U-900 by Michel Poulin - HTML preview

CHAPTER 8 – A RARE OPPORTUNITY

 

14:25 (Falkland Islands Time)

Monday, October 4, 1943

Captain’s suite, U-900

Navigating at schnorchel depth, 155 kilometers east of Cape Horn

 

Awakened from his nap by the knocks on the door of his suite, Ulrich sat up with a sigh on the edge of his bed before calling out.

‘’COME IN!’’

His signals officer, Leutnant zur See Karl Munchausen, then entered and saluted him.

‘’A top priority message from Lorient, Herr Kapitän. I just finished decoding it.’’

‘’Very well! Please show it to me.’’

Munchausen took a few steps to cross the small office of the suite and entered the adjacent sleeping cabin to hand over a sheet of paper, which Ulrich took. A first quick reading of the message suddenly chased away his remaining fatigue.

‘’Thank you, Karl. Tell the other officers that I will hold a command meeting in the wardroom in half a hour.’’

‘’Understood, Herr Kapitän!’’ replied the young signals officer while saluting. He then left, closing the door behind him. Now alone again, Ulrich reread the message, impregnating his mind with the implications of the new orders from Admiral Dönitz. While he still had to ensure that the BUENAVENTURA and its precious cargo of tungsten arrived safely in France, he was now asked to also effect a potentially risky coastal raid on the Falkland Islands, this in coordination with something that had become a rarity indeed in this war: a German naval surface action.

‘’Well, that will make for a nice change.’’

 

23:03 (Falkland Islands Time)

Tuesday, October 5, 1943

British submarine H.M.S. TALLY-HO

Patrolling on the surface 83 kilometers southeast of Port Stanley

 

‘’Five months, five months of patrolling around that freezing shit hole! We couldn’t possibly have drawn a worst assignment than this!’’

Seaman Second Class Harvey Belthram, on topsail watch duty with Seaman First Class William O’Rourke, gave a dubious glance at his whiny comrade. O’Rourke always had to complain about something, which made him a rather annoying watch partner.

‘’Look, Bill: here we at least get full rations, thanks to the Americans’ logistical support for the refueling station in Port Stanley, rather than the near starvation diets our mates in England have to live on. So, quit whining and concentrate instead on watching.’’

‘’Careful, mate: I am senior in rank to you.’’ replied O’Rourke, a bit of threat in his voice. He however only managed to attract a look of near contempt on the face of Belthram, but didn’t see it due to the dark night around them.

‘’Actually, I still wonder why you have not been busted down yet, with all your perpetual whining.’’

‘’Now, wait, you little…’’

‘’CUT THE BULLSHIT, O’ROURKE, AND GET BACK TO WATCHING BEFORE I FIT MY BOOT UP YOUR ARSE!’’

The harsh voice of Chief Petty Officer Second Class Peter Martin, the senior non-commissioned man on the H.M.S. TALLY-HO, made both O’Rourke and Belthram jerk with surprise. The two sailors then promptly concentrated back on scanning the horizon with their binoculars. Martin checked them for a moment, then looked himself around as he stood in the tiny open bridge situated on top of the submarine’s sail. The sea was rough, as usual in this part of the South Atlantic, and the winds were both fierce and icy, making for miserable conditions for the men doing top watch duty. With this kind of sea and with the low height of their radar mast, the detection range of their centimetric wavelength radar was limited to only a dozen miles or so, less in the case of enemy submarines. As for the sonar and hydrophones used by the TALLY-HO, their already limited range was further cut by the noise from the high waves on the surface. It was thus a necessity to also maintain a visual watch while on the surface. Martin mentally reflected with envy at the capacity of the vaunted and feared new German submarines to stay submerged for hours and days and to quietly listen to their hydrophones while avoiding the bumpy, sickening ride of surface navigation. Those new German submarines, starting with the infamous U-800, were in fact the main reason the TALLY-HO was stuck patrolling the seas around the Falkland Islands in the company of another submarine and of five minesweepers and frigates. The raid on Port Stanley a year ago by the U-800, apart from costing more than two dozen ships, had awakened a lot of admirals in Washington and London as to how both truly vital and vulnerable the Falklands were following the destruction of the Pacific-side locks of the Panama Canal. That disaster had forced all the maritime traffic between the Atlantic and the Pacific to go all the way around the Cape Horn, a detour many ships were unable to do without at least one refueling stop on the way. Still, what O’Rourke had said was basically correct: Port Stanley was indeed a freezing shit hole!

 

Martin was about to call up two replacements for the shivering watchmen when a powerful underwater explosion under the twin propellers of the submarine made its whole aft section jump out of the water. Both Belthram and O’Rourke, who had been standing in open baskets fixed to the base of the search periscope housing, were literally ejected from their baskets, screaming. Belthram, who had secured his safety line to the railing of his basket, ended up swinging at the end of his line, bumping repeatedly against the steel plates of the sail. O’Rourke, who had neglected to secure his own safety line, was thrown clear in the dark, icy waters. Martin, who had one hand gripping the handle of the armored access hatch and was about to shout down the steel tube, barely managed to hold on and avoid O’Rourke’s fate. That was however little consolation for him, as the TALLY-HO had its stern section blown open to the sea by the T5 ZAUNKÖNING acoustic homing torpedo launched from its rear sector by the U-900. With its engine room flooding completely in mere seconds, power went out as men desperately scrambled to get to the apparent safety of the forward compartments. The captain of the submarine then faced a horrible dilemma: to let time to his mechanics to evacuate the engine room, thus risking to flood the whole submarine through the open engine room access hatch, or to close that hatch and condemn those men to death by drowning. He finally decided to try saving his submarine first and ordered the engine room hatch closed. However, that gained him only seconds, as the weight of the water filling the engine room quickly dragged the TALLY-HO under the surface. The captain’s ultimate order to abandon ship came too late to save his crew. Only two men, Martin and Belthram, were able to swim away from their sinking boat, only to die from hypothermia within fifteen minutes.

 

In the control room of the U-900, Ulrich von Wittgenstein detached his eyes from the attack periscope and slowly lowered his head, realizing full well to what kind of death he had just sent over sixty British sailors. Also, this had felt like a simple execution to him, not a battle. That British submarine had stood next to no chances against his U-900. Simply said, his submarine was overwhelmingly superior to all the Allied submarines presently in service in terms of underwater speed, endurance and sensors. The U-900’s towed array sonar had detected the British submarine from over sixty kilometers away, allowing Ulrich to make a wide hooking maneuver and then place himself in the rear quadrant of the British boat, where its own propeller noise all but masked other noises to the limited performance sonar equipping the T-Class boat. Then, Ulrich had approached at periscope depth, going upstream of the propeller wake of the British submarine, until he had been close enough to launch a single T5 acoustic homing torpedo, whose electric motor made it difficult to hear. The crewmen in the control room of the U-900 were also sober and were not cheering this latest victory. Ulrich took a moment to regain his composure and issue fresh orders around him.

‘’Helm, turn to Heading 320, make speed ten knots. Stay at periscope depth and on batteries. Forward torpedo room, reload Tube Two with a fresh T5. The commando team is to start preparing for a night coastal insertion.’’

 

02:10 (Falkland Islands Time)

Wednesday, October 6, 1943

Shores of Rookers Bay, south of Port Stanley Airfield

East Falkland Island

 

The fourteen dark silhouettes wearing German Army camouflaged uniforms and steel helmets, barely visible even from up close in the half-moon night, moved like silent ghosts as they carried their two inflatable rubber boats across the pebble and sand beach and up the rocky slopes of Rookers Bay, situated on the south shore of the peninsula on which Port Stanley Airfield was located. A thick fog had facilitated the approach of the U-900, which had hugged the coast as much as it was safe to do without grounding itself. Leaving the submarine some kilometers short of Rookers Bay and using at first the small outboard motors of their assault boats, Hugo Margraff and his thirteen commandos had sailed up to Rookers Bay while following closely the shoreline, shutting down their engines a few hundred meters short of the beach and using paddles for the last part of the trip. Contrary to their previous land raid on Port Stanley, made over a year ago from the U-800, Hugo and his men were loaded down with backpacks full of ammunition, rations and water, while more supplies were inside their boats: this was going to be an extended raid, not just a short infiltration. Hugo wished that he could have brought all of his men with him, but five of them had to stay on the CHARLES FINLEY, now heading with the BUENAVENTURA towards the distant, mostly uninhabited South Georgia Island, in order to watch over the more than seventy prisoners being held in a storage hold of the tanker ship. However, Hugo had compensated that partly by having his team carry two MG42 medium machine guns, two Japanese-made TYPE 89 50mm light mortars and plenty of ammunition and explosives, including a few land mines. As a result, his men were much more heavily loaded than usual, but Hugo fully counted on getting rid quickly of much of that ammunition and explosives…in a useful way. First, though, he had to hide his two assault boats before starting to approach his first target, the airfield.

 

Hugo soon decided to use a clump of bushes surrounded by long grass, situated just off the beach, to hide his boats. His men used the camouflage nets that had been carried in the boat along crates of ammunition, explosives and food and quickly covered the two boats, which had been turned bottom up, adding some long blade grass to finish camouflaging them. Once that was done, Hugo assembled his men around him for a quick briefing.

‘’Alright, you all know what our mission and our objectives are. Again, our first priority target is the airfield and its aircraft. We need to take out those planes in order to neutralize the air threat to the U-900 and to our incoming ships. Once close enough to the airfield, we will take some time to observe it, so that we can finalize our attack plan. We will try as much as possible to operate covertly and to sabotage silently those planes but, if discovered, don’t hesitate to use your weapons. Questions?’’

When nobody spoke, Hugo got up and quickly took a compass bearing with the help of his map, then started walking north, his men following in single file, all their senses on alert.

 

A mere two minutes later, the German raiding group crossed the single road linking the airfield with the town of Stanley. Looking up and down the gravel road, Hugo decided to bury four anti-tank mines in it, a job that took only a few minutes. He then continued on along the treeless, desolate and cold landscape, whose mostly flat features were swept constantly by a frosty wind. After another five minutes of walking at a crouch, the raiding party arrived at the foot of a small hill close to the airfield. Hugo climbed with Feldwebel Franz Stein the gentle slope of the hill, which rose barely ten meters above the surrounding grounds, and approached its crest at a crouch, finally lying down on his belly once he had the airfield in sight. Using his binoculars, he carefully examined the buildings of the airfield and the long row of planes parked alongside the single runway, which seemed to have been surfaced with American-produced ‘Marston Matting’, holed steel plates made to be assembled side by side to form large, solid surfaces on the ground.

‘’I count eight B-24 LIBERATOR heavy bombers, probably maritime patrol variants with radar, plus fourteen Bristol BEAUFIGHTERS fighter-bombers. Such a group of aircraft could indeed give a lot of trouble to the U-900 and to our incoming surface ships, if not destroyed on the ground. I also see a radar antenna atop a lattice mast beside the airfield’s control tower building. As well, there are two large wooden hangars and a double row of Quonset Huts¹⁶. I can’t seem to be able to find the fuel and ammunition dumps, though.’’

‘’I think that I found them, Herr Hauptmann.’’ said Stein after a few seconds. ‘’I see multiple piles of barrels near the eastern end of the runway, while there are a number of earthen scrapes that were dug on the opposite side.’’

‘’Ah, yes! I see them now. Thanks! Now, let’s find the defenses of this airfield… Aaah, thank you for smoking on duty at night, Mister Allied soldier: I have a sandbagged position beside the airfield’s entrance, probably an access control point.’’

‘’I count four…no, six Bofors 40mm single antiaircraft guns in sandbagged revetments along the sides of the runway: three on this side and three more on the opposite side.’’ added Stein, making Hugo nod.

‘’A fair amount of antiaircraft protection, but a bit weak on the land defense side.’’ replied Hugo. ‘’However, there should be some coastal defense guns around to defend against surfaced submarines and ships. Where are they?’’

‘’My bet is that they would be close to Cape Pembroke, to the East of the airfield, where they could have wide arcs of fire over the ocean, Herr Hauptmann.’’

‘’A very logical assumption, Feldwebel. They will however be our third priority, after the parked aircraft and the fuel and ammunition dumps. Here is what I propose that we do…’’

 

05:30 (Falkland Islands Time)

Living quarters lines, Port Stanley Airfield

 

Flight Lieutenant Philip Robertson, the meteorologist specialist assigned to Port Stanley Airfield had set his alarm clock for 05:15 as per his usual routine: he had to wake earlier than the flight crews, so that he could review the latest meteorological data available before they took off on their patrol missions. He was only half dressed and was brushing his teeth in the Quonset Hut used by the R.A.F. support arm officers living and working at the airfield when a series of loud explosions started reverberating outside his hut, making him jerk in shock and surprise. Quickly rinsing his mouth, Robertson then rushed to the nearest window to look outside as the other seven officers occupying the hut woke up with grumbles and exclamations. What he saw made blood rush to his brain.

‘’Dear God! Our aircraft are exploding one after another!’’

‘’But, how?’’ started saying a younger officer, who acted as assistant aircraft maintenance officer.

