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  Marshall leaned back in his chair again. Browning spoke with such calm assurance that it was fascinating.

  ‘The next thing will be an Allied invasion of Europe.’ The blue eyes vanished in a crinkle of lines. ‘That’s a secret, too! But one thing is certain, we’ll need many more troops than we have available now. They’ll come from America and Canada, and round the Cape from Australia and New Zealand for such a massive operation.’

  Marshall glanced at the Victoria Cross ribbon on Browning’s jacket. It was not all that hard to picture him in his own boat.

  Browning asked sharply, ‘Do you know what a milchcow is?’

  Marshall started. `Yes, sir. The Germans have several of them. Big submarine supply boats. Well over twothousand tons each, or so I hear.’

  `Good lad. You probably know their function as well as I do. The average U-boat can cover 7,000 miles on an operational cruise. Now even with their French coast bases they lose 4,000 miles just getting out to mid-Atlantic and back home again. That only leaves 3,000 miles to do any damage, right?

  Marshall nodded. He could find no connection between events in North Africa and U-boat operations in the Atlantic.

  ‘So these milch-cows, as they call ‘em, can meet their U-boats at prearranged billets. Supply ‘em with food and fuel, torpedoes, letters from home, almost anything they need. They can treble the time that each boat can stay at sea and therefore attack our convoys. Before, just to keep, say ten boats operational off the American coast, they required thirty. The supply boat has cut their problems, and so far we’ve not been able to track down any of ‘em. If one of our killer-groups gets anywhere near ‘em they merely have to dive and poodle on to the next arranged billet. Easy as falling off a log.’ He took a deep breath. ‘In the next month or so we can expect huge troop convoys from the States if we are to exploit the North African successes. If we can bag a couple of their milch-cows, or even one, it would make all the difference. It might take weeks for the Germans to realise what’s happened. Valuable weeks when half of their U-boats are creeping home or running out of fuel and supplies before more aid can be sent to them.

  Marshall gripped his glass more tightly. So his new command was to try and run milch-cow to earth.

  He said quietly, `I still don’t see what hope we have of finding one, sir.’

  Browning smiled happily. He was enjoying himself. `If anyone can do it, I think you can.’ The smile faded.

  `Anyway, I believe it’s worth a bloody good try.’

  He heaved himself upright and moved restlessly to his desk.

  `Last month, a U-boat outward bound from Kiel to the Atlantic developed trouble in her motors. She was not a new boat, but her crew were. Green as grass. The weather was foul at the time, blowing a Force Ten and as black as a boot. The U-boat’s skipper decided to run for shelter to carry out repairs. He chose a fjord on the east coast of Iceland. He took a risk but it probably seemed a good idea. I expect others have done it before him. God knows, the bloody Icelanders have no love for us and the Americans since we occupied their country!’ He studied Marshall for several seconds. `Fortunately, the skipper of a clappedout Asdic trawler had had the same idea. They met eye to eye, so to speak!’

  Marshall stood up without knowing he had moved. `And you’ve managed to capture her rendezvous codes for their supply submarine?

  Browning walked over and grasped his arm, his eyes dancing.

  ‘Better’n that, boy. We’ve got the bloody U-boat!’ He pointed at the side of the cabin. `She’s out there now.’ Marshall stared at him.

  `God Almighty!’

  `Indeed.’ Browning smiled gently. `And now we’ve got a captain for her, right?’

  Marshall slumped down in the chair again. He forced a smile.

  `Right, Sir.’

  Browning beamed. ‘Thought you’d like the idea. Right up your street.’ He seized the decanter. So have some more port, Herr Kapitan!’

  2 Confrontation

  Overnight, the rain had passed inland, and the wind, although as sharp as ice, had fallen away considerably.

  After a hasty breakfast in his cabin, Marshall hurried on deck where he found Captain Browning and two of the depot ship’s officers in deep conversation by the guardrail.

