Baum blinked. ‘In the end.’
Vasson nodded. ‘Make it soon. He’s seen my face.’
The telephone jangled loudly. Doenitz woke up and blinked. The room was in darkness. He guessed it was about one. So much for catching up on some sleep. He sat up and reached for the receiver.
The voice of his staff man said, ‘Berlin, Herr Gross-admiral. Reichsmarschall Goering calling.’
Doenitz turned on the light. There were voices on the line, then clicks. Absent-mindedly Doenitz smoothed down the blanket. Finally Goering’s voice said, ‘Ah! Admiral Doenitz?’
‘Good evening, Herr Reichsmarschall.’
‘Herr Admiral. And how is Paris? How I envy you your little trips there. So much beauty! And so quiet, so quiet!’ Quiet, Doenitz supposed, must mean there was no bombing, which was true enough.
Goering went on, ‘Yes, how I wish we could all take our command posts to Paris …’ The words were slurred. Doenitz sighed under his breath: the Reichsmarschall was heavily drugged again.
‘… Very soon, of course, life will be quieter in Berlin,’ Goering continued, ‘but we must get this radar business under way.’ Doenitz wondered where the conversation was leading to. He murmured a noncommittal, ‘Indeed.’
‘… A scientist we need has been
lost
by Himmler’s idiots. We must get him back. He’s at sea—’
‘At sea?’ Doenitz asked incredulously. Goering began a long, rambling explanation. As it proceeded, Doenitz felt his blood run cold. He could see what was coming.
Goering said finally, ‘So we must get this person back. A search will have to be mounted. How soon can you arrange it, dear fellow?’
‘I cannot!’ Doenitz retorted. ‘It’s out of the question! It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack! Even if I had any units available, it would be a complete waste of time—’
‘But I don’t think you understand, Herr Admiral – the Fuehrer himself has ordered the search. The matter is absolutely vital! You have S-boats, don’t you? And your enormous fleet of U-boats. Something can be spared, surely, for what is after all a vital matter?’
Doenitz squeezed the receiver hard. He said tightly, ‘I will consider what is appropriate when I receive the order direct from Fuehrer Headquarters.’
‘Of course, dear fellow. The order will be sent directly, I’m sure.’
Goering had never called him dear fellow before. Doenitz realised that this must be really important to him. If that was the case … Doenitz said levelly, ‘When – if – I receive this order, I will insist on air support. Several patrols will be needed to locate the fishing vessel. Then, and only then, might it be possible …’
The thick voice interrupted, ‘My dear fellow, you know that this cannot be done. The Luftwaffe’s resources are fully stretched. We have to defend Germany, first and foremost. And the English Channel … well, I cannot spare
anything
…’
Oh no, Doenitz thought, I’m not going to let you get away with it this time. He said briskly, ‘Without air support I cannot hope to find this vessel. In fact, I would almost certainly fail! I
must
have air support!’
There was a short silence. ‘A reconnaissance aircraft then …’ The voice was grudging. ‘I’ll see what’s available. After all, I wish to help as much as possible. The Fuehrer is most anxious, you see … most anxious …’ The voice became brighter. ‘You’ll find this scientist for us, won’t you, Doenitz?’
It was an impossible question. Doenitz said tightly, ‘I’ll see what can be done.’
‘Good. Remember, we
need
him. Got to sort out this radar business, haven’t we? Essential to get it right, essential. You do appreciate that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Doenitz sighed. Of course he appreciated it – how could he fail to? Two more U-boats had disappeared the day before. He added, ‘This scientist – why is he so vital?’
Goering laughed. ‘Ah! He worked on this new kind of radar, a long time ago. He understands it. He’ll save us a lot of time!’
A suspicion flashed into Doenitz’s mind. ‘And his name? What’s his name?’
‘Ah … One moment.’ There was a pause, then, ‘Um, Freymann. Yes, Freymann. A Jew – but there we are!’
Doenitz closed the conversation and replaced the receiver. Freymann! So … He had escaped and Goering wanted him back. Or rather, it must be
Schmidt
who wanted him back. If the Chief Scientist was so anxious to have Freymann that he was prepared to put the matter to Hitler himself, then Freymann must be really vital. Schmidt must have realised that Freymann had been on the right track all along, from the beginning … Memories of a day long ago came into Doenitz’s mind: the trials ship, the strange, tubby little man and the wild ideas tossed about like sparks from a firework.