‘’How? Sabotage, of course! You think that those planes could just explode like that by themselves, at about the same time?’’ replied Robertson, sarcastic. He then quickly finished putting on his uniform, adding a thick wool greatcoat before rushing outside through the front door. He did only three steps before he put his foot on top of the initiating plunger of a German S-MINEN bounding anti-personnel mine. The warhead canister of the mine, filled with explosives and steel shrapnel, jumped out of the ground and exploded at chest level, killing instantly Robertson and gravely wounding two other officers who were following him outside. More than a dozen other R.A.F. men inside the hut lines were either killed or seriously wounded by other ‘S’ mines before the British understood what was going on and became more cautious. When they manage to come out and look around, they found all the parked planes destroyed, apparently by explosive charges placed inside them. The fuel dump was a raging inferno, while the ammunition dump was now providing a spectacular and very loud fireworks show, projecting high in the air unexploded ordnance items that then landed all around the airfield. The lattice mast that had been supporting the antenna assembly of the airfield’s surveillance radar was also decapitated, with the radar antenna now resting as a deformed mass at the feet of the mast. Group Captain Charles Endicott, who commanded the airfield, swore violently to himself on seeing all that mayhem and ran to the radio hut, intent on sending a warning message out. However, when he pushed the door of the radio hut open, he unknowingly pulled out the pin of a hidden incendiary charge. Endicott was extremely lucky then, as he didn’t receive any burning white phosphorus particle from the bursting charge. He barely had time to see in a flash the dead bodies of the two night shift radio operators, sprawled on the floor of their hut, before he hurriedly closed back the door. What he didn’t see at that time was that the radio transceivers and radio beacon emitter installed inside the hut had already been smashed with steel bars. The ensuing fire that engulfed the radio hut also hid to him the fact that both the Royal Navy and R.A.F. code books that had been kept inside were now missing, along with a stack of classified messages either sent or received during the last month.

 

Back at the location where they had hidden their assault boats near the coast of Rookers Bay, Hugo and his men grinned while watching the series of explosions and fires ravaging the airfield.

‘’Nice! Really nice!’’ said to himself Hugo before looking at his thirteen soldiers. ‘’Okay, men: time to hide and catch some sleep. We will resume our activities after sunset. Haussmann and Spritzer, you take the first watch duty.’’

The Germans then slipped under their two overturned rubber boats, which had been raised off the ground by putting them on top of rocks before being camouflaged. With these rain-proof shelters over their heads and with cut squares of grass and earth patches laid around the sides to both camouflage the boats and cut out the wind, the Brandenburg men quickly went to sleep, bundled tightly together under their wool blankets to keep warm. They were awakened some twenty minutes later, when two trucks full of British soldiers coming from Port Stanley and rushing towards the airfield along the single road leading to it blew up on the anti-tank mines laid earlier on. However, on seeing that the surviving British then simply withdrew on foot with their wounded men, going back to Port Stanley without initiating any sweep, Hugo ordered his men back to sleep.

 

07:58 (Falkland Islands Time)

Command center of British Garrison, Falkand Islands

Government House, Port Stanley, East Falkland Island

 

‘’What do you mean, the TALLY-HO and TANTALUS are not answering our calls?’’

The young Royal Navy lieutenant did his best not to show on his face what he thought about that question. Commodore Arthur Duncastle, who commanded the Falkland Islands garrison, could be described as ‘not the swiftest thinker in the lot’ and probably owed his present rank more to family relations than to simple merit. In fact, that was probably the reason why he had been posted to the Falkland Islands, the reasoning being that he could not do much damage there. Unfortunately, Lieutenant William Meacham was the one now stuck with an obtuse commander.

‘’Just what I said, sir: both of our submarines have failed to answer our latest calls, made half a hour ago. We are presently contacting our five surface ships patrolling in and around Port Stanley and got answers from the HMS SWALE, ROWENA, HOUND and HYDRA. We are however still waiting for an answer from the frigate HMS SPEY. I strongly suspect that one or more German submarines are roaming around and have landed sabotage teams, sir.’’

‘’And I suppose that you deduced that with the help of your vast experience, Lieutenant?’’ replied Duncastle in a sarcastic tone. Meacham then had a strong urge to knock out that pompous ass, but managed to restrain himself.

‘’No, sir! I simply used the facts at hand, sir.’’

‘’Alright, return to your watch, Lieutenant. I will have a priority message for you to send in a few minutes.’’

‘’Yes sir!’’

As Meacham returned to the radio room, Duncastle pivoted to face back his land and air component commanders, Major Sweeney and Group Captain Endicott.

‘’So, resume again for my benefit what you know, gentlemen. You first, Group Captain!’’

‘’Well, sir, I am pained to have to tell you that all our planes were destroyed on the ground by explosive charges connected to timers, which blew up nearly simultaneously at about 05:30. Also blown up were our aviation fuel dump and our aircraft ammunition dump, which contained bombs, aerial depth charges and rockets. The men manning the two Bofors guns nearest to the dumps were found dead, their throats cut and their guns sabotaged. Anti-personnel mines had also been sown near the entrance doors of our barracks and we lost a number of our men because of them. Our radar and radio huts were destroyed as well and I am now blind and deaf. My total casualties at the airfield are 21 dead and eleven wounded. Whoever did all this proved itself to be very dangerous and professional, sir.’’

Major Adam Sweeney then took the relay from Endicott.

‘’Those Germans were indeed pros, sir: they seem to have disappeared completely, despite the lack of natural cover on the island. They thus may have already returned to their submarine, especially since they did such a good job at neutralizing our air component. However, they had time to also plant four anti-tank mines on the airport road, which blew up the two trucks full of troops I had sent to help the airfield’s garrison. I lost nearly half of my available infantrymen to those mines.’’

‘’And what about our coastal defense guns? Have they been attacked too?’’

‘’No, sir!’’

Duncastle took a minute or so to digest all that information and take a decision, nearly making his subaltern officers squirm with impatience.

‘’Alright, I will send a message to advise London that at least one German submarine is roaming the waters around Port Stanley and that it landed a team of saboteurs. We will then have to see if London or the Americans can send us replacement planes and men. You are dismissed, gentlemen.’’

Sweeney and Endicott, who had expected to get some orders or directives from Duncastle about what they would do next, were left dumbfounded when the old commodore pivoted around and went to his private office, leaving them standing next to the map table sitting in the middle of the operations room.

 

08:16 (Falkland Islands Time)

Open bridge of U-900, 74 nautical miles north of Port Stanley

South Atlantic

 

Ulrich von Wittgenstein watched closely from atop the sail of the U-900, which was immobile on the surface with his big twin 12.7 centimeter deck gun manned and pointed, as the six meter long boat carrying ten armed sailors was about to reach the big American tanker ship he had just forced to stop. Those ten armed sailors were in fact the last available ones from the group of boarding party men that had come aboard in Lorient. The others were already gone, manning the CHARLES FINLEY and the BUENAVENTURA, which were still on their way to the South Georgia Islands, where they were to hide until the U-900 could rejoin them. After this, Ulrich was going to have to start depleting his own regular crew if he wanted to put more prize crews on captured ships. One other ship captured by him earlier in the morning, after he had sunk the British frigate HMS SPEY, did not need a prize crew, as it was an ammunition ship that Ulrich had no interest in bringing to Lorient. That ship had been abandoned after its sea cocks had been opened wide, starting a gradual flooding that would ultimately sink it. A call on the bridge intercom from the control room then made Ulrich switch his attention away from the S.S. ESSO GALVESTON and grab the intercom’s handset.

‘’Yes?’’

‘’Herr Kapitän, our radar is showing three large ships approaching fast from the Northeast, sailing in close formation. Distance is 55 nautical miles and closing, coming from Heading 040. We are also detecting their radar emissions.’’

Ulrich stiffened on hearing those words: these had to be warships, possibly cruisers or even battleships. The big question now was: who did they belong to?

‘’Can you identify the radar types by their emissions?’’

The tone of his watch officer then changed, nearly becoming exuberant.

‘’Yes, Herr Kapitän! They are German, types FuMO 26 and FuMO 23!’’

Ulrich relaxed at once then.

‘’Thank God! That must be the surface action group announced two days ago by Admiral Dönitz. I am curious to see which of our big combatants have been sent. As soon as our men will have control of that tanker ship, we will send it on its way to the South Georgia Islands, then will wait for those German warships, so that we could then coordinate our future actions together.’’

 

About three hours later, with the American tanker ESSO GALVESTON on its way to South Georgia Islands with its cargo of 7,800 tons of aviation gasoline, Ulrich was able to see the distant silhouettes of three approaching ships on the Northeast horizon. His heart jumped in his chest and he shouted with joy when he was able to identify them visually.

‘’THE TIRPITZ, SCHARNHORST AND GNEISENAU! THEY SENT OUR THREE MOST POWERFUL WARSHIPS TO THE FALKLAND ISLANDS!’’

He then passed by intercom the good news about the battleship and two battlecruisers to the rest of his boat, causing loud cheers from his crewmen. Up to now, the submarine arm of the Kriegsmarine had felt like it was bearing alone the brunt of the German naval warfare effort, with the big and costly surface warships of the Kriegsmarine too often staying in port for various reasons. Many submariners had even hinted that Kriegsmarine admirals of the surface fleet, starting with Grossadmiral Raeder, were scared of the British Royal Navy and didn’t want to risk their precious big ships at sea.

 

A few minutes later, Ulrich saw the battleship TIRPITZ launch one of its four reconnaissance floatplanes, which then flew south, towards Port Stanley. That brought a couple of misgivings in his mind, the biggest one being that the British would know that German surface warships were approaching as soon as they spotted the Arado 196. On the other hand, Ulrich could not fault the German squadron commander for being cautious and wanting to know what to expect in and around Port Stanley. Hopefully, his landed commando team would have by now dealt already with any enemy fighter planes based at Port Stanley Airfield. If not, that poor floatplane could get a rough reception. As the surface squadron continued approaching, Ulrich ordered his six meter long boat to be readied to carry him to the TIRPITZ. His sailors thus reopened the top panels covering the floodable dock that contained the long boat and turned back on its keel the small craft, then fitted its outboard engine, which was normally stored inside a pressure-proof steel vessel connected to the dock. Eleven minutes later, Ulrich was leaving his submarine in the long boat, with two sailors to man the small craft.

 

12:44 (Falkland Islands Time)

Forward starboard access ladder of the battleship K.M.S. TIRPITZ

Dead stopped 76 nautical miles north of Port Stanley

 

Ulrich came to attention and saluted as soon as he stepped on the weather deck of the TIRPITZ: a full admiral was waiting for him, along with a navy captain.

‘’Permission to come aboard, sir!’’

‘’Permission granted!’’ replied the commanding officer of the battleship. ‘’I am Kapitän Hans Meyer, captain of the TIRPITZ, and this is Admiral Wilhelm Marschall, commander of our flotilla.’’

‘’Korvettenkapitän Ulrich von Wittgenstein, commander of the U-900. I must say that I am happy to see such a powerful German force here: me and my commandos have started working on the defenses of Port Stanley, but there is still much to be done…and lots to be looted.’’

‘’What do you mean, Korvettenkapitän?’’ asked Marschall, a tough-looking man in his late fifties. Ulrich acknowledged his question with a nod: Marschall was known as an aggressive commander and a competent naval tactician who, as commander of the battlecruisers SCHARNHORST and GNEISENAU, had sunk the British aircraft carrier GLORIOUS in 1940, during the Norway Campaign. He was thus a commander that Ulrich could truly respect.

‘’I mean that there are sizeable reserves of both fuel oil and diesel fuel in Port Stanley, which has been transformed into a midpoint refueling station by the Americans and the British, plus seven merchant and navy cargo ships and tankers anchored there, Herr Admiral. If we could threaten enough the British there to surrender without scuttling their ships and sabotaging their installations, we could then collect some very useful prizes there. As part of my original mission, I already captured three ships, one of which carries tungsten metal products, along with other strategic metals. The two others are tankers that were targets of opportunity. I sent all three on their way to the South Georgia Islands for their safety, while I was landing a commando team near Port Stanley and sank some of the ships defending it.’’

‘’You have done well, Herr von Wittgenstein.’’ said Marschall, looking pleased. ‘’But let’s go up to my flag operations room, where you will be able to brief us all in full about your mission.’’

‘’With pleasure, Herr Admiral.’’

With Captain Meyer in the lead, the trio went to a nearby steel hatch and walked inside the forward superstructures block of the battleships, then started climbing a series of steep steel ladders. By the time that they had climbed six levels, Ulrich was starting to breathe quicker.

‘’Please excuse my lack of fitness, Herr Admiral: there isn’t much space available on my submarine to do fitness exercises or running.’’

Marschall grinned at that, genuinely amused, and patted him on the back.

‘’That is most understandable, Korvettenkapitän. I am sure that, in your place, I would die of claustrophobia aboard your U-900.’’

‘’Actually, Herr Admiral, you could be surprised at how relatively roomy my submarine is.’’

‘’And I will certainly want to visit your submarine…when time will allow. Well, here we are, at my chart house cum operations center. Let’s take place around that table with a chart of the Falkland Islands on it, then you will be able to brief us on your mission so far.’’

Going to the side of the chart table pointed by Marschall, Ulrich then took seven minutes to brief him and Meyer on his mission to date, concentrating mostly on his actions around Port Stanley. At the end, Marschall nodded his head slowly, obviously impressed.

‘’Two British frigates and two submarines sunk, plus your commandos destroying on the ground all the planes at Port Stanley Airfield? Well done indeed! Our reconnaissance floatplane should be returning soon from its overflight of Port Stanley, then we will have a precise picture of the place. If there are indeed large quantities of fuel stored in Port Stanley, I will certainly do my best so that we could grab them intact. Do you think that your commandos could discretely secure those reserves, to prevent the British from blowing them up when we will show up?’’