  Having breakfast in his temporary quarters had been another of Browning’s suggestions. It seemed as if he wanted to isolate Marshall completely from all distraction until the chosen moment of confrontation. The previous evening, and long into the night, Marshall had stayed with him, saying little, and content just to hear the other man outline the plan he had envisaged for so long, and which might now become reality.

  Capturing the U-boat had been a whole series of lucky incidents as far as the British were concerned. Once faced by the sheltering Asdic trawler, the German commander had tried to scuttle his boat, only to discover that the strong gale had driven him further into the fjord than he had intended. With her tanks flooded, the U-boat had come to rest on a hard shoulder, her periscope standards still awash.

  Caught in the trawler’s searchlight, and with a few warning cannon shells whining dangerously overhead, the submarine’s crew decided to surrender without further trouble. Her captain and first lieutenant were old campaigners, but the majority of the company were, as Browning had described, green as grass. Otherwise it was unlikely they would have given in without some show of fight.

  The news was flashed to the Admiralty in London, and within hours an expert salvage team was on its way by air to Reykjavik with orders to save what they could. Long hours of darkness, thick snow and a raging blizzard greeted the party when they finally reached the isolated fjord. Two divers were drowned, and several of the men received severe frostbite. But despite all this they got more than a few useful relics, they raised the U-boat and at the first easing of the weather had her in tow, en route for Scotland.

  While Browning’s team of experts worked round the clock to put right the U-boat’s damage and install what replacements they could lay their hands on, others kept a ceaseless radio and intelligence watch, waiting to hear that the U-boat had either been able to signal her predicament before capture, or that some agent ashore had seen the Navy’s jealously guarded prize. To most people’s amazement nothing was reported.

  Browning confessed that there was still a possibility. A leak of information, or some additional safeguard which the German Naval Staff at Kiel had had prepared for some such emergency.

  But as the days wore on he had gained fresh confidence that all was well. Command of any submarine was an independent role. And that of a U-boat stalking the vast wastes of the Atlantic was the most independent of all.

  A bugle blared, and from aft the White Ensign rose curling and flapping to its staff to mark the official beginning of another day. Against the leaden sky and dull, rnist-shrouded land along the loch it looked unnaturally bright.

  Browning turned as the `carry on’ was sounded, and saw Marshall framed in the screen door. He grinned. “Morning!’

  He was glowing with health, and it was hard to believe that they had finished the decanter of port just a few hours ago.

  Marshall saluted. `Well, I’m ready, sir.’ He shivered in the wind. God, it was bitter.

  Browning introduced his two companions. Both were commanders, and each had been responsible for preparing the unexpected addition to the fleet for sea.

  One, a bearded man called Marker, said cheerfully, `We’ve had a lot of the gear re-labelled. Metres into feet and so on, for the benefit of the simpler souls aboard! But most of the technical equipment is as before, so don’t forget the fact if you go into a crash dive.’ They walked out into the wind and he added gravely, `Naturally we’re not in the habit of stocking spares for German subs. You’ll have to make do with what you’ve got. In the meantime I’ll get my people to rummage discreetly around the stores. You never know. We may need them later.’

  During their long discussion Browning had hinted as much. If Marshall was successful they might
be able to use the U-boat in another unorthodox operation. It explained Browning’s connection with Combined Operations, a fact which had puzzled Marshall since the captain at Fort Blockhouse had mentioned it.

  If Marshall was not successful, then of course there was no point in bothering further. It was assumed, if not stated, that he and his crew would be on the bottom. For good.

  He leaned over the outer guardrail and stared down at she boats alongside. The inner one was a small H-class submarine, a survivor from Browning’s war.

  The captain murmured, `We use her for training, and as a guinea-pig. She also helps to make inquisitive eyes ashore think we’re just doing normal instruction.’

