Spook's Gold (47 page)

What he had seen through the periscope he had scarcely been able to believe or rationalise himself. The early morning sun had illuminated a massed flotilla of ships steaming south. So many ships, that even in the gaps between them he had seen only more ships and yet more beyond. There was no horizon, only this mass of naval vessels filling the periscope lens, the sky turned entirely black by the smoke from their engines and turbines. He guessed that they must number hundreds. He did not want to guess at what it might signify.

The reason for the excessively intense destroyer activity above them over the past twenty four hours had become clear. The hunter ships were working to protect this armada, an effort to sweep out and keep out any German submarines from their course. But the mass of enemy vessels, just three thousand metres away, would be the saviour of the U-180. Riesen’s planning had been simple; dive directly towards and under them and navigate a course westwards to their far side, which by luck happened to be the direction in which the U-180 was headed. He had seen that the ships were densely clustered and that would cause difficulty for any hunter above from being able to navigate in and out of them, let alone fire depth charges in such close proximity. His only concern had been about how far they would have to travel to reach the far side of the group. The batteries were already relatively depleted due to having spent much of the last twenty four hours submerged whilst they had been making evasive manoeuvres.

They had run for twelve hours below the enemy fleet in semi-quiet running mode. There had been no need for absolute silence, since the disturbance of the water by the ships above them on the surface had drowned out any noise that the submarine might make. The crew of the U-180 had thus been able to optimise their speed against the usage of the batteries, with no concerns about enemy sonars picking up the wake from their propeller screws. Only in the last few hours, on breaching the far curtain of security on the western-most edge of the Allied battle group, had they been required to resume silent running.

----

And now here they were, a few hundred metres off the coast of northern France, not knowing if this territory might now be in enemy hands. As a result of having to lie quietly for a few days waiting for the defined date of the rendezvous, they were going to be very tight on time to reach Bordeaux by the deadline. They would have to spend at least one night moving at maximum diesel speed on the surface to make up time and distance, with all of the risks that that entailed.

Riesen was even hoping
that this pick-up might be whoever it was that they were supposed to collect from Bordeaux. If so, it might obviate the need to go to there at all; they could simply head straight out into the Bay of Biscay or the Atlantic, refuelling in mid-ocean from one of the tanker subs. That would be far preferable. Navigating the Gironde estuary to Bordeaux was now a lottery with the odds worsening daily. The Allies seemingly had total freedom of the air and were dropping mines everywhere and anywhere, especially around the u-boat bases.

His train of thought was broken by Otto, who was shifting restlessly and talking to himself. Otto had begun to irritate Riesen intensely. He wondered how the man’s character could have switched so radically between the two voyages. Since leaving Kiel the second-in-command had been as jumpy as a new recruit. The man was utterly competent and reliable in the running of the U-180 and carrying out commands; after all, no one knew the vessel or the crew better than Otto. However, in the last few days he had demonstrated a nervous stutter at times and, from this and various other small signs, Riesen could tell that he was completely strung out. In the duration of the journey to and from Kiel, Riesen’s estimation of the man had swung abruptly from wondering why the immensely cool and capable Otto did not already have his own command, to having reached the decision to have him transferred off of the U-180 when they reached Bordeaux. Based upon his observations of Otto Kurtz over the last few days, Riesen no longer felt confident in having him on the U-180, never mind in such a senior and critical position. The man was on the edge of a complete breakdown and therefore a liability, not an asset. In just the few minutes since they had surfaced, Otto had been muttering and fidgeting beside him and Riesen was now on the verge of sending him below.

Chapter Fifty One

Otto was indeed in a frightful panic. He was tempted to take a swig from the hip flask tucked into his tunic, but he knew that Riesen was watching him almost as intently as he was the darkness beyond the conning tower.

