir.”

Hechler replied, “Yes, ten minutes though.”

“It never stops for you, does it?”

He looked at her. “I hadn’t thought about it. I don’t suppose you do either, when you’re flying, checking all your instruments. This is much the same, just larger and with more people to watch out for.” He saw her nod in reply, satisfied with his explanation. They turned and watched as the two forward turrets swung out to starboard, their muzzles rising in the air as Kroll set a solution for the echo. It was useful practise, but Hechler had set a time limit as he knew that Kroll would exercise his crews whenever he could. A practise Hechler agreed with normally, but he didn’t want his crew confused by drills when they could be attacked in a real alarm at any moment.

She said, “Seeing these great guns makes me realise what your war is all about.”

“Are you afraid?”

She seemed to consider it before answering. “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen a naval engagement, but it’s like flying. There are only so many things you can do when the plane goes out of control.” She shrugged again. “Here, I don’t have control of anything, or understand much of what is going on.” Then she laughed and one of the lookouts turned from the binoculars to look at her. “I Know what you are going to ask me, Captain, but I’m under orders as well. I am here because Admiral Willentrop ordered it so. I am a civilian but I fly for the Luftwaffe.”

“I heard what you did. The Italian mission.” He looked across at her again. “I wouldn’t do it myself, up there, so vulnerable. Give me a solid deck, ship or submarine and I’ll be happy.”

She looked at him, a frown on her face. “I definitely couldn’t do that. I don’t care at all for submarines. I had to travel on one in Italy once, and I hated it. Trapped, underwater, you can’t see anything either.” The frown left her face as she looked at him, an amused expression on her face. “I heard about your exploits as well, Captain. Weren’t you the submarine commander they used to call Dieter ‘Blindman’ Hechler because you had to get so close to ships before firing?”

Hechler laughed, a wry smile on his face, “I only went in close so they didn’t have a chance to get away from the torpedoes!” He looked away, over the bridge railing once more. “I hated it as well, like shooting fish in a barrel. It hardly seemed fair at all, especially early in the war. At least here,” he gestured to the bow, “you can see your enemy. Those brave lads had no chance.”

He stopped as she said suddenly. “You should do that more often, Captain.”

“What?”

“Smile. You don’t have to...” She stopped as Suhren appeared on the bridge and saluted, although his eyes were on the girl.

“The admiral sends his complements, sir, and would you see him on his bridge.”

“Yes.” Hechler was annoyed at the interruption. He had been glad to have a conversation with someone who wasn’t connected with the ship, the trade. Leitner had probably seen them chatting, and called him away, although it could hardly have been from jealousy. He turned to watch as the turrets moved back to point fore and aft again. He looked at the girl again, “If there is anything I can do while you are aboard…” Suhren stepped forward so that he seemed to loom in between them. She watched him, her eyes tawny in the strange light. “Attend to your ship, Captain. Her needs are greater than mine.” Hechler turned away. The brief contact was broken, and why not? His own self-pity was poor enough bridge to begin with.

He found Leitner on his armoured bridge, his jacket hanging over a chair as he peered over a large chart, carefully plotting convoy routes. He looked up as Hechler entered. “Intelligence reports state that the escort carrier has been destroyed in a U-boat attack, as you know. We will meet with the westbound convoy tomorrow. The British will be protecting the eastbound convoy with the supplies for Ivan. There are six U-boats in the area, not counting the two that were lost, and there are constant air patrols as well. We cannot fail!” Hechler thought of the pages of orders, rendevous and alternative fueling arrangements. It would be so much different from the early raiding sorties, when their sister ship Admiral Hipper broke into the Atlantic, and the Admiral Scheer as well. It could just as easily go terribly wrong, like the Graf Spee and Bismarck.

Hechler looked up as Leitner spun around and fixed Hechler in his gaze. “Your second-in-command. I’ve had a signal about him.”

“Viktor Suhren?”

“Yes. It’s his wife. She has been caught, how shall we say, causing trouble. She was taken away by the Gestapo; she had been travelling without warrants, investigating the disappearance of her parents, and spouting nonsense about the Nazi party. Thugs and barbarians we all are, apparently.”

Hechler privately agreed with her, but this was not the moment to say so. He recalled Suhren’s face, the way he had parried questions about his leave.

He returned to the bridge, strangely disappointed that the girl had left. He climbed into the chair again, glad that Suhren had disappeared as well. He listened to the deep throb of the engines, the bow rising and falling above the waves, and he could also feel the constant tremor through the chair. The beast was prowling again. Right now the convoy was being attacked by the U-boats. The submarines were like sheepdogs, driving the convoy onto a converging course towards the small squadron. Tomorrow they would engage the convoy, no more fixed targets, stations or houses on shore, but moving targets, some that would fire back. The Prinz would fight in the open again. Hechler found himself relishing it, even if it was just to shake off the mood that had gripped him for the last few months. The tiger, unleashed once more.