Sighing, he got up and pulled his uniform jacket on over the shirt and trousers he already wore. He remembered that Freymann had been based at a naval establishment. God forbid that the Navy were responsible for letting him escape! He finished buttoning the jacket and went into the adjacent room. His staff officer jumped to his feet. Doenitz said, ‘I am expecting an order from Fuehrer Headquarters. Bring it to me the moment it arrives. In the meantime please tell Admiral Kohl that I wish to meet him in the plotting room in two minutes.’ Protocol had to be observed. Admiral Kohl was C-in-C Gruppe West and this was his command post. Doenitz was a visitor here.
Doenitz waited one minute, then descended to the plotting room. He should wait for the Fuehrer-Command, but there was no harm in discussing the strategy. Anyway, he knew very well that the command would come. Goering had sounded very certain.
When he entered the plotting room there was a slight hush, then Admiral Kohl and his staff detached themselves from their work and followed him to the vast plotting tables. Doenitz stared at the array of wooden shapes that marked the positions of convoys and of each German vessel presently in the Atlantic. The black shapes representing U-boats were spread out far across the ocean, from the Mediterranean to the Caribbean, from the Cape Verde Islands to Iceland. Never before had there been so many U-boats at sea: a hundred and ten out of a total fleet of almost four hundred. The fleet was at last approaching the sort of size that Doenitz had always pressed for.
However there was not a single U-boat in the English Channel. The only vessels anywhere near were the
Schnell-boote
, the fast torpedo boats with bases at Cherbourg and Guernsey.
The S-boats first then.
Admiral Kohl was waiting patiently. Doenitz said quietly, ‘We are mounting a special operation. We are looking for a fishing boat which left this region, somewhere around the Morlaix River.’ He took a pointer and placed it on the North Brittany coast. ‘It left at some time this evening. We do not know the exact time. The craft is making for the English coast. Again, we do not know where exactly. But we must make every effort to find this vessel.’
There was silence. Doenitz could feel the officers exchanging glances behind his back. Eventually Kohl said, ‘There are the S-boats. They would be our best bet.’ He said over his shoulder, ‘Werner, find out how many S-boats are operational at Cherbourg and Guernsey.’
Doenitz stared at the massive chart. ‘I wish I could tell you course and speed, but apparently this is not available either …’
Kohl took the hint straight away. ‘Well, I’m sure we can make an estimate. Is the fishing boat motor-powered, Herr Grossadmiral?’
‘Unlikely … Unless they have managed to steal considerable amounts of fuel. And I believe the fishing fleet is searched regularly for excess supplies …’ Doenitz looked questioningly at an intelligence officer, who nodded in confirmation. ‘So,’ Doenitz continued, ‘I would imagine it’s using sail.’
Kohl looked to one side. ‘Braun! What’s the weather situation?’
There was a rustle of paper. ‘Channel area … Yes, north-easterly, Herr Admiral. Ten knots, increasing later, possibly veering to the north.’
Doenitz frowned. ‘North-easterly …’
‘Common in March, Herr Grossadmiral. The equinox.’
‘Mmm. So – what speed?’
‘Four knots?’
Doenitz nodded. ‘Yes, I agree.’
Kohl went on, ‘Course … it would have to be west of north. The best port to make for would be Falmouth. Otherwise … Well, there’s nothing else west of there. No other major harbours. It would have to be Falmouth.’
Doenitz stared at the chart. The boat certainly couldn’t hope to lay due north and reach Plymouth. So Kohl was right. The only major port on a north-westerly course was Falmouth. To the west of that was the Lizard, Land’s End, then … He glanced further west to the Scillies, then brought his eyes back to Falmouth. He said, ‘Yes, Falmouth. So – if the boat set out say at eleven, it should be somewhere around here by now.’ He pointed at a point some six miles off the coast. He turned to Kohl. ‘How long before it gets out of S-boat patrol range, would you think?’
Kohl frowned. ‘Well, we don’t usually operate S-boats beyond forty miles from the coast at this point … Enemy air patrols have been very heavy …’
‘Forty miles … We have only until dawn, then. The escaper will be thirty to forty miles off by then …’
Kohl nodded slowly.
Doenitz said abruptly, ‘So the S-boats won’t be much use to us!’