The whole business with the trip to Kiel had thrown him into confusion. Willi Graf had been unable to avoid the U-180 being sent there. But wasn’t Willi supposed to be in charge of scheduling the U-180’s missions?  For the first time in the years that he had known Graf, Otto’s trust in the man and his confidence in this whole scheme had been shaken. Willi had explained that the order had come down from much higher, that the Schnorchel modification was the pet project of someone in command and so it could not be avoided.

But why at Kiel?  There were technical groups at the other submarine bases such as Brest and Lorient that were capable of doing the work, so why the time and risk of going to Kiel?  Willi had been unable to answer this, had only tried to reassure Otto that any upgrade to their submarine – Willi had already been talking about it as
their
submarine when they had met in Bordeaux in early May – would be to their benefit.

Otto had argued that they should take the U-180 immediately, break and run whilst they had it within their grasp. Willi had refused, insisting that they owed it to their fellow conspirators aboard the U-195 to be patient, that they should wait for the opportunity to take the full haul of gold from the U-195 too. Otto had considered that Willi was just being greedy; there was enough aboard the 180 to live like kings.

In the end, Willi had triumphed by pointing out that they would need as many of the gang as possible to take over the submarine. With only half of them, it would be more difficult and dangerous. Otto, averse to violence and conflict, had been swayed by this argument. Willi had assured him that they only needed to patient for another month, that the voyage to and from Kiel would be a simple run.

It had turned out to be anything but simple. When Riesen had recounted what he had seen through the periscope, it seemed that a full invasion of France must be underway. So now they were just a few hundred metres from what might already be enemy territory. And who were they waiting for?  Could it even be Willi himself?  He fervently hoped so. His nerves were jangling and he desperately needed Willi here to take over, to take charge and tell him what to do. In particular, what they should do regarding this special mission that the U-180 was now engaged upon.

Following the confusion and mystery at Kiel, the way in which they had been confined to the quay and segregated from the main docks, Riesen had revealed that they had been selected for a special mission. They had both speculated on what it might be and about the rocket and other hardware that had been loaded aboard. Riesen had genuinely been in the dark and unable to give Otto any further details. He knew only that it was top secret and of utmost priority for the war effort. Otto would have to talk with Willi about these new events. Despite the fact that he agreed with Willi on the stupidity of this war and the inevitability of defeat, Otto was still a patriot. During the long days spent idle waiting for this rendezvous, he had come to the conclusion that they should put a hold on the takeover until after this mission was completed.

He became aware of Riesen grumbling in his ear but raised a hand and told him to be silent. “Listen! Yes. There is someone or something in the water, coming towards us.”

They both turned and angled their heads, straining to focus on the source and direction of the noise. “You’re right, the sound is coming from the direction of the shore,” agreed Riesen, and then he identified the rhythmic squeaking. “A rowing boat.”

Chapter Fifty Two

Delaune had led the group along a path around the western perimeter of the village and out onto a promontory of rocks. These were not so much cliffs as clusters and mounds of round granite blocks. The waves slapped, sucked and hissed at them on both sides as they scrambled along the boulders and eroded rock formations, leaping from point to point towards the limit of the outcrop.

Dubus nearly slid over the side of one bulbous, rounded monolith, the steel cleats on the soles of his boots striking sparks as he rapidly pedalled to gain some grip. He had landed with a painful thump on his side, one of his weapons making a loud bang as it struck the rock hard. The other soldiers had laughed good-naturedly and mocked him for his lack of agility. Dubus had sworn back at them as he regained his feet and shuffled his shoulders to reset his load and webbing. They had to lessen the pace when they reached the end of the promontory, having to go slower on rocks that were submerged at high tide and slippery with weeds. Delaune pointed, “There, in the boat.”

They all followed the direction of his outstretched arm and saw the small cockle boat fifty metres distant, coming around the headland from the sheltered cove below the village. Graf was rowing furiously to rise up and over the breakers that were trying to push him back towards the shore, momentarily scooping air as the boat crested the peak of the wave, arms and oars wind-milling wildly until the boat flopped back down and the oar blades bit into the water once more. The light was so poor that Graf and the tiny boat were little more than silhouettes against the black water. They could not see Lemele and Marner’s heart sank. He was tempted to turn and curse Delaune for not having taken them directly to the village. Now it was too late.

