· 6 June 1939 ·
ABOARD THOR, AT SEA
Clang. Clang-clang. Clang.
Somewhere out in the fog, not too distant, Old Number Seven chimed its mournful toll. Hobbes listened carefully, glancing down at his chart. Yes, it was the ancient bell-buoy that marked the outer approach to Portsmouth Harbor. Despite his blindness inside the soupy fog, his vessel’s damaged bow, and his running at greatly reduced speed, they’d likely make their offshore meeting with John Cory’s trawler shortly after midnight. At worst, perhaps an hour late or so, Hobbes saw, by the glow of his wristwatch in the darkened pilothouse.
Passing Old Number Seven to port, Kate said he’d better come outside and see this.
“See what, Kate?” Hobbes asked through the opened window. “Your old friend the moon?”
Kate, who’d gone to a berth below to sleep for most of the journey, had awoken feeling slightly queasy and Hobbes had sent her out on deck to get some air. The fog had lifted somewhat, and Hobbes already had the powerful searchlight illuminated so Cory would see them coming. Katie, her red curls blowing in the cool breeze, stood at the starboard rail feeling much improved and happy to see a bit of the moon back on the water.
“Racing with the moon again, are we Kate?” Hobbes asked cheerfully. Happy to be safely across, he intended to spend the night moored in Portsmouth Harbor. A sunny morning’s crossing back to Greybeard Island would be great fun for Kate. Off by eight, he’d have them home for luncheon at Hawke Castle by noon. Kate’s face appeared at the open window.
“No-o, not the moon exactly. Something’s happening out here, Hobbesie.”
Something’s happening? Not liking the sound of that one bit, he pulled back on the twin throttles and brought the big boat to a standstill. Throwing the engines into neutral, Hobbes pulled on his old officer’s pea jacket and stepped out of the pilothouse into the cool night air. “What is it?” he asked, joining her at the rail. He’d brought his electric torch and he flicked it on.
“The sea. I think it’s exploding,” Kate said. “Look!”
Hobbes swung the beam of light out over the blackness and was amazed to see a huge mound of boiling white water growing from the surface of the sea, not fifty feet away!
“Whatever could it be, Hobbes?” Kate asked, eyes wide with wonder. “It’s not some kind of sea monster, is it?”
It was something monstrous, all right. First, that heaving mound of foaming white water that kept getting bigger and higher, a rising shape that always reminded Hobbes of the sea’s surface when a massive depth charge had detonated deep. The mushroom shape rose now, and expanded until it looked like it would indeed explode, and the water all around them was afroth and alive like some giant sea creature was about to make its appearance. Then the roiling sea did explode and a massive ugly black snout of steel surged majestically into the foam-blown sky at a forty-five-degree angle, water pouring off her sleek dark sides in sheets, her diving planes flashing in the moonlight.
Why, she’s enormous! Hobbes thought. He’d heard rumors, of course, but this was simply beyond belief. What had they built? An underwater battleship?
“Oh, my,” Kate said, “a giant submarine! Oh, my goodness, Hobbes!”
“Goodness doesn’t have anything to do with these fellows, my dear,” he said. “Our friends the Germans, you know.”
“Nazis, Hobbes?” Kate asked, leaning forward over the rail to peer at the monster. “Real live Nazis?”
“I’m afraid so, Kate, I’m afraid so,” Hobbes said, raising the binoculars that hung from a strap round his neck.
The conning tower broke through the surface, the whole of the stunning machine still rising at that impossible angle, so unlike anything a boat should be able to do, and Hobbes saw the red swastika and the U-33 legend and knew he was finally face-to-face with the pride of the Kriegsmarine, an Alpha-Class submarine!
He devoured her with his binoculars, hardly able to believe the extraordinary size of the thing. Elated, Britain’s most celebrated naval designer and clandestine espionage agent suddenly realized he had just been handed an early Christmas present. The only unfortunate part, he thought, putting his arm round Kate’s shoulders, was that he was currently employed as a nanny. Nannies and Nazis weren’t likely to be a healthy combination.
The broad bow came crashing down into the still-boiling sea. Instantly, three or four dark figures appeared up in the brilliantly illuminated conning tower, staring across the water at Thor with binoculars of their own.