  Marshall did not hear him. He ran his gaze very slowly along the outer craft, feeling a strange sensation in his stomach, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. Although her conning-tower was crudely masked by painted canvas as an additional precaution against prying eyes, there was no mistaking the outline and design. About two hundred and fifty feet from a sharp, raked stem to her partly submerged stern, the U-boat was exactly as he had expected she would be. A few overalled seamen were working at the open forehatch, and the others were training and elevating the powerful-looking gun on her casing and slapping on grease where it mattered.

  Browning said, `Vicious looking beast, eh? Her skipper was Korvetten Kapitan Opetz. He got the Ritterkreasz after his last cruise.’ He added bitterly, `Put down twentytwo ships. One hundred and five thousand tons. The murdering bastard!’

  Marshall tore his eyes away and stared at him with surprise. Often when he was ashore he had heard similar views. He found them both illogical and disconcerting. As a submariner he saw the underwater battle quite differently. He hated to read of all the much-needed ships which were sent to the sea-bed, of the suffering and death caused by each attack. At the same time he reacted against those who trotted out remarks like Browning had just made. It was war, and there was no difference between a German torpedo and a British one when it found its mark.

  Not to those on the receiving end. And Browning, as a submariner, should have been first to respect an enemy’s skill, if only to use such knowledge to destroy him.

  Browning said, `We’ll go down. They should be ready for you now.’

  He led the way along a steep catwalk without saying more. Perhaps he sensed Marshall’s reaction to his outburst. He did not seem easily fooled by anything.

  Across the deck of the H-boat and then a brief pause while Browning initialled a signal pad for another officer.

  Marshall stood quite still only his feet moving to the little boat’s gentle motion. He looked up at the U-boat’s conning-tower where a seaman was putting finishing touches to a newly-painted ensignia.

  The officer called Marker said gently, `Thought it best to invent a new badge for the boat. Just in case Jerry knows he’s lost her.’

  The ensignia was of a prancing black bull, with steam shooting from flared nostrils and bright green eyes which stared forward as if to see some possible victim.

  The commander continued, `The painter got the idea from a Walt Disney film.’ He grinned. `What better to catch a bloody milch-cow than that, eh?

  Browning turned. `Your new company has been training aboard for two weeks. It was all the time we could afford. But you can rub off the rough edges while you’re on passage to the rendezvous area. After all, I’m not expecting you to start looking for trouble. Just the targets we talked about.’ The blue eyes hardened. `No heroics beyond the job.’

  Marshall nodded. If only he could control his limbs. Even his teeth were chattering so badly he imagined the others must have noticed. Cold, nerves, or just the plain apprehension of going straight back into the melting-pot without a break. It might have been all or none of them.

  They scrambled across a creaking bow and then Marshall reached out to grasp the rail around the U-boat’s conning-tower. It was merely for a few seconds, and yet … It even felt different.

  A sentry saluted as they climbed up the straight ladder to the bridge, and Marshall wondered how much, if anything, they all knew about his arrival. Within days he would know that sentry’s face and what lay behind it, probably as well as the men he had said good-bye to in Portsmouth. He threw his leg into the bridge and hesitated. That was only two days ago.

  Another pause as he looked around him. It was unlike Tristram’s bridge. Narrower and longer, while just abaft the conning-tower he saw a deadly looking Vierling gun mounted on a bandstand. Four barrelled, eighty-eight millimetre cannon with a tremendous rate of fire. He knew that much already.

  Then they were climbing down, the smells and sounds rising to greet them, until at last they were all assembled in the well-lit control room. Browning stood aside to watch his reactions.

  Marshall knew they were studying him but ignored them. It was his ability which mattered now. Once at sea there was not a dockyard man or a depot ship mechanic who could help him.

  It was well laid out. More spacious than he had expected, and he noticed that, unlike British boats, there was a section in the control room entirely for the engineer officer. So

  he would be in here with his captain. It was excellent to be in close contact with a man so vital to the boat’s safety and performance. On the other hand, he would ‘feel his eyes on him throughout each attack or flight from danger, gauging their chances, seeking out his skill, or lack of it.

