iron pirate (8 page)

Hechler thought of his young brother again.
Scharnhorst
had been sunk a month later, the day after Christmas. The seas had been so bitter off North Cape that only a handful of survivors had been found and saved by the victors. His brother had not been one of them.

Hechler tried to push it from his thoughts and concentrate on what his ship would be required to do. The North Russian convoys again? Any pressure on the Russians and the destruction of much-needed supplies from the Allies would be welcomed by the army. Or was it to be still further north, and round into the Barents Sea itself before the ice closed in? Attack the Russian navy in its home territory. Hechler tightened his jaw. It might be worth a try.

Theil said, 'I had expected to see an admiral's flag at the masthead when I returned, sir.'

Hechler smiled. 'The admiral intends to keep us guessing, Viktor.'

He thought of the mysterious boxes which had been taken below. All the keys of the compartment where it was stowed had been removed from the ship's office. The admiral had one key, and Hechler had locked the other in his cabin safe. He was determined to get the truth about them out of Leitner.

He recalled Leitner's temporary headquarters in Copenhagen where he had been driven that first evening and almost every day since. Copenhagen was still beautiful. A
war
and occupation could not change that, he thought. The green roofs and spires, the cobbled squares, even the huge German flags which hung from many commandeered buildings could not spoil it.

Leitner seemed to have created another world of his own there. 1 lis HQ had once been an hotel, and the people, men and women, who came and went at his bidding seemed to treat it as one. There was always good food and plenty to drink, with a small orchestra to entertain his official guests with music either sentimental or patriotic to suit the occasion.

If Leitner was troubled by the news from the Russian Front he did not reveal it. He was ever-optimistic and confident and seemed to save his scorn for the army and certain generals whom he had often described as
mental pigmies.

If any man was enjoying his war it had to be Leitner.

Theil watched him across the table, half his mind straying to the shipboard noises, the preparations for getting under way once more. But Hechler fascinated him far more. Was he really as composed as he made out? Untroubled by the weight of responsibility which was matched only by its uncertainty?

Theil thought of the rumours which had greeted his return. The arrival of piles of Arctic clothing on the dockside had added fuel to the fires of speculation even amongst the most sceptical.

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? He watched Hechler's grave features, the way he pushed his hair back from his forehead whenever he made to emphasise something.

Theil tried not to dwell on Britta's behaviour. Perhaps she only wanted to punish him, as if it had all been his fault. He felt the stab of despair in his eyes. It was so unfair. Just when he needed her loyalty, her backing. If only -

Hechler said, 'I wonder how many eyes are out there watching us right at this minute, eh, Viktor?' He walked to a scuttle and rested his finger on the deadlight.

He looked more relaxed, more like a spectator than the main player, Theil thought desperately.

Hechler felt his glance, his uneasiness. It was not time for Theil to be troubled. Their first loyalty was to the ship, and next to the men who served her. After that - he turned, hanging from the deadlight like a passenger in a crowded train.

'We're going to fight, Viktor. I feel it. No more gestures, no more bloody bombardments with barely enough sea-room to avoid being straddled.' He looked at the nearest bulkhead as if he could see through it, to the length and depth of his command. 'Have you ever read about Nelson?'

He saw from Theil's expression that the change of tack had caught him off balance.

'No, sir.' He sounded as if he thought it was somehow disloyal.

Hechler smiled, the lines on either side of his mouth softening. 'You should. A fine officer.' He gave a wry grin. 'Misunderstood by his superiors, naturally. Nothing changes in that respect.'

Theil shifted in his chair. 'What about him?'

'The boldest measures are the safest, that's what the little admiral said. I believe it, never more so than now.' He eyed him calmly, weighing him up. 'We'll lose this war if we're not careful.'

Theil stared at him, stunned.
‘Impossible!
I - I mean, sir, we can't be beaten now.'