“I wonder what they could possibly want,” Hobbes said, and then he was blinded by a powerful searchlight beam coming from somewhere on the forward deck of the U-boat.
“It hurts my eyes, Hobbes, I can’t see!” Kate cried. Hobbes bent down and put both hands on the little girl’s shoulders.
“Listen, my child,” he said. “I’d dearly love it if you’d go below to the galley now. Put the kettle on for me, please, and get out those lovely sandwiches we made at Hawke Castle. I’m famished. Take Horatio with you, and give him a nice bowl of milk. Hobbes will be down in a bit. After I find out what these rascals are up to. Run along now, darling, won’t you?”
Kate nodded her head and turned from the rail after giving one last look at the huge black submarine. Nazis, she thought, and far from her mother’s strawberry patch, too. “Horatio!” she called. “Come along, you naughty cat, we’re going to make a nice midnight supper for Uncle Hobbes!”
She wasn’t afraid of Nazis. Why, her own mother didn’t even believe in them!
“Turn that bloody light off, why don’t you?” Hobbes shouted across the water as soon as the child was gone. “You’re blinding me!” There was no answer, but in a moment the light was extinguished, which meant at least one person on the sub spoke English. A few smaller spotlights along the base of the sub’s tower were illuminated and trained on Thor.
“Ahoy there, vessel Thor !” said a heavily accented voice in English floating over the water. “German vessel Wolf, here! Do you require assistance?”
Assistance? What kind of assistance could he possibly require from a German U-boat? “No, I do not,” he shouted across the water. “Do you?”
There was some hesitation on the conning tower bridge as they sorted that one out, and then one of them said, “We are following you all night! We are making sure your hull is intact after our collision!”
Collision, had he said? Hobbes thought immediately of the ugly scar on his bow. Yes, that was it. He must have somehow collided with the U-boat, lying at periscope depth, an hour or more outside the entrance to Hawke Lagoon.
Or, he thought, his mind taking a darker turn, the giant U-boat had collided with them! Hobbes’s mind was racing. Perhaps there had been a simple accident, as the Germans claimed, and they were simply acting according to the international rules of the sea. Or had they lain in wait as Thor emerged from the lagoon, tracked them, and then staged the collision in an effort to—what—sink them?
No, there could be nothing in that, he decided. That would be an act of war, and their two countries were still at peace, at least for now. So, the more likely thing, he decided, was that the Germans meant to “accidentally” disable his vessel and prevent her crossing.
He and Lord Hawke had long known that Berlin wanted to get its hands on them. Operating entirely undercover, the
Skirmish in the dark
two of them had done enormous damage to German espionage and Gestapo operations inside Germany, and on the continent as well. So far, they’d managed to outwit the Germans at every turn. They remained one of England’s best kept secrets. He’d made this weekly run to Portsmouth for almost a year, with nary a hint of trouble. But, what if the Nazis had somehow now identified them? What if—a voice interrupted his thoughts.
“I am Kapitän Wolfgang von Krieg!” said a strong voice over the water. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can,” Hobbes replied. “Quite well!” The sub was drifting closer and sound traveled quite well over water anyway.
“You appear to be sinking! We are sending a boarding party over to assist you!”
He wasn’t sinking. He’d been going forward belowdecks every twenty minutes or so, climbing into the anchor locker under the bow deck, to inspect the hull and had seen only a tiny trickle of leakage from the collision. But now a party of men had gathered near the bow of the U-boat and appeared to be lowering a large rubber raft into the water.
He also noticed, with some discomfort, that a sailor was manning the sub’s five-inch deck cannon and had swung its ugly barrel around toward Thor. These boys were serious, he thought. The sub had also maneuvered her bow around toward his boat. Lit up like a Christmas tree, he was now a sitting duck for her forward torpedo tubes as well as that deck gun.
“Thank you, Captain, a boarding party won’t be necessary!” Hobbes shouted back from the rail. “My vessel is intact and I am proceeding to my destination.”
After all, there was nothing preventing him from simply going into the pilothouse, engaging Thor’s powerful engines, and leaving this bloke sitting on the surface while he raced off for Portsmouth Harbor.
Nothing, of course, except that five-inch deck gun and the six forward torpedo tubes.
