Free iron pirate by Unknown Author

official guests with music either sentimental or patriotic to suit the occasion.
    If Leitner was troubled by the news from the Russian Front he did not reveal it. He was ever-optimistic and confident and seemed to save his scorn for the army and certain generals whom he had often described as mental pigmies.
    If any man was enjoying his war it had to be Leitner.
    Theil watched him across the table, half his mind straying to the shipboard noises, the preparations for getting under way once more. But Hechler fascinated him far more. Was he really as composed as he made out? Untroubled by the weight of responsibility which was matched only by its uncertainty?
    Theil thought of the rumours which had greeted his return. The arrival of piles of Arctic clothing on the dockside had added fuel to the fires of speculation even amongst the most sceptical.
    He should feel closer to Hechler now. His wife had left him, although no one had ever discovered the whole truth. Did he fret about it and secretly want her back again? He watched Hechler's grave features, the way he pushed his hair back from his forehead whenever he made to emphasise something.
    Theil tried not to dwell on Britta's behaviour. Perhaps she only wanted to punish him, as if it had all been his fault. He felt the stab of despair in his eyes. It was so unfair. Just when he needed her loyalty, her backing. If only -
    Hechler said, 'I wonder how many eyes are out there watching us right at this minute, eh, Viktor?' He walked to a scuttle and rested his finger on the deadlight.
    He looked more relaxed, more like a spectator than the main player, Theil thought desperately.
    Hechler felt his glance, his uneasiness. It was not time for Theil to be troubled. Their first loyalty was to the ship, and next to the men who served her. After that - he turned, hanging from the deadlight like a passenger in a crowded train.
    'We're going to fight, Viktor. I feel it. No more gestures, no more bloody bombardments with barely enough sea-room to avoid being straddled.' He looked at the nearest bulkhead as if he could see through it, to the length and depth of his command. 'Have you ever read about Nelson?'
    He saw from Theil's expression that the change of tack had caught him off balance.
    'No, sir.' He sounded as if he thought it was somehow disloyal.
    Hechler smiled, the lines on either side of his mouth softening. 'You should. A fine officer.' He gave a wry grin. 'Misunderstood by his superiors, naturally. Nothing changes in that respect.'
    Theil shifted in his chair. 'What about him?'
    'The boldest measures are the safest, that's what the little admiral said. I believe it, never more so than now.' He eyed him calmly, weighing him up. 'We'll lose this war if we're not careful.'
    Theil stared at him, stunned. ‘Impossible! I - I mean, sir, we can't be beaten now.'
    'Beaten - I suppose not. But we can still lose.' He did not explain. Instead he considered Norway. The first part of their passage should not be too dangerous. Air attack was always possible, but the minefields should prevent any submarines from getting too close. He thought of the new detection gear which was being fitted. As good as anything Britain and her allies had. Kroll, the gunnery officer, had shown rare excitement, although he obviously disapproved of having civilian technicians on board idling him what to do. They would still be in the ship when they sailed; it was that sort of priority.
    The unseen eye, one of the civilians had described it. The Scharnhorst had been tracked and destroyed with it even in a dense snowstorm. Prinz Luitpold's was supposed to be twice as accurate, and they were the first to have it fitted.
    Hastily trained men had been rushed to the ship, new faces to be absorbed, to become part of their world.
    There was also a new senior surgeon, the original one having been released because of ill-health. It had been something of a cruel joke amongst the sailors.
    Hechler considered discussing the