Who could imagine a love born out of hate that finally turns into passion! Who knows how our mind will react in the face of specific situations at unexpected moments! If our emotions betray our beliefs, who can assure us that the course of history has not been manipulated by hate, but by greed instead?
*
The diesel engine was idling. The freezing water rubbed against the reinforced hull of the ship and the crew maintained strict silence.
"Fifteen degrees to starboard," the captain whispered under his breath.
The order was passed along silently and the submarine changed course.
"Twelve degrees to port."
The interior of the submarine felt like a freezer, but the men were still sweating anyway.
"All ahead and reduce speed," the captain whispered again.
Cruising at periscope death made it easy to make out the tip of an iceberg, but what lay hidden beneath the surface was of far greater concern. Enormous mountains of ice slowed the progress of the submarine and turned the journey into a very perilous voyage. It was worth it.
The captain was experienced in avoiding the obstacles and looking out for his crew.
"This war is absurd," he said. He had no desire to receive an Iron Cross posthumously. He preferred to live and regret not having won it. "Hahaha," he chuckled to himself.
When the war began, he savored the bittersweet victory of sinking several cargo ships that were easy targets. But when he saw how the crew members drowned and burned even as they were trying to save them, it disgusted and nauseated him.
Leave the butchers' work to the butchers, he thought to himself.
He called a childhood friend who worked for the Nazi Party in Berlin and pulled a few strings that helped the captain get new orders to withdraw from the English Channel. After sinking two more cargo ships, he was called to the capital, awarded a star for dedicated service and assigned to patrol the North Sea and coast of Norway with his crew. A quiet assignment.
"Eight degrees to starboard," the captain muttered.
The metal framework of the submarine groaned after rubbing against the enormous mass of ice.
The sound passed through the sub from bow to stern, paralyzing the hearts of everyone on board.
Absolute silence.
"Three degrees to starboard."
Perfect! Everything was proceeding smoothly.
"We're moving away from the area where most of the icebergs are concentrated," the captain announced. "I'm turning command over to the executive officer."
"The executive officer is taking command," the sub-lieutenant repeated.
The captain walked away and headed towards the officer's area, which occupied a corner with three benches, a table secured to the floor, and a small curtain that separated it from the passageway everyone used.
"The corner of imaginary privacy," he called it.
"My apologies for the delay, gentlemen."
A tall man with white hair, bushy eyebrows and a penetrating gaze was seated in one corner. He wasn't wearing a navy uniform. Flight wings adorned the right side of his shirtfront and lines of colors decorated the left side where his medals hung. There was an emblem of the American army on his right shoulder.
"It doesn't matter," the American said.
The man across from him was a slim yet strong man with blond hair and blue eyes, albeit far removed from the stereotypical German. The silver pendant with the Star of David tucked away safely under his sweater was only visible when he washed. Not that anyone on that ship gave a damn.
"We continue with the plan," the Jewish man said.
The short, dark-haired captain with bulging eyes looked very southern European and lacked any aspirations of belonging to the Aryan race. He sat down with his two guests and took out a map hidden underneath his uniform jacket.
"OK", the captain whispered. "Then we're agreed that after our discovery, the island of Jan Mayen is the perfect place for carrying out our plans."