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

“Ship is at action-stations, sir!”

Hechler returned Korvettenkapitän Froebe’s salute and watched as the bridge crew went about their business. He pictured his men throughout his command, some in the engine room, others holed up behind inches of steel armour. He could also see Suhren deep down inside the hull in the damage-control party. As far away from the bridge as possible. Did he ever secretly hope that a shell would hit the open bridge, so that he could gain the command he so craved? Hechler shook of the mood as Leitner strode onto the bridge.

He was wearing a white silk scarf around his neck, and his cap was set at a rakish angle. It was as if he were about to appear in the newspapers again. Hechler stiffened as the admiral turned towards him. “The stage is set, eh? I presume the engine room is warned for full revolutions?”

“Yes, sir. Everything is set.”

Apparently happy with the answer, Leitner moved away and grasped the rail with his hands. Hechler looked out towards the destroyer screen, and said, “Signal the first subdivision to take station ahead.” He glanced at Leitner, apparently not paying attention, still looking over the rail, but Hechler knew different. He saw the camera team climbing onto the bridge, setting their equipment up in a corner. The two women looked ill at ease in their steel helmets. Hechler asked sharply, “What are those people doing here?”

Leitner turned around and smiled at him. “My orders, Captain. A record, we must take all risks in war.” Hechler heard the camera whirr into action as the day’s event s were recorded.

The first subdivision of destroyers was tearing ahead as they took station well ahead of their larger consorts, forming into a line abreast. The others were on either beam, plunging along with the cruisers. Froebe, the executive officer now stood in Clausen’s place, as Clausen was up in the armoured conning tower waiting to plot every manoeuvre and to take command if the bridge was destroyed. Ahlmann was in charge of bridge communication, and he came up to Hechler now, handing him a telephone. “Gunnery Officer, sir.”

“Enemy in radar contact, sir. Bearing green one-oh. Range 21,000 metres.”

Leitner touched his sleeve. “I am going up to my bridge now. This is a great day!”

Hechler watched him go, relieved that he had left the bridge at last. He thought of the convoy. Intelligence reported that it was at least 30 ships strong, and with all the heavy surface escorts centred on the other convoy. The forward guns shifted slightly, their muzzles pointed high in the air and over the starboard bow. Astern Lübeck crews would be doing the same, but they would have to wait a little longer to engage. A dull explosion echoed over the horizon. A torpedo hit, another ship gone to the bottom. Leitner did not seem to care about the U-boat losses. Hechler, because of his background felt it much more, and hoped that they could give the U-boat enough time to get away safely.

Ahlmann asked, “Permission to open fire, sir?”

“Denied.” He pictured the convoy again. They were fast, Liberty ships probably, and would scatter if they fired too soon.

“Aircraft, sir!” Several of the men gasped aloud. “Red one-five! Angel of sight one-oh!”

Froebe hissed between his teeth, “Torpedo bombers, for Christ’s sake!”

Orders rattled around the bridge as the secondary armament swung round to engage the plane. Hechler held his binoculars to his face. They were Beaufighters, flown from the Orkneys or Shetlands. They must be at the very limit of their range, he thought. He was surprised that he felt so calm, so detached. He tightened his jaw. “Short range weapons stand by. Secondary armament open fire!” The destroyers were already firing, marking the sky with black pockmarks. Hechler could see the two lone bombers in his glasses, and then turned away as Ahlmann passed him a phone. “The admiral, sir.”

“The convoy may scatter. Increase speed. Signal the group to engage the enemy as ordered.”

Hechler looked around the bridge. “Full ahead. Prepare to take avoiding action.” He felt the power surge through the bridge as the ship trembled. He had to shout above the noise of the secondary armament. “Main armament. Open fire!”

He barely had time to put his ear plugs in before the two forward turrets erupted in long sheets of flame as they fired at the convoy still below the horizon. He looked over to the Beaufighters, seeing them weaving through the shell bursts as bright tracer lifted from the destroyers. One of them was trailing smoke as they flew through the murderous barrage, the single torpedo gleaming under each fuselage. One thing was obvious. Prinz Luitpold was their target.



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



I'll try and get the next bit uploaded asap. The Atlantic beckons...

[Respenus]

Damn man. You just don't give us enought time. With all the school work, I bererly have time to sleep, yet alone read your WONDERFULL stories.

I won't even bother.

From the few sentaces I read, yet again great job!

And od slow down, will ya

[robj250]

I seriously hope you are considering publishing your stories as they are fantastic dude.