‘’I am sure that these men will be able to do so, Herr Admiral: they are the best, literally.’’ answered Ulrich without hesitation. ‘’They are presently in hiding during the daylight hours, since there is so little ground cover available around Port Stanley, but are due to attack and take out the suspected British coastal defense guns around Cape Pembroke tonight. I can contact them by radio, so that they could then find the fuel storage tanks in Stanley after taking out the coastal guns.’’

‘’That would be perfect. Could you also call your three prize ships and make them turn back? Tomorrow, after we do our attack on Port Stanley, I intend for you to leave for Lorient with your prize ships: that cargo of tungsten is too precious to be either risked or delayed.’’

‘’But, wouldn’t you need my U-900 to act as anti-submarine screen for you, Herr Admiral? You don’t have any destroyers with you and the Americans are liable to send a strong counter-attack force to the Falklands, including fleet submarines, once they learn that you are here.’’

An enigmatic smile then appeared on Marschall’s face.

‘’Aaaah, but I already have better than destroyers, my dear Wittgenstein: I have three Type XXI submarines already in position to the North of the Falkland Islands, forming a submarine barrier and detection line in prevision of enemy reactions to our raid.’’

‘’Oh! Which ones, Herr Admiral?’’

‘’The U-913, U-914 and U-915, commanded respectively by Korvettenkapitän Ulrich Heyse, Korvettenkapitän Carl Emmermann and Kapitänleutnant Klaus Bargsten, three confirmed submarine ace commanders. With such deadly boats to watch my back, I fully expect to be able to gain and keep the initiative in the Southwest Atlantic.’’

Ulrich was left stunned for a moment, only now realizing how ambitious the Kriegsmarine’s plan actually was.

‘’You are going to make a stand in the South Atlantic and fight off enemy attempts to retake the Falkland Islands, Herr Admiral?’’

‘’Yes! With the Panama Canal still under repair for many more months, all the American supplies sent to the Pacific from the Atlantic coast must go around the Cape Horn. That trip is so long that most ships cannot make it to Australia without at least one refueling on the way. Yes, part of the supplies for the Pacific Front can be shipped via American ports on their West Coast, but not all. Especially, most of the fuel comes from the Caribbean Basin and the American South Coast and has to go around the Cape Horn. By holding on to the Falkland Islands, we will choke in a major way the American supply lines to the Pacific. As well, we will prevent any attempts by the British to get reinforcements from Australia and New Zealand. On top of that, we will be able to stop and seize the tanker ships and cargo ships trying to pass by the Falklands and then send them to Germany. The past actions of the late U-800 has convinced many in the Kriegsmarine that such seizure and rerouting of enemy shipping could be a good way to alleviate some of the shortages we have in Germany.’’

‘’Wow! Grossadmiral Raeder has conceived quite a bold operation with this.’’

Ulrich was then surprised to see Marschall shake his head at his last sentence.

‘’Not Grossadmiral Raeder, but Grossadmiral Dönitz. Grossadmiral Raeder was relieved of command by the Führer when he resisted the idea of sending our three most powerful warships to the South Atlantic. Grossadmiral Dönitz is now the commander of the whole Kriegsmarine and he is the one who selected me to lead this force into the South Atlantic.’’

Ulrich nodded slowly his head at that, understanding what could have happened. Instead of congratulating Marschall in 1940 for sinking the British carrier GLORIOUS, Raeder had reprimanded him for disobeying his orders about not to put at risk the SCHARNHORST and the GNEISENAU and had then sidelined him. Since then, Raeder had further shown on a number of occasions how risk averse he was with his big surface combatants, while being too willing to let the submarine arm do most of the work at sea. In truth, Ulrich was happy to hear about Raeder’s demise. Maybe now the Kriegsmarine as a whole would act a lot more boldly with such a commander as Dönitz at its head. Opening the leather briefcase he had been carrying by a strap slung across his chest, Ulrich took out a booklet and presented it to Marschall.

‘’Then, Admiral, I believe that this will seriously help you in your task: it is a current copy of the American Navy code, found on the American tanker CHARLES FINLEY, which we grabbed as a prize ship off the Chilean port of Antofagasta. That tanker was in fact heading to Port Stanley, where it was to replenish the fuel reserves kept there for passing ships.’’

Marschall took the booklet and examined it with a near reverend expression, as if it was some kind of religious relic. He then broke into a grin as he looked back at Ulrich.

‘’Herr Korvettenkapitän von Wittgenstein, you just made my day. Be assured that my radio intercept services will make full use of this. I will however have photos made of each page right away, so that you could bring a copy of this code book to Germany. You will get those photocopies before you depart tomorrow.’’

At that moment, a young naval officer showed up and saluted upon entering the chart room.

‘’Herr Admiral, our reconnaissance floatplane has just returned and is being winched back aboard. It sustained some light damage from British anti-aircraft fire but its crew is unhurt.’’

‘’Excellent! Have those two aviators sent here with their maps and camera films as soon as they are aboard.’’

Marschall then smiled to Ulrich as the naval officer walked out.

‘’Well, we will soon have more information about our mutual target. Then, I will be able to give you more definite orders for your submarine and your commandos.’’

 

20:35 (Falkland Islands Time)

Cape Pembroke, East Falkland Island

 

Having moved at first in two parallel columns and advancing cautiously at a crouch through the high grass of the treeless peninsula, Hugo Margraff signaled his men to go on all fours as the first British coastal guns appeared in the half-moon night. Taking five minutes to advance silently a further hundred meters, Hugo then made his men stop and lie down in the grass while he grabbed his binoculars. In this case, he was using them because they improved his night vision by collecting more light through its wide lenses, not because of their optical magnification. Sweeping slowly his surroundings with his binoculars, Hugo was able to locate a total of six large guns mounted on four-wheel carriages. The guns were grouped in three widely dispersed pairs along a North-South line, with about fifty meters between pairs and twenty meters between guns of each pair. Some distance behind the guns were a number of parked and camouflaged British Army heavy trucks, which were probably used to tow the guns when needed or to carry ammunition. Near behind each pair of gun, Hugo saw the top half of a dugout shelter, its roof covered with earth and grass and with a vertical pipe sticking out that let out some smoke.

‘’Hmm, a gun crew shelter with a stove.’’ Whispered Hugo to himself before resuming his visual sweep, looking for sentries. He actually was able to locate only two British soldiers in the open, both standing in a shallow trench supplemented to its front by a low wall of sandbags and rocks. One soldier was manning an artillery optical rangefinder mounted on a tripod, while the other soldier scanned the sea around Cape Pembroke with a pair of binoculars. Both soldiers kept looking outward and never turned around to inspect their rear area, something that pleased Hugo: while being poor watch routine, that was going to make it a lot easier for him and his men to sneak up on these British soldiers. Concentrating his attention on one of the big guns resting on its lowered carriage, Hugo quickly identified the piece, which was covered by a turret-like shelter structure that rotated with the gun.

‘A QF Mark II 4.5 inch heavy anti-aircraft gun, a weapon used frequently by the British as a coastal defense gun. We will definitely have to take these guns out.’

Quickly making up a plan in his head, Hugo then signaled Feldwebel Franz Stein, his second-in-command, to join him. Stein did so on his knees and hands, careful not to make any noise that would alert the British soldiers presently on watch duty. Once Stein stopped next to him, Hugo whispered to him.

‘’I can see only two soldiers on watch outside, in a trench situated between the two guns of the nearest pair. There is also a dugout shelter behind the guns, where the rest of the gun crew must be resting and warming up. The two other pairs of guns probably have the same kind of setup, with trucks camouflaged some distance behind the guns.’’

‘’Do we go the silent way or do we raise a raucous, Herr Hauptmann?’’

‘’Normally, we would go the silent way, but a good raucous could actually help us for the second part of our mission tonight. We will split in three groups, with each group assigned to eliminate a pair of guns. Drücker will lead the third group. Our men will take position so that they could shoot from close range the sentries and also throw grenades inside the dugout shelters. Fighting will start when I will fire the first shot. Once all the British are taken out, we will sabotage the guns, so that they cannot be used afterwards. I will give ourselves half a hour to split and crawl quietly to each gun pair. We start moving now.’’

‘’Understood!’’

 

Splitting the team in three groups of four to five men each took one minute. Then the Brandenburg men started crawling towards their respective objectives. Hugo personally led four of his men, including his signaler and radioman, Obergefreiter Hellmuth Golding, towards the central pair of guns. All that time, the British soldiers on watch never looked anywhere but outwards, at the sea around Cape Pembroke. Hugo concluded that the British probably assumed that he and his men had already returned to the U-900, which would explain their lack of precautions against land intruders. With that and the howling cold wind helping his covert approach, Hugo was able to get to one of the guns of the central pair, where he hid with one man behind the mass of the gun. His three other men in turn positioned themselves on each side of the door of the dugout, ready to throw grenades inside. With only fifteen meters between him and the two British sentries and with the light of the half-moon helping his aim, Hugo waited for the assigned half hour to be past, then patted gently the shoulder of Gefreiter Paul Langsdorf.

‘’Get ready to shoot the man to the right. I will take the man to the left. On the count of three, one, two, three!’’

They fired their MP43 assault rifles nearly simultaneously, downing both British standing in the observation trench. Hugo’s three men posted around the dugout then abruptly opened its door and threw inside two primed German stick grenades, then closed back the door, with one of the commandos lying on the ground in front of it and using his feet to block the door. The noise from the double explosions was partly muffled but was still quite audible. As soon as the grenades had exploded, one German opened the door again, with another German then emptying his MP43 in full automatic mode inside the dugout to make sure that all the British soldiers were down. That ruthless treatment proved successful, with all but two of the eleven British soldiers inside killed outright, leaving two men gravely wounded. Anxiously looking to his left, then his right, Hugo saw that his other men had also started their attacks. The firings and explosions however stopped after only a few seconds, a sign that the German attacks had achieved surprise and had eliminated quickly all the British gunners. Not wasting time, Hugo pointed the trucks parked nearby to two of his men.

‘’Heinemann, Stupnagel, put on British overcoats and steel helmets and get two of those trucks started. The others will help you take off the camouflage nets covering them.’’

As his two men started running towards the trucks, Hugo activated his handheld VHF radio and called his two other groups.

‘’All strikers are to spike the guns before assembling at the central pair. Execute!’’

Preaching by example, Hugo ran to one of the two 4.5 inch guns nearby and, using its elevation mechanism, raise its long barrel up by fifteen degrees. Opening the heavy breechblock of the gun, he nodded to Paul Langsdorf.

‘’Prime a thermite grenade and throw it up the tube, but not too strongly.’’

‘’Understood, Herr Hauptmann.’’

The commando took a grenade out of one pocket and pulled its safety pin, then threw the grenade through the open breechblock, with Hugo immediately closing it back afterwards. Five seconds later, the grenade burst, with the thermite mixture starting to burn at very high temperatures against the inside of the gun chamber. The steel of the gun breechblock and barrel soon started to soften and melt, welding the two parts together and rendering the whole gun impossible to use. While the first grenade was still burning inside its gun, Hugo and his soldier ran to the second gun, where they repeated the process.

 

With both guns now sabotaged, Hugo ran to the two trucks being prepared by his men and helped them pull away the large camouflage nets covering them. A couple of minutes later, the rest of his men arrived, having finished their job at the other two pairs of guns. Hugo, having just grabbed a British steel helmet and a greatcoat, shouted orders to his men in English, adding to his planned subterfuge.

‘’QUICK, WE MUST GET THOSE WOUNDED MEN TO THE INFIRMARY IN PORT STANLEY! GET IN!’’

His men understood him at once and climbed in the back of the two trucks, some of them wearing British helmets and greatcoats and holding rifles captured at the gun positions. With Hugo and Franz Stein each riding in the cab of separate trucks, with Hugo’s truck leading the way, the two vehicles soon started rolling westward. After covering nearly two kilometers of flat, grassy ground, they started rolling past the airfield, staying close to the shore and away from the light anti-aircraft guns defending it. They however had to stop at the access control point situated along the airfield road, where three agitated British soldiers waved them to stop. Rolling down his window, Hugo shouted in an angry tone in English at the British sergeant approaching his truck.

‘’FOR CHRIST SAKE, RAISE THAT FUCKING GATE! I NEED TO URGENTLY BRING WOUNDED MEN TO THE HOSPITAL IN STANLEY.’’

The British sergeant, seeing little more than a dark silhouette wearing a British helmet, hesitated for a moment before asking a question.

‘’Uh, what happened exactly over at Cape Pembroke? We heard gunfire and explosions.’’

‘’That was those bloody German commandos attacking our battery. We were able to repel them, but it cost us many men. Now, will you raise your bloody gate or not?’’

Thoroughly intimidated by the authoritarian tone used by Hugo, the sergeant made a sign to his two soldiers manning the barrier gate.

‘’RAISE THE GATE! LET THEM PASS!’’