“We insist!” came the captain’s voice. “Do not attempt to leave, please! We are boarding you!”
Please? Hobbes decided to see just how polite this fellow could be. “Cheerio, chaps!” he called, smiling into the light and waving good-bye, as if he hadn’t heard this last bit about boarding. Turning from the rail, he began to walk aft toward the pilothouse entrance. For a moment, opening the door, he thought he’d successfully called the Nazi’s bluff but then four words floated across the water that froze his heart solid.
“Torpedoes away, mein Kapitän! ”
Hobbes ran back to the starboard rail, grabbing onto it with a death grip. He saw two white torpedo trails in the black water, racing from the bow of the U-boat directly toward him!
“Are you people insane?” Hobbes screamed. “Have you lost your minds, I—” The twin trails were inside twenty feet. It was over.
He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear seeing the end. The few remaining seconds were interminable. He thought of Hawke, and how utterly he’d failed him. He should have known they couldn’t outwit the Germans forever! He thought of Nicholas and Gunner, too, and finally he thought with overwhelming sadness of the little red-haired girl, waiting for him to come down to tea. He waited for the explosive sound that would mark the beginning of silence and the end of peace.
No explosion. No anything. Only some strange beeping noises coming from the water just below where he stood at the starboard rail! Hardly daring to breathe, Hobbes opened his eyes and looked down at the water. And gasped.
There were two small silver objects, hovering in the water, not five feet from Thor’s hull! A pair of blinking red lights just above the nose of each silvery tube looked like nothing so much as the eyes of some ungodly metallic fish, staring up at him! And their tails were afroth in churning water, some kind of propulsion system. He stared at the two cylindrical objects, dumbstruck. They defied comprehension. Torpedoes that stopped and looked at you? Blinked?
“Tigersharks! ” cried a loud, German-accented voice from the conning tower. “Our newest type of radio-controlled torpedo! Don’t vorry, zey von’t bite you! Unless of course, you try to run! Let me show you!”
Suddenly, the two small torpedoes reversed themselves and backed away from his boat. Quite astonishingly, they then turned away from each other and raced off in opposite directions, one around his bow, the other round his stern! In a flash, they were back, passing each other within inches as they looped in deadly circles around Thor, around and around.
“All right, all right!” Hobbes cried. He obviously had little choice in the matter, and he was desperate to get the two Tigersharks away from his boat and little Kate as quickly as possible. “Call off these little monsters and tell me what you want!”
“We want only to assure ourselves that your vessel is sea-worthy, Thor! Please believe us!” The rubber boarding raft, with three men aboard, was already halfway across the distance.
“Yes, yes. Fine! Permission to board!” he replied, his eyes never leaving the tiny torpedoes as they raced full speed toward each other and stopped less than two feet apart. Suddenly, their red eyes began blinking very rapidly and then they both nosed downward simultaneously. Two powerful but muffled explosions occurred seconds later, and a pair of small mushrooms appeared on the surface. If I live to tell the tale, Hobbes thought ruefully, the boys at Advanced Weapons will be building an English version of the remote-controlled Tigershark torpedo by summer’s end. If only there were a way to learn what other little secrets the Alpha sub contained, he thought. And perhaps there was.
Feeling grateful to have a solid deck still under his feet, Hobbes went to the stern, and hung the folding mahogany ladder over the transom so that the Germans might board his boat.
Trying to look unhurried, he ducked into the pilothouse. Opening a locked drawer hidden under his seat, he took out two items, an American snub-nosed .38 Police Special, which he stuck into the waistband of his trousers, and the new packet of Nick’s Alpha intelligence for Winston Churchill.
He dumped a box of .38 cartridges into the oilskin document packet. Knowing these fellows might search his boat, he went to the window opposite the Nazi raft, and flung the weighted packet into the sea. It made a small splash and sank instantly. When he turned to check on the Germans, they were coming up over his stern.
The first over the transom was a big blond-headed fellow in a black sailor’s uniform. He had an ugly submachine gun slung over his shoulder. Not a good sign, Hobbes thought, as a second man appeared. This fellow was shorter than the first, quite round, and seemed unarmed and harmless enough.