'Beaten - I suppose not. But we can still lose.' He did not explain. Instead he considered Norway. The first part of their passage should not be too dangerous. Air attack was always possible, but the minefields should prevent any submarines from getting too close. He thought of the new detection gear which was being fitted. As good as anything Britain and her allies had. Kroll, the gunnery officer, had shown rare excitement, although he obviously disapproved of having civilian technicians on board idling him what to do. They would still be in the ship when they sailed; it was that sort of priority.

The unseen eye, one of the civilians had described it. The
Scharnhorst
had been tracked and destroyed with it even in a dense snowstorm.
Prinz Luitpold's
was supposed to be twice as accurate, and they were the first to have it fitted.

Hastily trained men had been rushed to the ship, new faces to be absorbed, to become part of their world.

There was also a new senior surgeon, the original one having been released because of ill-health. It had been something of a cruel joke amongst the sailors.

Hechler considered discussing the surgeon with Theil but decided against it for the moment. The man's name was Stroheim; he was highly qualified and a cut above most naval doctors. The best were usually in the army for all too obvious reasons.

Hechler had skimmed through his confidential file, but only one part of it troubled him. There was a pink sheet attached to it.

I lechler hated political interference. It was like being spied on. Nevertheless, Stroheim had come to him under a cloud. You could not ignore it. He held a mental picture of Oberleutnant Bauer, the signals and W/T officer. On the face of it a junior if important member of his team. Bauer too had a special form in his file. He was the ship's political officer, a role which even as captain Hechler could not investigate.

Hechler shook his sudden depression aside. 'I would like us to walk round the ship before the hands go to their stations for leaving harbour.' He forced a smile. 'To show a united front.'

Theil stood up and grasped his cap tightly to his side.

'It will be an honour. For the Fatherland.'

For a moment Hechler imagined he was going to add Heil Hitler' as Leitner would have done. He said, 'No one goes ashore from now on.' He thought suddenly about the explosion which had sunk the lighter. It was always unexpected when it happened. Vigilance was not always enough.
Sabotage.
They were out there watching the ship, the same people who had placed the bomb aboard the lighter. To damage the ship or to destroy Leitner's boxes, the reason made little difference. It could have been serious.

In London, quaking under the new and deadly rocket bombardment, a telephone would ring in some Admiralty bunker.
Prinz Luitpold is leaving Vejle.

A brief radio message from some Danish traitor was all it took. He smiled again. Or patriot if you were on the other side.

Another more persistent tremor came through the deck plating from the depths of the engine-room.

He looked away from Theil's strained face. Like me, he thought. Eager to go.

The
Prinz Luitpold's
swift passage from the Baltic into Norwegian waters was quieter than Hechler had anticipated. They logged a regular speed of twenty knots and passed Bergen within minutes of Gudegast's calculations.

For much of the time, and especially for the most dangerous period in the North Sea when the Orkney Islands and later the Shetlands lay a mere 200 miles abeam, the ship's company remained closed up at action stations. Every eye was on the sky, but unlike the Baltic the weather was heavily overcast, with low cloud and spasms of drizzle which reduced visibility to a few miles. They were able to test some of the new radar detection devices, and Hechler was impressed by its accuracy as they plotted the movements and tactics of their escorts even though they were quite invisible from the bridge.

Further north and then north-east, still following the wild coastline which Hechler knew from hard-won experience. Past the fortress-like fjord of Trondheim and crossing the Arctic Circle until both radar and lookouts reported the Lofoten Islands on the port bow. To starboard, cut into the mainland itself lay Bod0, and an hour later the cruiser's cable rattled out once more and she lay at anchor.

A grey oppressive coast, with sea mist rising around the ship like smoke, as if she had just fired a silent salute to the shore. They were not alone this time. Another cruiser, the
Lubeck,
was already anchored in the fjord, and apart from their escorts there were several other big destroyers and some supply ships.

Some if not all of the tension had drained away on the passage north. To be doing something again, to accept that a sailor's daily risks put more persona! worries into their right perspective, made Hechler confident that his ship was ready for anything.