As soon as the barrier was raised, Hugo’s two trucks rolled through, accelerating along the road linking the airfield with Port Stanley. They drove down another three kilometers before starting to approach the fuel tank farm built near the shoreline at the eastern end of the town of Stanley. The fuel depot was actually a substantial installation which had obviously been built fairly recently, maybe only months ago. It consisted of a double row of large storage tanks, with a total of seven fuel tanks, plus three smaller storage tanks for lubricants, an open storage area filled with piles of steel drums, a pump house and a control house. Two widely separated floating jetties flanked the fuel depot, with flexible pipes linking the pump house and the refueling stations at the end of the jetties. Two ships were presently moored at the refueling stations, one a cargo ship, the other a tanker ship. Hugo saw with the help of the lamps fixed to the jetties and on the ships’ superstructures that a few men were actively working on the jetties and the ships, apparently in the process of refueling them. One detail then made Hugo frown: the cargo ship moored at one of the refueling stations was a U.S. Army transport ship armed with two medium caliber deck guns. Such army transport ships were manned by military reservists who were armed, something that could complicate greatly his planned takeover of the fuel depot later next morning. While Hugo knew how good his men were, he also was a realistic man: his thirteen men could not be expected to fight close to a hundred armed men and win. Surprise had played in his favor up to now but, the moment he would unmask his commando team at the fuel depot, he would be on his own. Studying the fuel depot as much as he could as his truck rolled past it, he then pointed a street junction to his driver after rolling another 300 meters.

‘’Turn left here! We are going to do a loop and return towards the fuel depot.’’

‘’Yes sir!’’ Replied in English Emil Heinemann, who soon turned left on Nebe Street. Another 150 meters and he turned left again, this time on Davis Street. Up to now, Stanley was proving to be more like a big village, with dispersed houses situated in large individual lots and with a population that had to turn around one thousand civilians, at the most. However, the British military presence and, possibly, an American one as well, had to count in the hundreds, if one counted logistician specialists and aviation personnel. Hugo finally made his driver stop and park their truck behind a wooden shed at the eastern limit of the town, where they had a good open view of the fuel depot, some 200 meters away. He signaled his second truck to park close behind him, then grabbed his binoculars and started examining in detail the depot, trying to think of a plan that would give at least a few chances to his men to succeed in their mission and survive.

‘’Heinemann, tell the men to stay in the trucks and to make themselves as comfortable as possible. They are to take some sleep while I think about a plan. One man in the rear of each truck is going to stay up and watch for approaching British soldiers.’’

‘’Right away, sir!’’

As Heinemann, still wearing his British helmet and greatcoat, stepped out of the cab to pass his orders, Hugo looked for a moment at the open sea, visible a few kilometers away to the East. He still didn’t know what kind of surface force had been sent or when it would show up on the horizon: the radio message received from the U-900 a few hours ago had been very brief, only telling him to secure the fuel depot before next sunrise. He had seen the Arado 196 when it had overflown the Port Stanley area and the airfield, so that surface force had to be composed of at least one heavy cruiser. The question of if that surface force would be powerful enough to intimidate the British in Stanley into surrendering was an open one at this time. A bright flash of light on the eastern horizon then attracted his eyes. That flash then turned into a rising fireball that illuminated the night sky for many seconds before fading away. Some thirty seconds later, a long rumbling noise came from the same direction, making Hugo smile.

‘’There goes the last British minesweeper guarding Port Stanley. Well done, U-900!’’

 

21:01 (Falkland Islands Time)

Admiral’s sea cabin, light cruiser U.S.S. OMAHA (CL-4)

Sailing 260 nautical miles east of Porto Alegre (Brazil)

South Atlantic

 

Rear-Admiral Owen Read, Commander of Task Group 42.2, was relaxing by reading a book in his sea cabin after a fairly uneventful day at sea when someone knocked on the door of his cabin.

‘’Come in!’’

A young signals officer opened the door and came to attention while saluting.

‘’Sir, we just received an urgent message from the headquarters of the Fourth Fleet¹⁷.’’

‘’Very well, show me that message, Lieutenant.’’

The young officer obeyed and handed an envelope to Read, who extracted a folded message form from it and looked quickly at it.

‘’Hmm, a German submarine has been causing serious trouble around Port Stanley and now there is as well a suspected German cruiser near the Falkland Islands. We are ordered to make best speed for Port Stanley and to find and sink both the cruiser and the submarine. Sounds like a perfect job for our task group. Thank you, Lieutenant! I will keep this message for the moment. Dismissed!’’

‘’Yes sir!’’ replied the young officer before saluting again and leaving the admiral’s cabin. Once alone, Read looked a second time at the message. Even if that suspected cruiser turned out to be real and to be one armed with eleven inch guns, like on the battlecruiser SCHARNHORST and the pocket battleship LŰTZOW, the four light cruisers and two destroyers of his fast task group should be more than enough to deal with that cruiser. The one true worry he had was about that submarine. The new German TYPE XXI had a fearsome reputation as a very dangerous marauder and murderous opponent. He couldn’t recount anymore how many horror stories he had heard in the past from his fellow admirals about how the infamous U-800 had wrecked havoc along both American coasts and in the Atlantic as well as the Pacific. Getting up from his easy chair, Read put on his service cap and, the message in one hand, left his cabin to go to the chart room, next to the bridge of his light cruiser. On entering it, a young officer shouted ‘ROOM!’, making the personnel in the compartment come to rigid attention.

‘’At ease, men! Navigator, please come to the chart table.’’

Lieutenant commander John Kaiser walked at once to the chart table sitting in the center of the room and rested both hands on it as he listened carefully to Read.

‘’Commander Kaiser, we just received a new mission from the Fourth Fleet: we are to go at best speed to Port Stanley, where we are to find and sink a German submarine and a suspected German cruiser. That submarine already sank two British submarines and two frigates that guarded the approaches to Port Stanley. It also apparently landed a commando team that destroyed on the ground all the aircraft stationed at the Port Stanley Airfield. As well, a German floatplane was seen overflying Stanley Harbor today, thus the suspicions about a German cruiser being around the Falklands. What? You seemed to have reacted to my words about a German submarine and commando team.’’

‘’Yes, Admiral, I did.’’ Answered the tall, 27 year-old blond officer, his expression sober. ‘’That’s because me and my little family were rescued at sea near Cuba in January of last year…by a German submarine. That submarine was the infamous U-800, commanded by Captain Otto Kretschmer, and it carried a commando team from the elite Brandenburg Regiment at that time. We were thankfully well treated during our short stay aboard, until the U-800 dropped us off on a beach of the island of Curacao, off the Venezuelan coast. Then, in August of the same year, when I was serving in the Pacific, the U-800 sank my ship, the heavy cruiser NORTHAMPTON, and six other ships of the USS HORNET task force near the Santa Cruz Islands. It could have easily sunk the remaining ships then, but chose instead to declare a truce and allow those surviving destroyers to rescue the hundreds of men floating in the water. I was sent back to the United States afterwards for a period of rest before being reassigned to the Fourth Fleet and the OMAHA.’’

‘’Well, I’ll be!’’ said Read, both impressed and curious. ‘’What could you tell me about that U-800 and its embarked commando team, Mister Kaiser?’’

‘’Well, much of the initial intelligence assessments about the U-800 stemmed from my observations while I was aboard that submarine. It was very heavily armed, with a total of twelve torpedo tubes, twenty or more sea mines storage and launch tubes, a 105mm deck gun and two anti-aircraft cannon mounts. It had an incredible top speed submerged, along with a very long endurance on batteries and was unbelievably agile. It fought with a number of warships as I was still aboard and it maneuvered underwater like a fighter would do in the air. A secondary point was its very comfortable and spacious crew facilities, which made it that much more efficient on long combat cruises. Now, I have seen the few intelligence reports published about the new German submarine class and it felt to me like the new German boats are near copies of the U-800, with the same kind of underwater performances, heavy armament and long range. I don’t want to appear like a defeatist, Admiral, but our two destroyers will stand little chance against one of those new German submarines, especially if it is commanded by a competent captain. When the U-800 attacked the HORNET task force, it played with our escort destroyers and sank our ships one by one.’’

Somewhat shaken by that, Read hesitated a bit before asking another question to John Kaiser.

‘’And those German commandos, how good are they really?’’

‘’The best!’’ answered John without hesitation. ‘’Their exploits speak by themselves, sir. One thing I would add is that, despite being deadly, those commandos proved to be correct and humane towards me and my family while we were held aboard the U-800. They also didn’t strike me as being Nazi fanatics. I would simply call them ‘patriotic’, sir.’’

‘’I see! Well, we still have orders to find and sink that sub and the presumed cruiser roaming near Port Stanley. At what maximum speed could we go there and still have enough fuel for a couple hours of chase at 35 knots and for a return to Recife?’’

‘’Let me make a few calculations first, Admiral.’’

‘’Take your time, Commander.’’

Read had to wait only a bit over a minute before getting an answer from John Kaiser.

‘’We are presently some 912 nautical miles north-northeast from Port Stanley. Our task group could get there in 36 hours at a speed of 25 knots and have enough fuel left still for a few hours of combat before returning to Recife. However, that will leave our two destroyers very low on fuel and they may need to get some fuel from our cruisers in order to make it back to Recife.’’

‘’I can live with that. Calculate a course to Port Stanley at a speed of 25 knots and pass it to the helm. We will launch a float plane once within 300 nautical miles from the Falkland Islands, so that we won’t rush blindly into some German trap.’’

‘’Understood, sir!’’

 

03:29 (Falkland Islands Time)

Thursday, October 7, 1943

Rookers Bay, three kilometers east of Stanley

East Falkland Island

 

As soon as the first of twelve long boats and cutters started scrapping against the bottom of the sandy beach, men started jumping out of them, to then run across the beach to take defensive positions up the rocky shoreline. Major Harald Mors, Commander of the Fallschirmjäger Lehr Battalion, was one of the first to step out in the surf and run across the beach, followed by close to 500 German paratroopers. As soon as the paratroopers were all out of the boats, the German sailors manning them pushed them back afloat and started rowing back towards the three armored warships standing some distance away from the shore, dark shapes nearly invisible in the night. The sailors then switched to their outboard motors once far enough at sea not to be heard from the Port Stanley Airfield. Waiting a few minutes to give time to his subordinate officers to regroup their men, Mors then gave the signal to advance.

 

At the road checkpoint guarding the access to the airfield, five very nervous British soldiers either stood or sat inside their sandbagged positions, not knowing what to expect next. By now, everybody at the airfield knew that the coastal battery at Cape Pembroke had been wiped out by German saboteurs and everyone was wondering where those Germans would strike next. Unfortunately, the destruction of the radar at the airfield meant that German ships and submarines could now approach at night with little risk of being detected. The British soldiers manning the checkpoint thus fervently hoped that those German saboteurs had already left, returning to the submarine that had sunk one after the other the remaining three minesweepers defending Stanley Harbor. One of the soldiers suddenly stiffened and nearly shouted to his NCO.

‘’Sergeant, I think that I saw some movement over there.’’

The NCO quickly joined the soldier behind his sandbag parapet and tried to locate what his man had seen.

‘’Where exactly, Goldman? I see nothing but long grass.’’

‘’Over there, about fifty meters at our ten o’clock, sergeant. I swear that I saw something move.’’

‘’Well, I still can’t see anything suspect. I think that your nerves are playing tricks on you.’’

The sergeant then got back on his feet to return to his initial position. The sound of something impacting the ground nearby made him look down, in time to see with horror a German stick grenade roll in front of him.

‘’SHIT! GRENADE!’’

He was about to violently kick the grenade away when it exploded less than one meter in front of him. The blast killed him outright and projected his body backward, while the explosion deafened his four soldiers and wounded one of them. The British survivors, their ears ringing madly, were barely able to hear the concert of ferocious war screams pushed by fourteen German paratroopers rushing at their checkpoint. That was the signal for the start of a brutal surprise attack on the airfield by hundreds of seasoned German paratroopers.

 

The sudden cacophony of explosions and gun shots coming from the airfield made Hugo Margraff nearly jump in his seat. He had been close to falling asleep in the cab of his stolen British Army truck, his fatigue and the quiet of the night rendering him drowsy, when the noise of the fight at the airfield had started. Shaking himself awake, he then patted the shoulder of his driver.

‘’Our reinforcements have arrived. Start the engine and drive to the entrance of the fuel depot.’’

‘’Yes sir!’’

Heinemann was on his way mere seconds later, with the second captured truck following close behind. Looking at the fuel depot and at the nearby refueling jetty, Hugo was relieved to see that the U.S. Army ship that had worried him earlier was no longer at the jetty and had returned to the middle of Stanley Harbor, joining there the five other ships now trapped in the bay. In fact, no ship was moored at the jetty presently, something that was going to greatly facilitate his job of securing the depot. That left to be secured the three large fuel barges docked at the next jetty, situated about 200 meters to the west, which were used to refuel ships that were too large to maneuver easily inside the harbor. However, those barges would have to wait a bit for now.

 

Hugo’s truck stopped at the main entrance to the fuel depot three minutes later, its cab level with the two British soldiers on guard duty there. The senior guard, a corporal, approached to within two paces of Hugo’s door, looking up at him.

‘’What is going on at the airfield?’’

‘’Those pesky German infiltrators are back.’’ responded Hugo. ‘’We are here to reinforce security at the fuel depot.’’

On saying those last words, Hugo raised his silenced pistol to just above the sill of his opened window and fired once, hitting the British soldier in the chest. Heinemann imitated him half a second later, shooting dead the other British soldier. Hugo then gave orders to his men in the back of the truck.

‘’Rickman, Golding, you jump out and take the place of those dead sentries. The rest of us will secure the control hut and the pump house.’’

As soon as his two designated men had jumped out, Hugo made his driver roll up to the control hut, where he parked on one side of the wooden building. Jumping out on the ground, Hugo quickly removed his British steel helmet and greatcoat and put back on his German steel helmet.