“Everything’s ready, Hobbes,” a small voice behind him said. “Aren’t you ever coming down to tea?”
“Oh, quite, quite,” he said, turning to her, smiling. “Sorry, dear girl. It’s just that we appear to be having a few uninvited guests.” He motioned toward the stern and Kate saw two men in black helping a third come up the ladder.
“Nazis!” she cried. “Oh, Hobbes, wait till I tell Father! I’m meant to keep an eye on them, you know!”
“Yes, well, you’ve certainly got a front-row seat now, my dear,” Hobbes said, his mind racing furiously. “They’re Nazis, all right, the question is, who are we?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Shh, speak softly, dear,” Hobbes said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I mean, I’d rather not have these chaps know who I really am, dear.”
He took her hand and quickly led her back down the steps into the main salon where she’d laid the tea. He wanted them to appear as relaxed as possible. He bent to Kate’s ear and whispered, “You see, it might be bad for me if they find out who I really am. And I don’t have the foggiest notion of what to tell them.”
“Oh, that’s easy enough, Hobbes,” Kate said brightly. “Just say you’re my papa!”
Hobbes didn’t know whether to hug her or kiss her. Bending to pick her up in his arms, he did both. He was whispering his hastily put-together plan in the child’s ear when he saw the sailor with the submachine gun coming down the steps.
He put Kate down and smiled at the chap.
“Hello,” the young submariner said with a shy smile. “English not so good, but my name is Ingo. Everyone all right?”
“Hello, Ingo!” Kate said. “I’m Kate. I’m almost seven! Are you a real Nazi? Want to hold my cat?” She held Horatio up to him and the sailor took the big cat in his arms, just as the other two Germans were stepping down into the warmly lit salon. Ingo looked at his superiors sheepishly, and handed the cat back to the little girl, picking up the black Sten gun once more.
“Good evening,” said the taller and rounder of the two men. He didn’t look like Hobbes’s idea of German submarine officers at all. “I am Dr. Moeller, ship’s surgeon aboard U-33, and this is my assistant, Klaus.”
His English was good, but thickly accented. The man had heavy pink lips and Hobbes was astounded to see him picking his teeth with a long, shiny instrument that was obviously a surgical instrument of some kind, a scalpel!
Hobbes eyed the two men carefully before answering. Everything about them, their black leather jackets, their steel spectacles, said “Gestapo,” the vicious German secret police.
“I’m certain there’s a reasonable explanation for all this trouble you fellows are going to, Doctor,” Hobbes said, looking Moeller in the eye and smiling.
“But, of course!” Moeller replied, through rubbery lips. “We’ve been sent by our commanding officer to ensure that your vessel is seaworthy following our unfortunate collision! Common marine etiquette, is it not?”
“Your captain says you’ve been following us for nearly three hours, Doctor,” Hobbes replied mildly. “Clearly, Thor is seaworthy. Now, tell me precisely what it is that you boys really want.”
“I want,” the little German said, with a cruel twist of his lip, “first of all to know your names.”
“Kate McIver, aged six and three-quarters!” Kate said, stepping forward, and putting out her hand, which the doctor awkwardly shook. “Nice to meet you! Are you a real Nazi, too? My mother doesn’t believe in Nazis, but you seem real enough. This is my daddy, not my mommy. And this is my cat! Isn’t he pretty? We all live in a very drafty old lighthouse on Greybeard Island. It’s called the Greybeard Light! Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Say hello to Horatio!” She held up Horatio. The doctor, with a look of utter disgust, took him and handed him to Klaus.
“Yes, yes, Doctor,” Hobbes said, picking Kate up in his arms. “My family and I keep the Greybeard Light. My name is Angus McIver.”
“Ah, but of course,” Dr. Moeller said, stroking his chin. “A lighthouse keeper. I should have known that by the size of your yacht. I think perhaps I should defect to your country so that I, too, might enjoy this luxurious life of the English lighthouse keepers who live in such castles and have such yachts. You don’t object if Klaus takes a look around your beautiful boat, do you? Just to ensure her seaworthiness?”
“Be my guest, Klaus old boy,” Hobbes said with a smile, looking down at the little red-faced German with the thatch of orange hair over each ear. Klaus didn’t look like a fellow who knew one end of a boat from the other.