With the ship safely anchored behind protective nets and booms, and regular sweeps by patrol boats, Hechler found time to consider the wisdom of his orders. Bodo was a good choice, he thought, if only for the enlarged, military airfield there. Bombers and fighters could supply immediate cover, as well as mount an attack on enemy convoys or inquisitive submarines.

Routine took over once again, and after the fuel bunkers had been topped up from lighters, they settled down to wait.

Less than twenty-four hours after dropping anchor Hechler received a brief but impatient signal. He was to fly immediately to Kiel. After the uncertainty and the mystery of his orders it was something of an anti-climax. But as he was ferried ashore and then driven at reckless speed to the airfield in an army staff car, the choice of Bod$ as a lair for his ship became all the more evident. Everything was planned to the last detail, as if he had no hand in anything. He did not even know what to tell Theil before he left. He might even be going to Germany only to be informed he was relieved, that perhaps Theil was taking command after all.

The aircraft, a veteran Junkers three-engined transport, arrived at Kiel in the late afternoon.

Hechler had been dozing in his seat, not because he was tired but mainly to avoid a shouted conversation with an army colonel who spent much of the four-hour flight fortifying himself from a silver flask.

As the plane tilted steeply to begin its final approach Hechler got his first glimpse of Kiel through a low cloud bank. He had not returned there for about a year and he was unable to drag his eyes from the devastation. Whole areas had been wiped out, so that only the streets gave any hint of what had once been there. There was smoke too, from a recent air raid or an uncontrollable fire, he could not tell. He had seen plenty of it in five years of war. Poland, Russia, even in the ship's last bombardment he had watched the few remaining houses blasted into fragments.

Smokey sunlight glinted momentarily on water and he saw the sweeping expanse of the naval dockyard before that too was blotted out by cloud.

It was hard to distinguish serviceable vessels from the wrecks in the harbour. He saw fallen derricks and gantrys, great slicks of oil on the surface, black craters instead of busy slipways and docks.

In such chaos it was astonishing to see the towering shape of the naval memorial at Laboe, somehow unscathed, as was the familiar, gothic-style water-tower, like a fortress amidst a battlefield.

The drunken colonel peered over his shoulder and said hoarsely, 'We'll make them pay for this!' He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 'My whole family was killed. Gone. Nothing left.'

The plane glided through the clouds and moments later bumped along the runway. Here again was evidence of a city under siege. Sandbagged gun emplacements with grim-faced helmeted crews lined each runway. Parties of men were busy repairing buildings and filling in craters. It seemed a far cry from
Prinz Luitpold's
ordered world and Leitner's luxurious headquarters.

It felt strange to be here, he thought. More so to be amongst his fellow countrymen, to hear his own language in every dialect around him.

A camouflaged staff car w
^r
as waiting and a tired-looking lieutenant seemed eager to get him away from the airfield before another alert was sounded.

No wonder some of his returning ship's company had seemed so worried and anxious. If all major towns and cities were like this - he did not allow his mind to dwell on it.

Naval Operations had been moved to a new, underground headquarters, but before they reached it Hechler saw scenes of desolation he had not imagined possible. There were lines of men and women queuing at mobile soup-kitchens, their drawn and dusty faces no different from those he had seen on refugees in Poland.

They drove past a platoon of marching soldiers who carried spades and shovels instead of rifles. They were all in step and swinging their arms. Some looked very young and all were singing in the staccato manner of infantrymen everywhere. But their faces were quite empty, and even their NCO forgot to salute the staff car.

The lieutenant saw his expression and said dully, 'It's been like this for weeks.' He dropped his eyes under Hechler's blue-grey stare. 'I - I'm sorry, sir.'

Another small cameo came and went as the car picked its way

A stretcher was being carried from a bombed house, the front of which had tumbled out on to the street. Hechler caught a glimpse of some torn wallpaper and a chair hanging from the upper floor by one leg. An old man was being led to safety by a nurse, but it was obvious even at a distance that he wanted to remain with the blanket-covered corpse on the stretcher.