‘’Alright, men, from now on we will fight as German soldiers. Drücker, you take three men and secure the pump house. Make sure that there are no prepositioned demolition charges there, then do the same with the storage tanks. Arnim, you take one machine gun team and one grenade launcher and take position along the western perimeter line. Dörthmunder, you take our second machine gun team and grenade launcher and go cover the eastern approach to the depot. The rest, with me!’’

With seven men behind him, Hugo ran around the control hut to get to the main door, which he pushed open before charging in, his MP43 up and pointed forward.

‘’HANDS UP, EVERYBODY! ONE STUPID MOVE AND YOU’RE DEAD!’’

The three British inside, two civilians and one soldier, froze like a deer illuminated by the headlamps of a car. The one soldier then slowly put down his rifle on the floor, while the two civilian men rose their hands high, terrified.

‘’Don’t shoot: we surrender.’’

‘’A sensible choice, gentlemen.’’ replied Hugo in his best British accent. ‘’Feldwebel Stein, search them and tie them up. I will go inspect the refueling jetty for demolition charges.’’

‘’Understood, Herr Hauptmann.’’

Stepping out of the control hut with one soldier, Hugo took ten minutes to make sure that no explosives had been rigged on the jetty or on the fuel pipes and valves, then ran to the main entrance, where he gave new orders to his two men there.

‘’Okay, time to look like German soldiers. Take positions behind the best cover you will find nearby but don’t stay in that guard hut: our incoming soldiers are liable to pepper it the moment they see it. The way the fighting seems to be dying down around the airfield, I expect our troops to be here in the next few minutes.’’

‘’Gee! Give us more credit than that.’’ said a voice to their right, making Hugo and his two soldiers jerk nervously and pivot at once, weapons pointed. They then saw the three German paratroopers that had just stepped out from behind a half-ruined low stone wall some ten meters away. One of the paratroopers grinned to Hugo.

‘’A good thing you came here now, Herr Hauptmann: we had two nice garrotes ready for your men.’’

Hugo let out a breath, his nerves as tense as piano wires.

‘’Glad to see you here, men: it was getting lonely here. How many of your men are here?’’

‘’Our battalion split in two upon landing in Rookers Bay, Hauptmann: 300 of our men, led by Major Mors, went to take the airfield, while our remaining 200 men advanced on the town and its harbor facilities. But let me present myself: Hauptmann Ferdinand Frech, of the Fallschirmjäger Lehr Battalion.’’

Hugo happily shook the hand of Frech, who had walked up to him.

‘’And I’m Hauptmann Hugo Margraff, of the Brandenburg Regiment. My men have just secured this fuel depot and checked it for any possible demolition charges, but found none to date. Could your men occupy this depot and safeguard it? There are three fuel barges moored some distance away that I would like to secure as soon as possible.’’

‘’My men will be most happy to help you, Hauptmann Margraff. You may assemble your men right now.’’

‘’Thanks! We took three prisoners inside the control hut, by the way.’’

‘’We will take care of them as well. Well done, you and your men.’’

‘’Thank you! Gefreiter Rickmann, lead Hauptmann Frech and his men to the control hut and then bring back all our men here.’’

‘’Right away, Hauptmann.’’

As Rickmann left with Frech and a large group of paratroopers, Hugo felt optimism rising in him: up to now, they had secured all their objectives, and this without a single casualty, that last point being the most important to him. However, the future sea battle to be fought in the next few days would probably end up being a lot bloodier.

 

09:25 (Falkland Islands Time)

Control room of the U-915

At periscope depth, 620 nautical miles north of the Falkland Islands

 

‘’Sonar, give me again the heading for that fast contact!’’

‘’Heading 280, Herr Käpitan. I can hear at least four large ships going fast. I estimate their speed to be at least twenty knots: too fast for commercial ships.’’

Käpitanleutnant Klaus Bargsten, master of the U-915, a recently built Type XXI submarine, made a grimace when he was able to spot the said ships in the distance through his search periscope.

‘’Damn! They are too far and too fast to allow me to attack them: I would nearly drain our batteries just to catch up with them. No doubt about their intentions, though: those warships are rushing towards Port Stanley. OBERLEUTNANT SCHWARTZ, WRITE THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE DOWN, TO BE SEND TO KMS TIRPITZ, SCHARNHORST, GNEISENAU AND U-900: ENEMY TASK GROUP HEADING TOWARDS PORT STANLEY AT SPEED OF AT LEAST TWENTY KNOTS. GROUP CONSISTS OF AT LEAST FOUR UNITS, POSSIBLY CRUISERS. GIVE ACTUAL POSITION AND SEND IN ENCRYPTED FORM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.’’

‘’AYE, HERR KÄPITAN!’’ replied Schwartz, the second watch officer of the U-915, while scribbling down that message. Until three months ago, Schwartz had been like Bargsten a prisoner of war in Camp Bowmanville, as a result of being captured following the sinking of the U-800. In fact, nearly a third of the crew of the U-915 were veterans from the U-800 who had been freed by Hugo Margraff’s commandos. As for Bargsten, while he had not served on the U-800, he had served in the capacity of first watch officer under Käpitan Otto Kretschmer aboard his old U-99. As a result, the U-915 could be said to have one of the most seasoned and competent U-Boot crews, if not the most competent. With a major battle at sea now predicted, the men of the U-915 fully counted on proving their mettle to all during the next few days.

 

11:46 (Falkland Islands Time)

Command bridge of the battleship KMS TIRPITZ

Sailing off Port Stanley with KMS SCHARNHORST and KMZ GNEISENAU

 

Admiral Wilhelm Marschall, standing on the port open bridge wing of the TIRPITZ, looked down with satisfaction at the fuel barge as it detached itself from his battleship and returned to Stanley Harbor. His three armored warships now had their fuel tanks topped off, thanks to the fuel captured in Port Stanley, and so did the U-900. He could thus look forward to the incoming surface battle without having to worry about his fuel state. Even better was the fact that even more fuel would be sent to Germany via the tanker ships and cargo ships captured to date. Close to 43,000 tons of fuel oil, plus some 16,000 tons of diesel fuel and 25,000 tons of aviation gasoline, were now aboard a total of five large tanker ships and four cargo ships that would soon depart towards Occupied France, manned by German prize crews and escorted by the U-900. Just the fact that so much refined fuel had been captured intact would have been enough to justify this whole operation, but the true prize was still the tungsten loaded aboard the BUENAVENTURA. As for Port Stanley itself, there was soon going to be little left there that could serve to replenish American and British ships or planes in the future: German demolition teams had been placing explosive charges at the now empty fuel depot, refueling jetties and repair facilities in Stanley. Government House, which had been both the residence of the governor of the island and the main military command post, had been flattened with a dozen 280mm shells from the SCHARNHORST after the British there had refused to surrender to the German paratroopers surrounding it. With no viable port installations and fuel facilities left and with all long range radios destroyed, the future for the civilian population of Stanley now looked grim indeed.

 

On the U-900, with Margraff’s commandos and their two rubber boats back aboard, Ulrich von Wittgenstein was about ready to sail away to go take a watch position some 200 nautical miles north of Port Stanley. This was going to be his ultimate task around the Falklands before he would join up with the convoy of nine prize ships already on its way to Lorient. However, that task promised to be a crucial one: by giving an advance warning of the approach of the American task group presently sailing towards Port Stanley, he would give some precious time for the German surface combatants to take the best positions possible to ambush the incoming American warships.

 

06:44 (Falkland Islands Time)

Saturday, October 9, 1943

Bridge of light cruiser U.S.S. OMAHA

Sailing south at 21 knots, 180 nautical miles north of Port Stanley

 

‘’On its way, at last!’’ said to himself Rear admiral Read as he watched the cruiser U.S.S. MILWAUKEE launch one of its Vought OS2U-3 KINGFISHER reconnaissance floatplanes. That launch should have happened last afternoon, but the task group had encountered a bad local storm that had prevented any floatplane launch before nightfall. It was now launched much closer to Port Stanley than Read had wanted. Read followed the lone plane with his binoculars until it was out of sight.

‘’Come on, guys! Find out what is waiting for us around Stanley.’’

 

Some fourteen kilometers away, too distant and too small a target to be detected by the American radars, Ulrich von Wittgenstein had observed via his search periscope the launch of the American floatplane. Estimating first the heading and speed of the KINGFISHER, he then wrote a very brief encoded message that was then sent to the TIRPITZ, alerting it about the launch.

 

07:12 (Falkland Islands Time)

Launch catapult, battlecruiser KMS SCHARNHORST

Sailing 26 nautical miles northeast of Port Stanley

 

‘’Ready, Kurt?’’

‘’Yes!’’ replied the observer who occupied the rear seat in the spacious cockpit of the Arado 196A-3 floatplane. The pilot, Leutnant Henrik Knobel, then made a thumbs up signal to the operator of the launch catapult, who then pressed a button, sending compressed air into the piston of the catapult. The Arado 196A-3 flew off the launch rail, with Knobel nearly immediately turning north afterwards and starting to climb. Knobel waited to have climbed to an altitude of 500 meters to call the air controller aboard the SCHARNHORST, who was following both him and the incoming American floatplane on his radar screen.

‘’Green Two to Barn, give me an intercept vector for the intruder, over.’’

‘’Green Two, this is Barn. Take heading 010 and climb to 2,000 meters. You will then pass above and on the port flank of the intruder. He should soon have to go down, to pierce through the low cloud cover. We will advise you when to turn and dive, over.’’

‘’Understood, Barn. Green Two out!’’

Knobel felt excitement as he kept climbing, soon going through the low cloud cover : he had a number of reconnaissance missions under his belt but this would be his first chance to score an air kill. Contrary to what its somewhat ungainly aspect, due mostly to its twin floats, would suggest, the Arado 196 was a very agile aircraft and was actually a joy to fly. It also had a respectable armament of two fixed 20mm cannons and one fixed 7.92mm machine gun, plus a trainable pair of 7.92mm machine guns in the rear, manned by the observer, whose seat was facing aft. It also could carry two small bombs under its wings when attacking submarines or merchant ships. The Arado 196 was routinely used over the Atlantic and North Sea to either chase away British maritime patrol planes or even shoot them down, something it had achieved a few times already. A fact that encouraged Knobel’s hopes was that the floatplanes embarked on American cruisers and battleships were all slower than his Arado 196A-3, something that appreciably boosted his chances for success. Some twelve minutes later, Knobel received another radio call.

‘’Green Two, this is Barn. The enemy intruder is now on your left flank and under the cloud cover, with a separation distance of fourteen kilometers. Start a moderate dive on Heading 250, over.’’

‘’Green Two, understood. Will call you back when I will have the intruder in sight, out.’’

Performing a tight turn to the left and pushing forward his control yoke, Knobel activated his intercom to speak with his observer/gunner.

‘’Kurt, the intruder is forward and under us, some fourteen kilometers away. Be prepared to fire your guns the moment we emerge below the clouds.’’

‘’Understood, Heinrik! I am arming my machine guns now.’’

His heart beating faster from the excitement and anticipation, Heinrik soon went through the thick cloud cover, emerging from it at the same time as he received a fresh call from the SCHARNHORST.

‘’Green Two, from Barn: you are now two kilometers from the intruder. Turn to Heading 098 for final intercept, over.’’

‘’Acknowledged, Barn… I HAVE THE ENEMY IN SIGHT! ATTACKING NOW!’’

With the American plane, which he recognized as a Vought KINGFISHER, still flying lower than him, Heinrik was able to dive and take some extra speed as he approached the enemy plane from behind, hoping to fire his cannons from as close as possible. His cannons each had only sixty rounds, so he was going to have to be sparing and accurate while firing.

‘’KURT, WE ARE NOW DIVING ON THE ENEMY PLANE. IN CASE I MISS, BE READY TO PEPPER HIM FROM BELOW.’’

‘’GOT IT!’’

Heinrik’s eyes were now glued to his gun sight, in which the American plane was steadily becoming bigger. Up to now, the American aviators didn’t seem to have noticed him yet, probably because they were concentrated on scanning the surface of the sea around them. When he came to within 150 meters, Heinrik savagely pressed his gun trigger, firing both of his cannons and his forward machine gun and sending a stream of tracer rounds towards the Vought KINGFISHER. The first projectiles missed, but not by much, and Heinrik was able to correct his aim with the help of his tracer rounds. At least five 20mm shells and a few 7.92mm slugs impacted on the fuselage and wings of the KINGFISHER, making pieces fly off it. The Arado 196 then dived behind and under the tail of the KINGFISHER, missing it by a mere twenty meters. Heinrik leveled off his plane at once and craned his neck up, trying to stay under the enemy plane.

‘’HE’S ALL YOURS, KURT!’’

His observer didn’t reply to that, instead opening fire with his twin machine guns while aiming at the belly and central float of the KINGFISHER. More pieces flew off the American floatplane. It turned into a big flying torch after Kurt’s second burst, its fuel tanks probably hit. Heinrik turned his plane in order to follow the unfortunate KINGFISHER, which was now diving towards the sea surface, some 1,200 meters below. He could see its rear observer trying desperately to open his canopy.

‘’Come on, you poor bugger, jump!’’

The enemy observer never had a chance to do so, his cockpit filling with flames before he could slide his canopy open. Heinrik shivered with horror at the thought of the kind of horrible death this had to be. Right now, he felt no hatred towards those American aviators, just pity. Still, he followed visually the falling floatplane until it impacted on the surface of the sea, then activated his radio.

‘’Barn, this is Green Two: one Vought KINGFISHER shot down and splashed. There were no parachutes, over.’’