Hobbes said, “Bow’s up that way, stern’s back there. Don’t trip over any ropes, chappie.” He laughed and put Kate down. “Kate, dear, why don’t you take Ingo into the galley and offer him some tea?” Ingo seemed a nice enough chap, Hobbes thought, a boy barely out of the naval academy. Kate seemed to have taken to him, too.
“You are not amusing, Mr. McIver,” Dr. Moeller snarled after Klaus had gone forward and Kate had led Ingo by the hand aft into the galley. “And I must warn you. Do not make the mistake of trifling with me. It will have most unpleasant consequences.”
He twirled the gleaming scalpel round his fingers deftly and slipped it into his pocket. “You see, I’m quite a terrible surgeon. Perhaps the worst who ever lived,” he said with a laugh. “Why, before I retired, I was known as the ‘Butcher of Berlin.’ Amusing, no? It’s why my, how shall I call them, my current ‘employers,’ find me so useful during interrogations.”
“I’m sure they do,” Hobbes said, managing a chilly smile. Gestapo all right, assuredly capable of any atrocity. But it wouldn’t do to show fear. Hobbes knew this from a few previous encounters with the German secret police.
“Listen, what exactly can I do for you, Doctor? Before you reply, I should make it clear that I am not accustomed to having my boat rammed at sea, nor of having uninvited guests come over my stern at midnight. Please state your business as briefly as possible and then my daughter and I will be on our way.”
“We have reason to suspect that you’re an English spy, Mr. McIver,” Moeller said, pulling back his jacket so that Hobbes could see the big black Luger in the holster under his arm. “We have certain information about this vessel. And, we know for a fact that you and your daughter were visitors at Hawke Castle this evening. The home of Lord Richard Hawke, I believe. He is someone my superiors would very much like to talk to, Mr. McIver. But we’re happy to start with you. Assuming you are not Lord Hawke himself?”
Hobbes regarded the man with an icy stare. “Listen to me closely, little fellow. I have no idea who or what you’re talking about. You are threatening me. Our two countries are not at war. Not yet, anyway. Are you yourself personally declaring war on England? Do you have that authority? If not, you’re merely a foreign criminal, engaging in criminal trespass inside English territorial waters. I can easily have you arrested, you know, I’m very chummy with the local constabulary.”
“So, you deny knowing Lord Hawke?” Moeller asked, his hand closing on the grip of the Luger.
“In a word, yes,” Hobbes replied coolly. “And leave that cannon right where it is unless you plan to use it. Makes me tremble just to look at it. You see, old chap, I’m absolutely terrified of unpleasant little Nazi policemen who carry unpleasant big German firearms and sail around the Channel in the middle of the night bumping into people and terrifying the seagoing population.”
“You are lying to me, Mr. McIver,” the German said, and pulled out his pistol. “I believe you perhaps are not who you say you are. Yes! I believe you are Germany’s most wanted spy himself, Lord Richard Hawke!”
“Don’t be absurd! I wouldn’t know a spy from a seagull,” Hobbes said. “And I’m not going to answer any more of your ridiculous questions. You can of course kill me where I stand, but it wouldn’t look too good in tomorrow’s London Times, do you think? ‘German Agents Murder English Lighthouse Keeper at Sea off Portsmouth!’ Might cause an international stir, old chap, bit of a flap in Berlin, too, I might imagine!”
At that moment, Klaus returned from his inspection of the damage to the bow. “You were correct, Herr Doktor,” he said. “I sadly must inform the Englishman that his vessel is sinking and must be abandoned. A pity, isn’t it?”
Sinking? But that was impossible! Hobbes turned and saw a steady flow of green seawater flooding into the main cabin from the companionway. His beloved Thor was going to the bottom and there was nothing at all he could do about it. Suddenly the German plan was clear as Waterford crystal.
He looked at Klaus and the little orange-haired German smiled at him with crooked teeth.
“Ever been aboard a German submarine before, Herr Lighthouse Keeper?” Klaus asked.
The German was unable to decode the strange gleam that came into the Englishman’s eyes. Had he been able to, he would have feared for his life.
The Germans had just unwittingly invited the most dangerous fox in England into their henhouse.
