Mary Dear - Redux Read online

  A few days later Wilhelm had what he needed and was forever indebted to his friend. He put the information down in a notebook and gave it to Dieter before he left for Budapest on Göring’s orders.

  ‘How come you have it? Didn’t the Americans search you when they brought you here?’

  ‘No sir.’

  Joseph couldn’t believe it but then again it was not the first time nor would it be the last that someone made such an elementary mistake.

  The notebook was an inventory of what, Joseph surmised, were the contents of the railway carriage that did not make it to Werfen, written in some sort of cryptic code. There must be a document that deciphers the code otherwise it would be impossible to know what the items referred to were. One thing was sure—they had to be of immense value. Joseph was thinking Göring must have been pleased the Americans had saved him the trouble of getting rid of Wilhelm. Now he looked at the German with renewed interest but he needed to know more...a lot more.

  ‘You have not told me how the carriage was removed from the train.’

  At last Dieter seemed to relax. This British officer believed him, he was sure of it, he would allow him to tell his story and he would save his life, so he continued:

  ‘It was part of the bargain with the Reichsmarshall. He needed someone else he could trust and, well...I had, as you put it, “everything to lose and all to gain”.’

  He told Joseph the whole story, right up to when the troop carrier stopped them. Joseph was now sure that Dieter was telling the truth.

  ‘Göring had arranged for me to travel to Hungary and to be a guard on the last carriage of the train,’ Dieter paused for another drink of water and Joseph thought he saw a trace of colour coming back to his face.

  ‘I was so afraid, I’d never been so scared in my entire life, but what was I to do? My life and my brother’s were at stake. We were at Göring’s mercy; if I failed we were dead. I knew what I had to do; I just had to do it.’

  Joseph had been talking to the prisoner the better part of two hours and was beginning to feel the room closing in on him. Dieter was sweating more than ever, the room had grown unbearably cold and Joseph’s feet resting on the stone floor were freezing. How he wished he could end the interrogation and leave the claustrophobic interview room, he could use the fresh air and warm fireplace in the officers’ mess; but he feared if he didn’t get the whole story now, he might never get it, so he pressed Dieter to continue.

  ‘While we were stopped, one of the soldiers took advantage of the cover of night, I mean, it was easy, it was so dark and snowing hard, everyone was paying attention to what was happening at the front of the train.’ Dieter paused for a moment. ‘The soldier went round to the opposite side, away from where the Captain was speaking to the driver. No one noticed him come alongside my railway carriage except me but I was expecting him. I saw him running crouched down keeping close to the carriages. When he reached the end of the train he looked up and signalled me to be quiet; climbed onto my carriage and went forward towards the guard on the coach in front of mine. I saw him draw a bayonet from his belt, clamp a hand over the guard’s mouth and slit his throat. It was horrible. He pushed the dead soldier off the roof; he landed silently on the snow on the blind side of the carriage.’

  Reliving the terrifying memory had been almost too much for Dieter.

  ‘The soldier turned towards me signalling for me to climb down while he took the place of the guard he’d just killed. He was taking a chance that the guard on the coach in front of him didn’t look back. At that distance he would have spotted the German uniform and God only knows what would have happened. I hurried up and uncoupled the last carriage. It was easier than I had thought it would be. When the train moved off I was still the guard on the last carriage. I turned back to see the one I’d been guarding disappear into the snowstorm.’

  Joseph had listened to Dieter’s story with growing amazement; it was so detailed it had to be true. Besides, there was the matter of the black notebook, not to mention the contents of the captured train.

  ‘All right,’ he said ‘I believe you, but which American are you afraid of and why would he want to kill you?’

  ‘The Americans found the cargo manifest and saw there was a missing wagon. I was riding on the last carriage; I had to know what happened to it.’

  Dieter had been talking fast, the words tumbling from his mouth but he still hadn’t said why anyone might want to harm him.