‘’Good job, Green Two! Turn to Heading 280 and try to locate the approaching enemy ships. They should now be within 110 nautical miles from you, over.’’

‘’Acknowledged, Barn. Turning now on Heading 280, out. Kurt, we are going to try to find those American ships. Keep your eyes wide open! And nice shooting by the way.’’

‘’Thanks, Heinrik!’’

 

08:01 (Falkland Islands Time)

Bridge of the light cruiser U.S.S. OMAHA

 

‘’TO ALL SHIPS: CEASE FIRING! CEASE FIRING! THERE IS NO POINT IN WASTING OUR AMMUNITION.’’

Rear admiral Read gave a last black look at the German Arado 196 that was now flying away, intact, after triggering a barrage of three inch and five inch anti-aircraft shells from the task group. It was now evident that his own floatplane did not survive its mission, while the Germans would now know the precise composition of his force. In a foul mood, he walked into the armored bridge of his flagship and went to the captain of the OMAHA.

‘’Captain Chandler, do we have something on our radars yet?’’

‘’No sir! Right now, we only have the outline of the northern coasts of the Falkland Islands at the limit of our scopes. This would mean that the German warship that launched this floatplane is keeping its distances and staying close to Port Stanley. Either that German is a cautious one, or he has landed troops on the island and is loathe to leave them without naval support.’’

‘’Or he wants to stay clear of us while recuperating his plane.’’

‘’That too, Admiral.’’ recognized Theodore Chandler. ‘’Should we launch another KINGFISHER, sir?’’

‘’No! I don’t want to run the risk of having to slow down to recuperate it afterwards and thus make us vulnerable to a submarine attack. Remember that four British ships and submarines have reportedly been sunk by a German submarine during the last few days. There is also this business of the mysterious disappearance without a trace of the U.S.S. INTREPID and of its whole escort group while it transited the Drake Passage. My feeling is that there is a most dangerous shark waiting for us around the Falkland Islands. We will have to keep our speed up at all times in order to minimize the chances that this German submarine could ambush us.’’

‘’But, Admiral, the sonars on our two destroyers will be next to useless at anything above fifteen knots.’’

Read stopped for a moment to drill his eyes into those of Chandler.

‘’And did you get the impression that our sonar sets have been helpful in our past encounters with the U-800 and its ilk, Captain? Personally, the reading of past action fleet reports didn’t convince me of that. We will keep a minimum speed of twenty knots until I say otherwise.’’

Chandler was tempted to protest further but decided not to. The frustrating truth was that the Allied sonar technology, at first considered a life-saver in defending Atlantic convoys against German submarines, was now hopelessly outclassed by the new generation of German U-Boats. Something much better than the present ASDIC sets was needed to redress the balance. Unfortunately, that took time, time that was quickly running out for the Allies, with Great Britain all but strangled by the German submarine blockade and the supply lines between the Atlantic and the Pacific in danger of being cut.

 

10:18 (Falkland Islands Time)

Bridge of the U.S.S. OMAHA

Ninety nautical miles north of Port Stanley

 

‘’Admiral, we finally have a contact on our radars.’’

‘’Aaah, at last! Where is it?’’

‘’About thirty nautical miles northeast of Port Stanley, cruising at slow speed. It appears to be a single large surface ship.’’

Read looked for a moment at the screen of the radar repeater console installed in a corner of his flagship’s bridge, trying to decide on a strategy to engage that lone German warship.

‘’Change course to come directly at that contact, Captain Chandler. We will approach it in double parallel files, then will turn to port once within effective gun range and form a single line, crossing the enemy’s ‘T’. With 26 six inch guns firing simultaneously at the enemy, we should be able to smother that German cruiser under a rain of shells.’’

Chandler gave him a dubious look, obviously not convinced.

‘’Admiral, if what we are facing turns out to be a battlecruiser or a pocket battleship armed with eleven inch guns, then we will be outranged by over ten miles, ten miles during which we will be under fire and unable to respond.’’

‘’Then, we will have to cover those ten miles as fast as we can, Captain.’’

That was when a bridge signaler manning the TBS VHF transceiver set on the bridge shouted a warning.

‘’SIR, THE JOUETT IS SIGNALING A VERY WEAK RADAR CONTACT ON OUR PORT FLANK. IT IS GOING TO SLOW DOWN AND PROSECUTE IT.’’

‘’A very weak radar contact… Shit, a submarine periscope!’’ exclaimed Chandler, alarmed, before starting to give orders to his bridge crew. ‘’HELM, START ZIGZAG COURSE! SOUND BATTLE STATIONS!’’

On his part, Read didn’t stay inactive, grabbing his signals officer.

‘’Signal immediately to all our ships: suspected submarine on our port flank. Start zigzag course.’’

‘’Right away, sir!’’

 

Some 3,000 meters from the U.S.S. JOUETT, Ulrich von Wittgenstein swore at himself under his breath: he had raised his periscope too close from the American destroyer covering the port flank of the task group, counting on its small size and radar-absorbing coating to keep it undetected. The sight of the American ships suddenly starting to zigzag was now telling him that he had made a mistake. However, he already had four torpedoes on their way. Hopefully, they would still hit their intended target despite the fact that it had now started zigzagging. Right now, however, he had to contend with an American destroyer coming straight at him.

‘’HELM, PUSH THE DIVING PLANES TO FULL DOWN! EMERGENCY DIVE TO DEPTH OF 350 METERS, THEN LEVEL UP AND SLOW TO SILENT SPEED!’’

Within seconds, his U-900 nosedived steeply enough to force Ulrich to hold on to his periscope in order not to slide down the deck of the control room. He however remembered to lower it, so that it could return into its pressure-proof housing before the pressure became too great. The thick steel cap of the periscope housing closed as the U-900 was passing the depth of 75 meters. Then, as it reached a depth of 260 meters, a series of muffled explosion reverberated in the water.

‘’Depth charges, set way too shallow to hurt us.’’ said Ulrich aloud in a calm voice, trying to relieve some of the stress in the control room. A separate explosion, much more powerful but still distant, then made him smile.

‘’Hell, I still got a hit after all.’’

 

Of the four TYPE 96-D torpedoes fired at the light cruiser U.S.S. MEMPHIS, three missed their target due to it suddenly starting to zigzag. The fourth one very nearly missed as well, but passed under the cruiser at the level of its propellers and rudders. Its magnetic influence exploder then reacted and ignited its 550 kilo warhead right under the stern of the cruiser. The powerful underwater explosion made the rear of the MEMPHIS jump out of the water and ripped off or deformed its rudders and propeller shafts. The stern then slammed down back in the water and split away from the rest of the hull with a scream of tortured metal, opening huge holes in which seawater rushed in furiously. Main power went out nearly at once, plunging the inside of the ship in the dark, while the cruiser started sinking by its stern. The bow of the MEMPHIS, now nearly at the vertical, disappeared under the surface a mere two minutes after the torpedo hit, dragging all but a handful of its crew to the depths.

 

On the open bridge wing of the U.S.S. OMAHA, Rear admiral Read could only watch with a mix of rage and grief as the bow of the MEMPHIS disappeared under the surface. Many of his friends were now dying as he watched the drama unfold.

‘’Damn you, you German bastard!’’ he hissed, referring to the German submarine responsible for this tragedy. However, he still had his other ships to lead into battle and could not afford to linger too long on this. Returning inside his command bridge, he pointed an index at the operations officer.

‘’Commander, have the DAVIS join the JOUETT in chasing after that German submarine. They are to hound it until it is sunk. Our remaining cruisers will continue on at twenty knots towards that German cruiser near Port Stanley.’’

‘’Yes, Admiral!’’

Read next grabbed the signals officer.

‘’Send the following message to Fourth Fleet Headquarters: U.S.S. MEMPHIS torpedoed and sunk by German submarine. Am going to engage a lone German cruiser off Port Stanley. Add the time and location of the sinking.’’

‘’Right away, sir!’’

As the signals officer was disappearing into the radio room adjacent to the bridge, Read gave a somber look at Captain Chandler.

‘’Hopefully, our two destroyers will be able to rid us of that damn German submarine. If not, we may end up going into a surface battle with our rear unsecured.’’

‘’Those new German submarines may be good, Admiral, but they are not invincible. I am confident that the JOUETT and the DAVIS will do the job.’’

‘’I fervently hope so as well, Captain.’’

 

Inside the U-900, now running silently at a speed of three knots and a depth of 350 meters, Ulrich went to see his sonar operators in their cramped compartment aft of the control room.

‘’So, what are you hearing, Bock?’’

His chief sonar operator listened through his headset for a moment before answering Ulrich.

‘’We now have two American destroyers searching for us and pinging in active mode around them. We are however under the thermal layer and they thus cannot ear us, especially while we are running silent.’’

‘’If we rise back up to near the surface, will they be able to detect us?’’

‘’If they continue to ping on active mode and keep their own speed down, then yes, Herr Kapitän. I am afraid that we will have to take some risks if we want to sink those two destroyers. We could always take some distance discretely, then attack again, but that would take time.’’

‘’Agreed! We have a major surface battle about to happen and I would hate to miss it. On the other hand, while chasing after us, those two destroyers won’t be available to launch torpedoes at the SCHARNHORST. Are those two destroyers moving as a pair or independently?’’

‘’Independently, Herr Kapitän. One of them is on our port flank, while the other is ahead of us.’’

‘’Alright then, we will start with the one ahead of us. Be prepared to power on our bow active sonar on my command: we will use its return echoes to feed our ‘Nibelung’ active-passive sonar targeting system.’’

‘’I will be ready, Herr Kapitän.’’

Ulrich then returned in the control room and spoke to his First Watch Officer, Bruno Barber, sitting at the tactical plot table.

‘’Bruno, I intend for us to rise back silently to near the surface, then ping once in active mode and use the return data to launch a T5 at one of those destroyers. Be ready to use our ‘Nibelung’ targeting system and have two bow tubes and one stern tube loaded with T5 torpedoes.’’

‘’I’m on it, Herr Kapitän.’’

Next, Ulrich returned to his command chair, situated just aft of the helmsman and ballast operators seats, from where he gave a series of orders.

‘’Ballasts, start us on a slow rise to periscope depth. Helm, keep our speed at three knots and continue on present heading. We are going to execute a Nibelung-directed attack on the destroyer ahead of us and will shoot a T5 acoustic-homing torpedo.’’

The helmsman, Karl Müller, nodded his head in acknowledgement: when firing a T5 torpedo, the submarine had to be as silent as possible, in order to prevent the torpedo from turning around and guiding itself back via the machinery noise of its launching submarine, something that had already happened at least once with other German boats.

 

Nerves tensed up in the control room as the ballasts operator, Rudolph Dollmann, announced their changing depth.

‘’We are now passing 200 meters on our way up, Herr Kapitän… Now at 150 meters… One hundred meters… Fifty meters! Starting to equilibrate balance… Forty meters…’’

‘’Stop our ascent at thirty meters! Sonar, give me a ping!’’

BONG

‘’I have two return echoes!’’ soon announced the chief sonar operator. ‘’One at relative heading 020, 2,400 meters away, the other at relative heading 175, distance 3,900 meters. Passing data to Nibelung fire-control system!’’

‘’Match bearings and launch T5s from Tubes One and Fourteen!’’ ordered at once Ulrich. Seconds later, he heard the two compressed air discharges from those tubes. Now, he could only hope that they ran true. Bock’s voice then came again on the intercom.

‘’The target ahead is now turning towards us and taking up speed. The target abaft is still on its original heading… Correction: target abaft now turning towards us and accelerating. We have two destroyers gunning at us from opposite directions, Herr Kapitän!’’

‘’You should have become a sports radio commentator, Bock.’’ joked Ulrich. ‘’You do have a flair for the dramatic.’’

‘’Sorry about that, Herr Kapitän.’’ replied the sonar operator as laughter went around the control room. ‘’The targets don’t seem to have detected our torpedoes yet. Our two weapons are still running true.’’

Three minutes later, a distant underwater explosion from ahead made the crew cheer.

‘’We have a hit on the destroyer ahead of us, Herr Kapitän. It is now slowing down, with its machinery noise drastically cut.’’

‘’What about the destroyer to our aft, Bock?’’

‘’It is still accelerating straight at us. They are not hearing our torpedo…yet.’’

‘’Good! Torpedo control, be ready to launch two TYPE 96-D torpedoes at each target if I deem it necessary.’’

‘’Aye, Herr Kapitän!’’

When he heard his second torpedo explode, Ulrich took a decision and gave an order.

‘’RISE TO PERISCOPE DEPTH!’’

Taking place behind the attack periscope and rising its head above the surface, Ulrich did a quick panoramic check before concentrating his attention forward and aft. What he saw made him grin with glee.

‘’We made solid hits on both targets! The one ahead of us has broken in two, while the one abaft is developing a serious list to starboard. Helm, steer to Heading 220 and accelerate to ten knots: we are going to finish off the destroyer aft of us.’’

However, before the U-900 could approach within 2,000 meters, the second destroyer capsized belly-up, victim of the notorious high center of gravity of the SOMERS-Class destroyers. Feeling relief on seeing that this fight was over, Ulrich pivoted his periscope around to locate the remaining three American cruisers of the task group. He soon saw them some distance away to the Southeast, sailing towards Port Stanley.

‘’Good job, men!’’ he then announced to his crewmen in the control room. ‘’We are going first to take a couple of pictures of our two latest victims before they sink under the surface, then we will trail the American cruisers from a distance. We will go on schnorchel and diesel then and adopt a speed of twelve knots while recharging our batteries. If and when the enemy attempts to turn back and flee once they will realize in what kind of trap they fell, then we will be in a good position to bar their withdrawal.’’