Graf had been alerted to their presence by the sound of their boots scraping on the rocks. He stopped rowing, reached down in front of him towards the blunt rear of the little wooden dinghy and hauled Lemele roughly up by her collar, using his other hand to place the Walther against her head. Although Graf was unsure if his threat had been seen and understood, he was obliged to release Lemele and return his attention to the rowing as the boat was slewed sideways by an incoming wave. He placed the pistol beside him on the rough bench on which he was perched and then worked rapidly with the oars to correct their direction and drift. Satisfied that he had a break between waves, he paused again to pick up the pistol and held it to her head to demonstrate that he still had it to hand.

Despite having achieved his intended objective, he could not resist grinding the barrel end into her temple until she emitted a squeal of pain that was audible to the group on the rocks. Aware that he was still at risk from the group on the shore, he forced Lemele to kneel before him, also facing towards the stern of the boat. This left him free to row, with her acting as a shield from any possible gunfire.

Marner lunged for the rifle that Slowikowski was holding tentatively in the direction of the boat. Slowikowski was unprepared and distracted by the drama taking place in front of him and Marner easily succeeded in wresting the weapon away from him. No sooner did he have it in his hand than a boot crunched into the back of his knee causing him to fall, a clip from the stock of Dubus’ gun to the back of his head aiding him on his way down to the hard rock. Marner groaned and shook his head to clear the haze of shooting lights, then rolled over to find the barrel of Dubus’ gun in his face. “Try to take off and join your Nazi friend again and I will....”

Marner batted the barrel away. “For fucks sake, shoot him! As soon as he gets out of range of us, he’ll kill her.”

The three soldiers swivelled their heads from the prone Marner to look back out to sea, now understanding what his intent had been. Marner struggled up and punched Dubus on the arm, waving his other hand towards the boat, roaring at him, “Do it, before they are out of range.”

Dubus looked ready to do violence to Marner again, but said calmly, “I am a marksman and even I would not try that shot on that moving target, with her in the way.”  He looked around. “Perhaps if we move up higher there, maybe the elevation will help, but we will be farther back and I still would not give it much chance of success. With him using the lady as a shield, I....”

Marner had no interest in listening to Dubus’ technical evaluation of the problem. He immediately turned and bounded back over the rocks that they had already crossed and then set off scrambling up to the higher bluff, leaving the others with no choice but to follow. When they finally emerged onto the higher rocky plateau, thirty metres above the level of the sea, Marner was dismayed to find that Graf had make good progress; the boat and its occupants had faded to just a vague blur against the water.

“Shit. What do we do now?”

Chapter Fifty Three

Lemele was struggling with cramp. The spars in the bottom of the dinghy were digging into her knees and the foul, cold water slopping around was adding to the discomfort.

Graf’s voice wheedled its way into her ear. As his hands pushed forward on either side of her with each new stroke of the oars, he was brushing close up against her back and his face was in her hair. She wondered if this was deliberate, provocative even. “So my dear, are you looking forward to your little adventure with me and my chums?  I’m sure that they will be doubly pleased to see me when I show them the sweet little playmate that I’ve brought along to entertain them on the long voyage.”

The thought of being trapped in the submarine with this brute and his accomplices, of what they might do to her, shook her and she was filled with nausea. She considered it more likely that he would kill her before they reached the submarine. Since she knew of his plans to forcibly take over the vessel, it did not seem likely that he would risk taking her aboard, where she could warn the crew. Or had his co-conspirators already taken control?

Recognising that she had no choice but to make a move before they got too far out, Lemele shrugged off the icy tentacles of shock and fear that had wrapped themselves around her brain, that were strangling her thoughts and logic, her free will. Plans to capture Graf fled her mind. The only thought process running in her head now was simple: Survive. Live.