  ‘I remember there was a Lieutenant Santini when we were brought in, then a Major arrived and took charge. He was a large man, and intimidating. I am not a brave man; I don’t mind admitting I was very scared. I told him what happened but left out my part in it. I don’t think he believed me. I heard him order some soldiers to take a jeep and investigate where I told him we had been stopped.’

  Joseph thought the story made sense and Dieter was eager to continue.

  ‘Our arrival at your barracks attracted a lot of attention. An American Colonel arrived to take over and I heard the Major tell him I should be held separately for further interrogation, so they sent me here but before that the Major said to me something like you and I are going to have a little talk. Just from the way he said it I knew what I could expect.’

  ‘What did you think was going on?’

  ‘Well sir, I thought the Major wanted the treasure and I knew what would happen when he got hold of me so I said I would only talk to a British officer.’

  Joseph was still holding the notebook when there was a knock at the door. Dieter jumped from his chair and Joseph quickly pocketed the notebook at the same time saying ‘enter’.

  The MP held the door open for an American Major and, from the look on Dieter’s face; Joseph did not need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce who he was.

  Chapter Two

  Fregattenkapitan Wilhelm Klein’s U-1977 left Kristiansand, on the southern coast of Norway, with a complement of 54 men at the start of its secret mission. Klein’s orders were to sail to Argentina. On arrival at Mar del Plata he would be met by Göring’s representative who would identify himself with a password, only known to the three of them. This representative would receive the cargo and Wilhelm’s mission would be complete. He was then instructed to return to Norway for a short leave before resuming his duties. His instructions were to avoid enemy contact at all costs.

  Now, leaving Kristiansand, Captain Klein was thinking about how to address his men. What would he say to them? They would do their duty yes, but the recent sinking of the Tirpitz by Lancaster bombers had badly affected the men and their morale was low.

  ‘Well Heiny, we hunt again!’ he said. They were on the bridge, at the start of their mission but this time, he knew, would be different. There would be no hunting. Not if they could help it.

  ‘Yes Wilhelm, and God help us.’

  Oberleutnant zur See Heinrich Lehman was his friend and second in command. They had an understanding. When they were alone they called each other by their Christian names, but not in front of the men. Should anything happen to him, if he got sick or was killed, Heiny would take charge of the boat. Wilhelm trusted him completely. A quiet man and devoted Christian, Heiny was the last man you’d imagine commanding a submarine but he had proved himself to be a cool and capable leader. Not for the first time Wilhelm thought how much he liked his friend. They were on the bridge smoking a cigarette, the familiar background clatter of the engines for company, just passing Bragdøya on the starboard. The smell of diesel and seawater reached their nostrils. Familiar smells, comforting smells. The North Sea was cold and the sky grey.

  ‘How are the men?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ he said, ‘they’re a good bunch, they’ll not let us down,’ but he knew what Wilhelm was asking, that business with the Tirpitz had affected them badly.

  ‘This mission...will it be a long one? I believe Reichsmarschall Göring requested specially that you be assigned...’

  ‘Yes Heiny, I think my medals impressed him,’ he
replied self-deprecatingly with a knowing look. The answer would satisfy his friend...for now; neither man liked Göring. As for Admiral Karl Doenitz, that was another matter, they both respected and admired their leader.

  Standing on the bridge, they felt cold but were enjoying this brief moment of peace before getting down to business. There would not be many moments like this—and they both knew it.

  ‘And your wife, Heiny? How long since you last saw her?’

  ‘Oh, about three months ago...I think. We had a few days off on my last leave. Klara’s parents have a place in Bühl on the outskirts of the Black Forest. It’s very beautiful. Very peaceful; you can almost forget the war...’

  ‘This bloody war...I’ll not be sorry when it ends,’ Klein said giving his friend a sideways glance that conveyed what both men knew: The hunting trips for the wolfpacks would soon be over.

  With a final look at the receding coastline they flicked their cigarettes into the sea and went below.