 

On the OMAHA, a thoroughly discouraged Rear admiral Read walked into the chart room and joined Lieutenant commander John Kaiser at the chart table, speaking to him in a near whisper.

‘’You were right about those new German submarines, Commander: we just lost both of our destroyers and the cruiser MEMPHIS to the submarine roaming around. Do you know how the infamous U-800 finally got sunk?’’

‘’Yes I do, Admiral: it was surprised on the surface by a patrol aircraft as it was stopping a cargo ship near Newfoundland. We learned later on from prisoners’ debriefs that the U-800’s radar warning set was malfunctioning at the time, thus the Germans did not detect the patrol aircraft until it was too late to dive.’’

‘’Well, the systems on the bastard who sank our three ships seem to be functioning just right. We will have to take account of that submarine during and after our incoming surface fight.’’

John Kaiser then gave him a worried look and spoke in a low voice.

‘’Sir, I know that our mission is to intercept and sink that German cruiser near Port Stanley, but is it prudent to engage in a surface fight with a cruiser possibly armed with eleven inch guns, and this with a roaming German submarine in our back? Don’t get me wrong, Admiral, as I am no coward, but I saw my fill of disastrous battles in the past and this one is definitely starting on the wrong foot.’’

Read in turn gave a sober look at Kaiser. The young officer was essentially correct in his tactical assessment. Unfortunately, refusing to do battle at this point would most certainly result in himself being relieved of command afterwards…or worse.

‘’Son, I sincerely hope that the future will prove you wrong, although I would tend to agree with you.’’

Read then returned to the bridge, leaving behind a morose John Kaiser. The navigator couldn’t help then think about his wife and two young children, who were waiting for his return from this cruise in their base port of Bahia, Brazil.

 

14:03 (Falkland Islands Time)

Bridge of the light cruiser U.S.S. OMAHA

Rounding Macbride Point, East Falkland Island

 

‘’SHIP DEAD AHEAD ON THE HORIZON!’’

Read and Chandler, on hearing the warning from the lookout, both ran out on the open port side bridge wing in order to examine that distant ship with their binoculars. After a moment of observing, Read lowered his binoculars, his heart sinking.

‘’It is a SCHARNHORST-Class battlecruiser.’’ he said to Chandler, who nodded his head in agreement.

‘’I concur! Those eleven inch guns are going to hurt us, unless we are damn lucky.’’

‘’Well, I am afraid that this ‘Second Battle of the Falklands’ will have little to do with luck and a lot more to do with how accurate our gunners will prove to be. Call our ships to Battle Stations, Captain.’’

‘’Yes, Admiral!’’

As Chandler walked back inside the command bridge, Read tried to be objective about his chances of winning. In truth, they were not good at all. The six inch guns of his three light cruisers could fire a 48 kilo shell to a maximum distance of 23,100 meters, while the eleven inch guns of the SCHARNHORST could fire a 336 kilo armor-piercing shell to a maximum distance of 40,900 meters. Even worse was the imbalance in ship armor between the modern German battlecruiser and his nearly twenty year-old light cruisers. The SCHARNHORST sported a fourteen inch-thick main armor belt, up to 3.7 inch of armor over its decks and fourteen inch of armor around its conning tower. In contrast, Read’s OMAHA sported a three inch-thick main armor belt, a maximum of 1.5 inch of armor over its decks and 1.5 inch of steel around its conning tower. The sad fact was that the SCHARNHORST’s main guns could penetrate the armor of the OMAHA all the way to their maximum range, while the American six inch shells could not pierce the main belt of the SCHARNHORST even from point blank range. The only thing that Read could hope for was to deluge the German battlecruiser with shells and chew up its less armored superstructures to the point of rendering it ineffective. However, that equation didn’t even take into account the numerous secondary guns of the SCHARNHORST, which comprised twelve 150mm guns and sixteen 105mm dual purpose guns, all of which could pierce the armor of the OMAHA. There was also the matter of the superior quality of the Germans’ range-finding optics, which were considered the finest in the World and which gave the Germans a marked edge in gunnery accuracy. This job should rightly have gone to the much more powerful Task Force 3 of Vice admiral Ingram. Unfortunately for Read, Task Force 3 was presently over 1,800 nautical miles away to the Northeast. It would take it over seven days to get here, by which time this battle would be long over. Well, he still could count on the high speed of his cruisers in order to close the range quickly and have the best chances to survive and win this battle. Going inside the bridge, Read gave a series of orders to his staff officers present.

‘’Signal officer, signal by lamp to our cruisers to fall into a single file behind the OMAHA and to accelerate to 35 knots. Captain Chandler, push your ship to maximum speed and charge the SCHARNHORST.’’

‘’Aye, Admiral!’’

 

Everyone on the bridge seemed to brace themselves mentally as the trio of light cruisers fell into a single file, the OMAHA in the lead. Theoretically, they were already well within the maximum range of the German eleven inch guns, but Read expected the enemy commander to wait until he would be within a more reasonable distance before opening fire, in order not to waste his ammunition. The SCHARNHORST finally opened fire at a range of 27 kilometers, still well over the maximum range of the OMAHA’s guns. Only one eleven inch shell was fired then, probably to verify the range. Read wished that he could do like a turtle then and retract his head between his shoulders, as a sinister screaming noise marked the passage overhead of a heavy shell. It splashed harmlessly into the ocean between the OMAHA and the MILWAUKEE, but it was in line with the file of cruisers. A second shot was fired by the Germans some fifteen seconds after that. It also missed, but Read did notice that it had done so by much less than the first one. The German firing already was proving to be uncomfortably accurate. A third eleven inch shell soon sprayed seawater all over the starboard side of the forward superstructures of the OMAHA, while its underwater explosion shook the whole light cruiser. Then, things got worse, much worse.

‘’Admiral, we have two new surface contacts emerging on radar from four o’clock.’’ nearly shouted the bridge duty officer.

‘’What? What kind of ships are they and where are they coming from?’’

‘’We can’t identify them yet, as they are still over the horizon, Admiral. They must have been hidden in some cove along the northern coast of the island. They are doing approximately thirty knots and are apparently trying to take position in our back, sir.’’

‘’A TRAP!’’ shouted Read, furious. ‘’How big are they?’’

‘’Unknown, Admiral, but their radar echoes are solid.’’

All eyes on the bridge suddenly were on Read as he desperately thought about his options. He doubted very much that the two new enemy ships would prove to be smaller than light cruisers, making an already unequal fight this much harder. The screeching of a fourth heavy shell that missed the OMAHA by less than eighty meters then returned Read to reality.

‘’We will take the enemy ships one at a time! Let’s cripple this battlecruiser first, then we will face those newcomers.’’

 

Read’s ships never had a chance to hurt the SCHARNHORST, as eleven inch shells from the German battlecruisers started to register hits on the three American light cruisers at a range of 25,000 meters. The German fire then became much denser, switching from ranging shots to fire for effect. One eleven inch shell hit the top of the rearmost funnel of the OMAHA, but thankfully simply went through it without exploding. It however still killed most of the turret’s crew with the splinters the impact created. The next one to hit hurt a lot more, however, penetrating two decks before exploding in the forward starboard boiler room of the light cruiser. The whole ship shook under that impact and speed immediately decreased to 22 knots. That was when a young watch officer came to Read, his face as white as a sheet.

‘’Sir, bad news: the two ships now in our backs are the battleship TIRPITZ and the battlecruiser GNEISENAU.’’

Read could only stare at him for a moment, speechless, before he regained some of his composure.

‘’Lieutenant, go see the signals officer and tell him to send the following to Fourth Fleet Headquarters: Have been ambushed near Port Stanley by German battleship TIRPITZ and battlecruisers SCHARNHORST and GNEISENAU. Will attempt tactical withdrawal. You got that?’’

‘’Uh, yes, Admiral!’’

As the young officer walked away to go to the radio room, Read went out on the open bridge wing to have a look by himself at the two newcomers. Maybe, with luck, the lieutenant had been mistaken. However, one long look through one of the powerful, swivel-mounted binoculars used by bridge watchmen was enough to tell Read that the young officer had been right. His mind made up, he returned inside the command bridge to give new orders to his ships. That was when an eleven inch armor-piercing shell hit the forward six inch turret of the OMAHA, flying clean through it and killing its crew before entering the forward bridge superstructure and exploding inside. The bridge deck literally jumped upwards, projecting the occupants of the command bridge against the steel ceiling and either killing or wounding them all. Read was lucky enough to survive, but he woke up a few moments later, dazed and in pain, to find himself trapped under an overturned radar console and with acrid smoke filling the devastated bridge.

‘’Can…can anyone help me? HELP!’’

Two men came to him after his third call for help and, with some effort, managed to take the radar console off Read. The latter then recognized the ship’s navigator, along with a bridge lookout. When he tried to get up, a sharp pain made Read grimace and stop.

‘’Aaaah, my hip! It must be broken. How is the ship, Commander Kaiser?’’

‘’I am not sure, Admiral, but the bridge was in essence destroyed, with most of the senior officers killed.’’

The shock and explosion of another heavy shell hitting the OMAHA then interrupted John Kaiser, who looked at the sailor helping him.

‘’Find a stretcher, so that we could carry the admiral. Make it quick!’’

‘’Yes sir!’’

John then returned his attention to Read.

‘’What are your orders for the ship, sir? We are being cut to ribbons by these eleven inch guns and can’t even reply yet.’’

‘’Our ships should withdraw immediately at top speed and escape this trap. Against those three armored German heavy ships, we have no chances of winning. Go pass that message, now!’’

‘’I will get on it, Admiral.’’ promised john before leaving Read and going to the nearby radio room. Unfortunately, he found it pierced by multiple shell fragments, with its radios damaged and the radio operator dead at his post. Clenching his teeth, John went out on the bridge port open wing and ran to a large signal lamp mounted on a swivel. Powering it, he pointed it at the CINCINNATI, which had also been hit a number of times, and started sending a message in Morse code.

FROM ADMIRAL READ, ALL SHIPS ARE TO WITHDRAW IMMEDIATELY AT TOP SPEED TOWARDS NORTHEAST.

John repeated his message until the CINCINNATI acknowledged receiving it. The MILWAUKEE also acknowledged his message a minute later. John felt his heart accelerate when he saw both light cruisers starting to turn around. Running back inside, he found that the sailor who he had sent to get a stretcher was back in the bridge with both a stretcher and three more sailors, who were delicately lifting Rear admiral Read and putting him on the stretcher. John smiled to the lookout while patting his shoulder.

‘’Well done, sailor! As soon as the admiral is secured to the stretcher, carry him to the sick bay.’’

The man in turn gave him a pained look.

‘’The sick bay is on fire, sir, while Doctor Benning is dead. That stretcher was one of the rare things still intact there.’’

‘’Damn! Did you see any other senior officer between here and the sick bay?’’

Before the lookout could answer, two more eleven inch shells slammed into the aft section of the cruiser and exploded within the hull, projecting high in the air the aft twin six inch gun turret. That ignited the shells and propellant charges in the aft magazine and started a hellish chain reaction of explosions that tore the rear half of the ship wide open. Feeling the ship sinking quickly by the stern, John shouted an order to the four sailors surrounding Read’s stretcher.

‘’The ship is going to go down soon. Let’s bring the admiral to the boat deck! Follow me!’’

 

Thankfully, they were still able to use the series of ladders along the sides of the forward superstructures but, once at the level of the boat deck, found the two boats stored there mostly reduced to splinters. Looking around him, John saw a pair of life rafts still stowed at the vertical against the walls of the superstructures, at weather deck level. He would have preferred a row boat, so that the admiral would not be bathing in cold water, but those life rafts were apparently all that was left.

‘’Okay, men: let’s go down to the weather deck and use those life rafts. Once there, those without life jackets will put some on before we put a raft into the water.’’

Read, who was still conscious, then touched his left arm to attract his attention.

‘’Commander, I’m afraid that the OMAHA is finished. Pass the order to evacuate the ship.’’

John nodded his head after a short hesitation.

‘’I will, Admiral. Okay men, carry the Admiral to the nearest raft and get it in the water. I will join with you shortly.’’

Climbing back up the ladders at a run, John returned to the destroyed bridge and went to the ship’s intercom box there, hoping that it was still functional. To his immense relief, it was and he switched it to ‘ship-wide address’.

‘’ATTENTION ALL HANDS! ATTENTION ALL HANDS! ABANDON SHIP! I SAY AGAIN : ABANDON SHIP!’’

John then switched the box off and ran down to the weather deck, where his group of sailors had lowered one raft in the water and were tying ropes to Read’s stretcher in order to lower him as delicately as possible in the waiting raft. Looking around him, John saw a few sailors aft who didn’t seem to know what to do, so he shouted at them over the din of exploding ammunition.

‘’AHOY, MEN! PUT A RAFT IN THE WATER AND ABANDON SHIP, NOW!’’

Thankfully, those men heard him and obeyed him. By then, the unfortunate light cruiser was half under the water, with its bow up at an angle of over twenty degrees. John, a strong and fit man, helped the sailors lower Rear admiral Read’s stretcher in the waiting raft, then grabbed and put on a life jacket before climbing down in the raft to join his four sailors and the admiral. Using the oars that had been tied to the open floor of the raft, they paddled as hard as they could, trying to take enough distance to avoid being sucked down when the OMAHA would sink under the surface. Two minutes later, the bow of the OMAHA disappeared under the waves, leaving on the surface a mix of floating debris and sailors, many of them swimming on the surface. John, seeing that his raft could still accommodate more occupants, started paddling around, going in priority to the sailors who didn’t have a life jacket and then pulling them aboard. The South Atlantic waters were cold but thankfully not as frigid as in the North Atlantic, something that gave hope to John that they could be rescued before most of the men died of hypothermia.