Kohl blew out his cheeks. ‘The Luftwaffe … I suppose there is no hope of an air patrol?’
Doenitz kept his eyes on the table. ‘We have been promised air reconnaissance, yes.’
No-one spoke. They had been promised air support countless times before. It rarely turned up. And when it did the planes usually had very limited range.
‘But even if we do receive air support, that will not be enough,’ Doenitz said grimly. ‘So we will have to deploy additional units …’
Doenitz waited for Kohl to suggest the only solution, but he did not. Eventually Doenitz said, ‘We’ll have to send a U-boat.’
Kohl sighed deeply and asked quietly, ‘Is it really that vital, Herr Grossadmiral?’
Doenitz nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is.’
There were no brass bands any more, no garlands either. Nowadays the boats arrived and left as quietly as possible, sliding in and out of their dark, dank pens like snakes from a hole. Nor did the men smile any more: many of the old guard had gone now, long buried in their tomb-ships. The fresh recruits had never learnt to smile: they were too frightened.
Except for Fischer’s men. Fischer’s men thought their commander was as close to God as anyone could get because he had kept them alive so long and because they believed that, after all this time, he would keep them alive for ever. Quite simply, they believed in him.
It was one of the reasons Fischer couldn’t sleep any more, even when he was desperately tired. No-one could sleep with that kind of responsibility.
He felt tired now, and the patrol had only just begun.
They were heading south-west from Brest, beginning a long loop out towards the North Atlantic. U-319 was travelling on the surface in company with two other submarines. The idea was that, in a group of three, the boats had a reasonable chance of fighting their way out of an air attack. In the event Fischer doubted that all three boats would actually escape a concerted attack – more like two. If that. The air patrols were efficient, heavy, and, if anything, getting worse.
He looked at the chart in front of him. Only sixty miles out. It should have been more but they’d left late: U-64 had been delayed with engine trouble. That meant they wouldn’t be clear of the Bay by dawn …
The Bay. The Black Pit. Ever wider, ever deeper. Like everything else it got more difficult to face, more difficult to cross. The Happy Time was long gone.
Not that the kills weren’t high – far from it. But Fischer sensed a desperation about the whole business that hadn’t been there before: the satisfaction, the excitement, had gone.
‘Herr Kaleu, Flotilla HQ are signalling.’
Fischer hurried over to the wireless area. The operator was typing a long signal into the Enigma cipher machine, his assistant copying down the deciphered letters as they appeared on the machine. Fischer peered over their shoulders, and his heart quickened. It was a personal signal from Doenitz. Fischer smiled. Just like the old days!
He began to read the body of the message and a small frown appeared on his face. When the staccato sound of the Morse ceased and the operator had typed in the last of the signal Fischer reached forward and picked up the sheet carrying the completed message. He read it again slowly, from the top.
It began in Doenitz’s usual informal way:
DOENITZ HERE. GOOD TO SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN, FISCHER. IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME.
Then came details of a special operation.
Imperative
, Doenitz called it. U-319 to abandon her patrol and proceed with all speed to search the following area – map references were given – to intercept a fishing boat believed to be at H17 P15 – another map reference – at 0100 hours, and now believed proceeding at 4 knots under sail on approximate course 330. Possible destination H24 P23. Occupants of boat to be captured but not harmed.
It was repeated that the orders were urgent and immediate. After acknowledgement U-319 was to maintain radio silence except in emergency. Doenitz signed off:
IF ANYONE CAN DO IT, YOU CAN.
Fischer tried to absorb the information, to work out what it all meant. But however he looked at it, the whole thing was incredible.
He went to the chart table to check the map references, but he’d already worked out the rough position. The middle of the bloody English Channel.
If anyone but Doenitz had asked him he would have queried it, asked for confirmation, more information. But Doenitz had guessed all that – which was why he’d asked Fischer personally.
If anyone can do it, you can
. Fischer thought: I hope you’re right.
Fischer went back to the wireless operator and dictated a reply: U-319
WILL PROCEED IMMEDIATELY. I WILL TRY MY BEST.
Back at the chart table he pulled out the large-scale chart of the English Channel and checked the map references again. The references were used by the Kriegsmarine for security reasons. Triton, the U-boat cypher, was, of course, secure and the Enigma machine itself invulnerable, but, where vital information on the positions of German vessels was concerned, the references were an additional safeguard.