  It was a nervous time for everyone onboard. They travelled on the surface keeping an eye out for enemy ships and aircraft; it was the fastest and safest way by far as they were harder to spot; the destroyers’ ASDIC sonar—was useless when searching for surface vessels. The low silhouette of a U-boat was almost invisible at night.

  Their type-VIIC vessel, one of the newest U-Boats in the fleet, was impressive: 220.1 feet long, with a surfaced displacement of 761 tons and 865 tons submerged. On the surface, it could travel 6,500 nautical miles at a speed of 17.2 knots—but submerged, its range dropped to 80 nautical miles—and its speed by half. In addition, it was equipped with the Schnorchel.

  Put simply, the Schnorchel was a pipe with a valve on one end, which extended above sea level while the boat was submerged. The tube consisted of an intake and exhaust pipe, where outside air was drawn into the U-Boat, and exhaust gases expelled from the exhaust pipe. The shutoff valve prevented seawater from entering the intake if the mouth of the tube dipped below the surface. Wilhelm had had more than one occasion to be grateful for this piece of kit. Being able to run its diesels’ underwater gave him a tactical advantage; not only were they more powerful, faster, and had longer range, but more importantly, they eluded Allied radar.

  The boat was well armed too, with four 21-inch bow tubes one 21-inch stern tube—and carried 14 torpedoes. Their deck armament consisted of one 88mm cannon and a 20mm Flak gun. It was a remarkable killing machine and one that the Allies had every reason to fear.

  The crossing turned out to be long and arduous. Twice they had to crash dive to avoid an attacking enemy plane and once an American destroyer had depth-charged them after failing to ram them. Only Wilhelm’s experience and nerve had saved the day. After that he decided to do a Schnorchel run for the rest of the journey. They made the Iceland Passage on course 300º, a little North by Northwest, and they reached Cape Verde sixty-six days later, exhausted; where they stopped at Praia for a short swimming break.

  It was in Cape Verde, while ashore, that Wilhelm decided to speak to his fellow officers. It was a risky decision but he thought he knew them well; sailing together the past eighteen months had resulted in a strong bond being formed between them, the kind that only war and suffering is able to engender. They were sitting together watching the men swimming, laughing, shouting and letting off steam like a bunch of kids on a seaside trip with their parents. They were good men. They deserved this break. Wilhelm turned to Heiny and the other officers, his friends—for that’s what they were—his mind made up. He revealed to them the truth about the secret cargo they were carrying and who the beneficiary would be. Then came the bombshell. He’d promised himself he’d tell them before the end of the war if he were still alive. After all, he knew them well and there wasn’t a Nazi among them. There followed a stunned silence but it was short lived. First to speak was Heiny.

  ‘Herr Kapitan,’ then softly, almost to himself ‘Wilhelm, I owe you my life and not just once but several times I seem to recall,’ his eyes were fixed on his captain’s and they held nothing back. It was simply the look of a friend who understood his position and sympathised. ‘I don’t know what the others will say, though I can guess, for me it changes nothing.’

  Then the others quickly joined in echoing Heiny’s feelings but all decided that, while the war lasted, what Wilhelm had told them should go no further. After a short discussion, they agreed that the war was all but lost and that risking their lives to give a man like Göring a comfortable lifestyle after the inevitable surrender would be a travesty. Wilhelm was telling them of a plan he’d formulated that, with their help, would provide a solution. The sudden chatter of the U-Boat’s guns echoing across the beach brought their conversation to an abrupt end. Everyone looked up to see an aircraft making straight for the sub and watched in stunned silence as a 2000lb torpedo dropped from the belly of the plane and splashed into the water. They held their breath as they followed its track and let it out with an audible sigh as it careered past the submarine, its wake clearly visible heading out to sea. The rattling sound of the plane’s wing-mounted machine guns grew louder as it approached low over the water, sending lines of splashes as the bullets hit the waves, forming stitch lines either side of the sub and missing it completely. The plane was banking and climbing now, its engine sounding more distant as it went away, before turning in a tight circle coming back towards them as the pilot set himself up for a strafing run.