 

With the OMAHA gone, the SCHARNHORST had moved away at top speed to catch up to the two fleeing American light cruisers, leaving the survivors of the OMAHA alone at the surface of the sea. Going to Read, still lying on his stretcher, John examined him quickly and frowned: the combination of his wound and of the cold water he bathed in had put him in a near state of shock. The admiral would probably not survive more than one hour in the present conditions. Another raft full of sailors and with one junior officer aboard then paddled up to his raft to join up with it. Taking a quick count of the men inside the rafts or clinging to them, John counted a total of 31 men, the admiral included, something that made him lower his head in sadness: 31 survivors out of a crew of 572 men. Hopefully, there were more men around, floating on the surface, whom he could not see from his low raft. The worst part was however the total lack of potable water for the survivors, the life rafts not having any emergency supplies aboard them, contrary to the rowboats and motor boats of the OMAHA. Looking out to the West, John managed to see the tips of the hills on East Falkland Island, maybe twenty miles away. With the currents around the coast, he knew that they would never manage to paddle all the way to the shores of Port Stanley before freezing to death. Their only hope now was that the German ships would come back to search for survivors. In that, John had some reasonable hopes: contrary to the Japanese, who were known to machine gun American survivors in the water, the Germans had a mostly clean record on that subject. Looking at the men surrounding him, John spoke in a calm, sober tone.

‘’Men, the only thing we can do now is wait to be rescued. Stick closely together in order to share body warmth: that will help against hypothermia.’’

‘’What about paddling to Port Stanley, sir?’’ asked a young sailor, making John shake his head.

‘’Too far, plus the coastal currents will be against us. We would burn all of our energy for nothing.’’

‘’What if the Germans come back and fish us out, sir?’’ asked another sailor. ‘’How will they treat us, do you think?’’

‘’I believe that they will treat us according to the Geneva Conventions, contrary to the Japanese, and will then intern us as prisoners of war. If a German ship or boat shows up, do not resist and simply follow their directives and everything should be fine. Contrary to what you may have seen in propaganda films and news at home, not all Germans are Nazi fanatics. Now, speak as little as you need: we don’t have any potable water with us, so save your saliva, but keep your eyes open for any approaching ship.’’

 

Silence then fell in and around the two rafts, which were constantly rocked by waves and swept by cold winds. Nearly one hour passed, by which time Rear admiral Read was close to sinking into a coma. John was despairing of saving his admiral’s life when one sailor suddenly screamed, joy in his voice.

‘’I SEE SOMETHING APPROACHING US FROM THE NORTH!’’

All eyes immediately turned in that direction. John, helped by two sailors, got up on his feet on the raft in order to look better. What he saw approaching filled him with a mix of relief and sarcasm.

‘’Here I go again!’’ he said to himself as he remembered the two previous times when he had been stranded at sea and had been either rescued or spared by a German submarine, namely the U-800. What was approaching the rafts now looked somewhat different to the U-800 but still had a strong family look to it. If anything, it looked even racier and more impressive than the U-800. Waving wildly his arms above his head to attract attention, he also shouted as loud as he could.

‘’HEY, OVER HERE! OVER HERE!’’

Someone inside the open bridge of the submarine, situated under a transparent canopy on top of the finely profiled sail, apparently saw him, as the submarine then turned directly towards the two rafts. Half a dozen men soon stepped out of the sail and onto the forward weather deck of the submarine as it approached the rafts at slow speed. A hull cover plate was then raised on the forward port side, uncovering a set of wide stairs extending down into the water. More Germans came out of the sail as a submariner threw a rope to the occupants of the rafts. However, those Germans proved to be armed soldiers, complete with combat uniforms and steel helmets and wielding some kind of impressive-looking weapons. One of the German soldiers suddenly froze, staring at John, and shouted to him in good English.

‘’MISTER JOHN KAISER? IS THAT YOU AGAIN?’’

All the American sailors looked with incomprehension at John as he grinned, savoring the irony of this moment.

‘’YES, IT’S ME AGAIN, HAUPTMANN MARGRAFF. BUT LET’S CUT SHORT THE GREETINGS, PLEASE. REAR ADMIRAL READ IS WOUNDED AND IN A STATE OF SHOCK AND NEEDS IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION.’’

‘’WE WILL GET HIM TO OUR INFIRMARY IN A FLASH, MISTER KAISER.’’

‘’How the hell could you know that German, sir?’’ asked a chief petty officer to John as the rafts were being pulled alongside the submarine.

‘’Easy: he fished me and my family out of the sea some two years ago, off Cuba. You can relax now, Chief: this German crew is a decent bunch.’’

 

As promised, Rear admiral Read was among the first to be carried into the submarine, with John and the rest of the survivors from the OMAHA soon following inside under German escort. Hugo Margraff chose to stay near John and talked with him as the prisoners were being led down to the boat’s cafeteria.

‘’So, Commander, how are your wife and two lovely kids doing?’’

‘’They are fine and my kids are growing up just nicely, Hauptmann.’’ replied John, as the other American sailors near them listened on with growing bemusement. ‘’And you, have you married yet?’’

‘’Not yet, but I recently met a nice prospect. I am however still exploring my options with her.’’

‘’I see! And which submarine is this, if I may ask?’’

‘’You certainly may: it is the U-900 and you may meet some ex-crewmembers of the U-800 that you knew.’’

‘’Oh? That would definitely please me to meet them later on. May I ask what will happen to my men now?’’

‘’Well, right now you are being led down to the crew cafeteria, where you will get a hot meal and hot beverages. Since a full admiral is in command of the German squadron that came to Port Stanley, Kapitän von Wittgenstein is still waiting for detailed instructions to come about the handling of our prisoners. You may be brought to Germany and be interned there as prisoners of war, or you may be dropped in Port Stanley, where your forces could eventually come pick you up. As you know already, having to hold many prisoners on our submarine would present us with some complicated problems, least of which are concerns about ship’s internal security. Hopefully, our admiral will decide to drop you in Stanley, in which case you will be able to see again your family soon.’’

‘’That would certainly be my preferred option…and that of my men. Is your cook Mister Hannig? He was a really talented chef aboard the U-800.’’

Hugo Margraff grinned wide at that question.

‘’We have even better: his father! Herr Otto Hannig decided to reenlist after the U-800 was sunk and his son was taken prisoner. However, I and my men recently played tourists in Canada and went to break out the survivors of the U-800, including Dieter Hannig, from their prisoners of war camp. Dieter Hannig is now fattening the crew of another boat of our new class of submarines.’’

John pointed an accusing index at Hugo, faking outrage.

‘’YOU are the buggers who hijacked and stole your way through the Massachusetts and New York States?’’

‘’Guilty as charged!’’ replied a smiling Hugo. ‘’As you can see, we didn’t slouch on the job during the last couple of years.’’

‘’Yeah! Your name and face must be on the FBI’s most wanted list by now.’’

By now, the chief petty officer following behind John couldn’t restraint further his curiosity.

‘’Excuse me, sir, but who the hell is this German who seems to know you so well?’’

Stopping briefly at the top of the next set of stairs going down to the cafeteria, John put on a serious expression while pointing Hugo.

‘’Chief, this is Hauptmann Hugo Margraff, of the elite Brandenburg Regiment. He and his men specialize in commando raids, sabotage operations and infiltrations behind enemy lines. I first met them when me and my family were saved at sea near Cuba by the U-800. Their victory scores include the blowing up of the Pacific-side locks of the Panama Canal, the blowing up of the Boston Naval Ammunition Depot and the mass evasion of German prisoners of war from a Canadian camp on the shores of Lake Ontario. They are extremely dangerous men, but they are also decent guys…when they want to be.’’

Hugo nearly laughed at that and patted John’s back.

‘’Well said, Commander! But let’s continue on our way to the cafeteria. I am sure that your men are anxious to get some hot food.’’

 

Once down the flight of stairs, the prisoners ended up in a large, comfortable compartment with rows of long tables and fixed, swivel chairs. The German soldiers made the American sailors sit down at the tables on one side of the cafeteria, which still left 32 empty seats on the other side. As the American sailors threw disbelieving looks around them, a big, jovial man close to fifty came out of what had to be the kitchen, pushing a service cart supporting a big, steaming pot and a collection of bowls and spoons. The eyes of the Americans then all fixed on the young and beautiful blonde that followed the cook out of the kitchen, pushing another cart loaded with coffee urns and cups. That was when Hugo Margraff spoke up loudly, so that all could hear him.

‘’Gentlemen, this is our cook, Matrosen Obergefreiter Otto Hannig. He will serve you one of his specialties: Gulash Suppe! Since he doesn’t speak English, Oberhelferin Hanna Blumenthal volunteered to act as liaison between you and the rest of the crew.’’

‘’You have women serving as submariners?’’ asked Chief Petty Officer Clarence Wilson, utterly shocked, making Hugo grin in amusement.

‘’No, but I am sure that the men of the U-900 would love that. Oberhelferin Blumenthal is an occasional passenger on this submarine, like me and my men.’’

That last sentence made John Kaiser look at the cute blonde with more than simple appreciation for her good looks. He however didn’t make any comment about that then, instead asking a question to Hugo.

‘’Would it be possible for me to see Rear admiral Read after this, Hauptmann?’’

‘’Of course, Commander! He is presently being treated by our ship’s doctor, Kapitänleutnant Adolph Heinnemann, who by the way speaks excellent English. Now, enjoy your Gulash Suppe and hot coffee.’’

 

After eating a bowl of the Gulash Suppe, which proved excellent, and drinking a hot cup of coffee, John was escorted by Hugo to the nearby infirmary, where they found Doctor Heinnemann busy putting on a cast around Rear-admiral Read’s right upper leg. Read, who was fully conscious, made a weak smile on seeing John enter the treatment room.

‘’Aaah, Commander Kaiser! Luckily, I was mistaken about having broken my hip : it appears instead that I broke my right leg. It is still painful, but is a lot less complicated to treat than a broken hip. So, are the men being treated correctly?’’

‘’Most correctly, Admiral. They just finished eating one of the best goulash soups I ever tasted and have been provided with dry clothes.’’

‘’Good!’’

A tall and thin Kriegsmarine senior officer entered the infirmary then, prompting Hugo Margraff into coming to rigid attention. However, the newcomer’s attention went straight to John and he walked quickly to him to shake his hand, a warm smile on his face.

‘’Mister John Kaiser! And a lieutenant commander to boot! We really should stop meeting like this.’’

‘’I wholeheartedly agree with you on that, Captain von Wittgenstein. Am I to deduce that you command the U-900?’’

‘’You certainly may! But let me present my salutations to your admiral before we speak further.’’

Facing Read, lying on his back on the treatment table, Ulrich came to rigid attention and saluted him the military fashion.

‘’Rear admiral Read, I am Korvettenkapitän Ulrich von Wittgenstein, Captain of the U-900. I have finally received instructions from my force commander about the handling of our prisoners of war and came down to inform you officially about them.’’

With Read’s attention now fully focused, Ulrich went on.

‘’Admiral Wilhelm Marschall, in command of our fleet aboard the KMS TIRPITZ, admired the bravery of your men as you charged while hopelessly outgunned. As a consequence and in view of considerations about internal ships security if we had to sail back to France with hundreds of prisoners aboard, Admiral Marschall has decided, with the express accord of Grossadmiral Dönitz, to drop off in Port Stanley all the American and British military personnel captured during this operation. Also to be dropped there will be the civilian merchantmen of various nationalities captured during the taking of prize ships by us. Before you are left in Stanley, however, its installations and its airfield will be thoroughly demilitarized, with all the weapons, refueling and repair facilities destroyed, in order to render Port Stanley useless as a refueling point for your navies. Once the demolition work will be completed, our fleet will then send a radio message to the Brazilian Navy, telling it to send a hospital ship clearly marked with Red Cross flags to Port Stanley, to pick you up and repatriate your men and the British soldiers we had captured. I suspect that most of the civilian inhabitants of Stanley will want to leave as well then, as there will be little left there to sustain a decent living. A warning, though: any Allied ship other than hospital ships trying to approach the Falklands in the coming days and weeks will be sunk on sight. Do you have any questions about the terms I have just listed, Admiral Read?’’

‘’No! In truth, I am quite surprised to hear that we won’t be brought to Germany as prisoners of war. Your admiral is being quite lenient and considerate in this matter.’’

‘’Admiral Read,’’ said Ulrich in a most sober tone, ‘’this leniency is also meant to be a message from Germany to your government. You and I know that Great Britain is close to total military collapse, due to our submarine blockade. You also know how bad the situation is for you in the Pacific, with Australia isolated and besieged by the Japanese. Continuing this war will only cause more bloodshed, with Germany and Japan now holding the advantage at sea and with the British Empire falling apart. Start considering peace talks, unless you want the dying and suffering to continue.’’

‘’I will pass that message on, Captain von Wittgenstein.’’ said a somber Read after a couple of seconds. ‘’However, I can’t guarantee what the answer of my government to this will be.’’

‘’We fully realize that, Admiral. Just passing the message will make us content.’’ replied Ulrich, equally somber.