Free The Passenger by F. R. Tallis

sauntered back toward his nook. ‘If the Führer knew what his sea-wolves were really like he’d sleep like a baby, wouldn’t he? Truly, the fate of the Reich is safe in our hands.’

    T HE MESSAGE FROM U- BOAT HEADQUARTERS was brief: ALL U-BOATS IN GRID AD INTERCEPT CONVOY HX IN AD 79. ATTACKWITHOUT FURTHER ORDERS. The helmsman changed course and the diesels ran at full speed. In the forward compartment, torpedoes were removed three quarters out of their tubes—batteries recharged, instrumentation checked. Reserve torpedoes were greased and serviced. When Lorenz was satisfied that everything was in order, he retired to his nook where he dozed periodically. For an indeterminate length of time he was returned to the black waters of his nightmare and he saw, once again, a raft carrying two figures floating toward him. The image dissolved when the hull started juddering loudly. Thereafter, sleep became elusive and he rose from his bed and went to collect his jacket from the radio room where he had left it draped over the heater to dry. The leather was still damp and patterned with stains that exuded a horrible rotting smell caused by a prolific mold that had also colonized his shirt, belt, and shoes. Lorenz put on his jacket and tried to remove the larger patches with a penknife. He soon abandoned the exercise on account of its sheer futility. The mold was everywhere: on the crew’s clothes, in their bedding, and growing immoderately on the meat and cheese. There was no point in trying to halt its proliferation.
    Werner, the cook, was preparing breakfast for the second watch, and the clatter of his plates carried through the boat. Lorenz crossed the control room, climbed through the aft hatchway and, stepping over a man sleeping on a mat, walked onward to the galley, eager for a large, restorative coffee. He would have made some polite conversation with Werner, a popular, good-humored man, but the engines were making too much noise. Standing in the petty officers’ quarters Lorenz marveled at how the men in the bunks were able to sleep in spite of the din. He had only just swallowed the bitter dregs from the bottom of his cup when Graf appeared and said, ‘You’re wanted on the bridge, Kaleun.’
    Lorenz emerged from the hatch, said good morning to the watchmen, and positioned himself by the bulwark. He nodded at Juhl: ‘I have the conn’. Beyond the dipping bow the sea was arestless, prehistoric immensity. If a great marine lizard had broken the surface and extended its sinuous neck to scream at the pewter sky he would not have been wholly surprised. Juhl handed Lorenz a pair of binoculars and gestured in a southwesterly direction. ‘There they are.’ Lorenz adjusted the thumbscrew and observed a smear of darkness on the horizon. ‘Yes,’ Lorenz agreed. ‘That’s a convoy all right.’ As he studied the smoke it expanded outward. Lorenz removed the stopper from the communications pipe and directed a slight alteration of course. Spume arced over the bridge, and the boat veered toward the spreading cloud. Mastheads peeped over the flat grey line of the sea and their slow ascent presaged the appearance of two ships: escorts, traveling ahead of the convoy. More mastheads came into view, and then the funnels of the cargo ships. Lorenz estimated that these merchant craft would be within firing range in approximately one hour. ‘So,’ he said, returning the binoculars to Juhl and clapping his hands together. ‘Let’s make Dönitz happy. Clear the bridge!’ Immediately the lookouts and Juhl descended the ladder. Lorenz shouted through the communications pipe, ‘Prepare to dive!’ before following the others and dogging the hatch.
    Submerging was invariably accompanied by a sense of wary expectancy. Human beings were not meant to survive underwater and every man understood—at some level—that he was party to an infringement,