  The sailors in the water got ready to dive for cover as deep as possible and everyone on the beach scattered running for whatever shelter they could find. The aircraft, a U.S. Avenger TBM torpedo plane with a crew of three, had appeared out of nowhere. Fortunately the U-Boat’s crew were battle hardened and the gunners had been scouring the skies for just such a possibility. When the second run begun, Wilhelm and Heiny had found a ditch and made themselves as small as possible.

  The plane came flying low heading for the beach; it must have been twenty feet above the water, its engine roaring, its two, wing-mounted, M2 Browning machine guns sparking with an insistent cackle, spraying a hail of bullets—many finding their targets. As the Avenger came nearer, growing larger and louder, they caught sight of the three-man crew looking at them through their goggle-covered eyes, their faces curious, like innocent bystanders at the scene of a road accident. Wilhelm could see the U.S. Navy markings on the fuselage and beneath the wings. The submarine’s guns—that had not stopped pumping bullets—found their mark and a plume of black smoke appeared from the front of the Avenger, followed almost instantly by a huge explosion that broke the plane in midair. Debris scattered in all directions causing the front of the aircraft with the cockpit and crew to plunge into the sea, sending a column of water shooting high into the sky.

  The front of the stricken plane appeared to sit on top of the waves, its propeller bent; the crew, trapped in the cockpit, were slumped forward and did not appear to be moving; the sea surrounding it seemed to boil for a moment and then there was nothing, not even a ripple to mark the place where three men had lost their lives.

  The boat’s gunners had stopped firing and scanned the sky for signs of any more enemy planes. Silence. Then from the beach came the cries of the wounded. Wilhelm and Heiny had escaped unscathed and ran towards the nearest of them to see what they could do but it was clear that they were going to need more help. An inflatable dinghy was already making its way to the beach with the medical officer onboard, sailing past the floating corpses of the poor devils that had been swimming and whose blood had turned the sea red. An idyllic island had turned to hell in an instant.

  They tended the wounded and carried them and their dead comrades back to the submarine. They left Cape Verde behind and an hour later, having made sure that there were no more fighters around, stopped for a burial at sea. Fifteen men had lost their lives, not counting the plane’s crew. It was bad but they had been lucky. There could have been many more if the torpedo had hit. Wilhelm shuddered at the thought.

  After a short service and
words spoken by Heiny—who had offered to say them—a sombre crew went about their chores, their minds on their lost comrades. Days and nights tend to melt into each other onboard a submarine, all the same, when evening came, the mood, if anything, had worsened.

  Wilhelm got together with his senior officers and finished explaining the plan that he’d been telling them before the American plane launched its attack.

  They accomplished their mission. The return journey took 90 days to complete and Göring was in Kristiansand to greet them.

  Captain Klein informed him that they had been attacked and had had to improvise. Fifteen men had died and been buried at sea. Many others wounded but had survived. His cargo, however, was safe. Its location clearly marked and, moreover, in a place that no vessel was likely to find, even by chance. At first Göring had not been pleased but he had been hearing nasty rumours coming back from colleagues in Argentina that indicated that it might not be the best place to hide his loot. Perhaps this was better. It meant that he could go back at his leisure and retrieve it when the time was right. Yes, he felt that he could consider the mission a success and told Klein that he was delighted, there had been a problem but he had solved it and come up with an alternative that was acceptable. He had shown initiative and confirmed the faith he’d placed in him. Almost as an afterthought, Göring expressed regret at the loss of life saying that posthumous decorations would be awarded to the men and given to their next of kin. It seemed to Wilhelm that the Reichsmarshall considered the gesture would more than make up for the loss of their loved ones and his mind boggled at the inhumanity of the man.

  Joseph got back to his billet and studied the notebook. It was an inventory sure enough but nowhere could he find the all-important information that pinpointed the location of the looted goods or, indeed, what those goods were. He needed more information and that meant talking to Dieter. He had to speak to him before the U.S. Major got his hands on him.