  Browning said, `I’ve cleared the boat of all but essential personnel. Thought you’d like to get the feel of things unhampered.’

  `Thanks, Sir.’

  He saw printed instructions had been pasted over German wording on many of the gauges and dials. One brass plate remained on the forward bulkhead, unmarked. A reminder.

  U-192. Krupp - Germania, Kiel - 1941.

  Despite his excitement he felt a chill on his spine. Half to himself he asked, `Can we have the main periscope raised?’

  A stoker applied the switch, and as he stooped to seize the handles, watching the great periscope as it hissed from its well, he had a sudden picture of those who had gone before him.

  He swung the periscope slowly in a small arc, seeing the depot ship’s spindly funnel, some gulls diving and wheeling in the hopes of food. Further still. Across the choppy waters of the loch he saw the nearest land, a cluster of small houses nestling against some trees. He twisted the right handle towards him, making the same houses leap forward, astonishingly clear and close as he brought the lens to full power. He watched an old woman standing in the open door of one of the houses, her body crouched against the cold. She was waiting for a cat to make up its mind. To go inside or stay out. He smiled and clicked it back to normal power.

  With the left handle he swivelled the top lens upwards, towards the dull sky. Where the prowling aircraft would be. Waiting and noiseless for a submarine to surface. The most vulnerable moment.

  Browning must have seen his quiet smile as he had studied the little scene ashore for he said, `You seem happy with her. Got the feel already, eh?’

  Marshall looked at him gravely. The captain’s guard had momentarily dropped. It was all there on his battered face. Plesaure, pride. But most of all, envy.

  Envy. Poor old Buster he thought. He’s been left too far behind to understand.

  `Something like that, sir. I’d like to do a full tour of the boat and then compare my notes with your fitness reports.’

  The other officer said, `As you know, she mounts six tubes forrard and two aft. She carries twelve spare torpedoes inboard and nine more on the after casing in pressure-tight compartments.’

  Browning said quickly, `A total of twenty-nine tin-fish, eh?’

  They all looked at him. Marshall realised with a start that Browning was already feeling out of things. His scheme, his plan to pull off the impossible, had been made to give way to the real professionals.

  He said quietly, `Not like your last command, I expect sir?’

  Browning beamed. `Too true. Even that little H-boat alon
gside would have seemed like a liner to me then!’

  The one called Marker said, `The diesels are excellent. Will give you eighteen knots on the surface. The electric motors can do eight submerged.’

  Marshall asked sharply, `You’re not so happy about those?’

  `My people have stripped them down and they seem fair enough. But they probably said that when the left Kiel. You’ll have to watch ‘em.’

  They moved forward through the pressure bulkhead and past the main switchboard where three artificers were crawling amongst a complex.of wire and gauges. There was a gentle hum of power, a sense of some latent energy which made the hull feel alive.

  Marshall saw a door marked ‘Kapitan’ and faltered. In Tristram he had shared the wardroom with his officers, had been made to display his confidence and doubts off duty as well as on. Here at least he would have somewhere to be alone, no matter how briefly, with his thoughts. Be able to shed his outward mask of assurance, have no need to shield his anxieties.

  A quick glance inside. The shelves on the bulkhead were already filled with British publications as well as the original ones.

  Browning called from the passageway, `You will have one officer who speaks fluent German. Two of your telegraphists are also hand-picked for their work with enemy codes and transmissions.’

  `That was thoughtful, sir.’

  He hid a frown. What was the matter with Browning? Was he worried about his ability to command, or his own problems in getting the boat prepared? To have trained operators and an officer who was equally versed in German was obvious. Or should have been.

  Occasionally men squeezed past them as they carried on with their inspection. Marshall saw their glances. The word would soon get round. The new C.O. was aboard. What’s he like? Wait and see. You never know with officers. And so on.

  And here was the wardroom, where he would meet his officers. Assess them, as they would him.