Knight's Move (Kirov Series Book 21) Read online

  They were looking at what appeared to be a tramp steamer, with a single coal pipe stack and a mast fore and aft. The prominent bow gave the ship away for Heinrich, and he immediately knew this was Schiff 41, the Kormoran, another auxiliary merchant cruiser that had been operating in these waters for some time. The Allies called her “Raider G.” It was supposed to have been sunk by now, going down in a fabled duel at sea with the Australian Cruiser Sydney, where both ships were sunk in a brief, violent battle when Kormoran had played her role so well that she lured the cruiser in close enough to gore the other ship with her hidden guns. But that chance meeting had not happened in this history, and so Kapitan Detmers was alive and well, as was his ship and crew, there to make a secret rendezvous with Kaiser Wilhelm and Goeben, and brief them on what they might expect ahead in the waters of the Indian Ocean.

  “Come to pay your respects to Hermann’s Grave?” said Heinrich as he welcomed the other Kapitan into his wardroom. He was referring to the grave of German sailor Bernhard Herrmann, the first man to die aboard Atlantis, when he fell while painting the ship’s funnel a year ago. His grave was known as the most southerly German grave of the war, and both Kapitans had every wish to leave Hermann with that title undisputed.

  Theodore Detmers had been on two battleships in the first war, then on cruisers Emden and Köln before taking a post as a destroyer Kapitan on the Hermann Schoemann. He already had 11 ships to his credit, sinking or capturing 69,211 tons. A clean cut, careful looking man, Detmers smiled. “It is still here, mostly visited by the birds these days. I see you have had a bit of luck. What’s that other ship?”

  “An American vessel,” said Heinrich, stirring his tea and pushing the pot across the table to Detmers. “We had a most unusual encounter south of Ascension Island. There was a British carrier, and this ship. So I put a nice big hole in the carrier, and then took this one by the nose.”

  “A carrier? Then you sunk it?”

  “We do not really know. I would certainly like to think so, but the situation was very confused. We came up on it very suddenly, in the middle of a strange aural storm at night. Even the moon was playing tricks on us. One minute it was there, the next it was gone—just like this carrier we hit.”

  “Probably lost behind a bank of low clouds.”

  Heinrich nodded, but did not say anything more. In fact, the less said about that incident the better, or so he had now come to feel. “They must have slipped away like that,” he said. “Visibility could not have been much more than 3000 meters, at least on the sea. But overhead, we were treated to the most marvelous display of auroras. The next thing I know, we came up on this ship, still underway, but completely abandoned by her crew. It was very strange.”

  “An American ship,” said Detmers. “Yes, it is somewhat surprising they are out here already.”

  Now Heinrich leaned in, lowering his voice, a light in his eye. “I think we caught the bastards making a little delivery. When we boarded that ship, we found a pair of magnificent naval rockets aboard, and a good deal of other advanced equipment, radars, radio sets, a strange aircraft, and other gear we have yet to identify.”

  “Naval rockets?”

  “Precisely,” Heinrich smiled. “And they had visible markings indicating they were designed by the Americans. I now believe they must be the ones behind these rocket attacks on our ships. They were probably here to meet up with that British carrier and deliver these goods, when I caught them flat footed. Two were left in this ship’s hold, but who knows how many they may have transferred before we got there.”

  “Very strange,” said Detmers. “The ship was abandoned?”

  “Not a living soul aboard.”

  “But why would they do such a thing? Why wouldn’t they scuttle the ship to prevent these weapons from being captured?”

  “I have asked myself that very same question, but the fact remains they did not. The oddest thing was this, we looked about for any sign of boats or men adrift on the sea, but there was nothing. So I can only conclude the ship must have been abandoned even before we came on the scene, possibly transferring to the carrier, which sped away.”

  “Be careful here,” said Detmers. “What if there was disease aboard, plague?”

  “I hardly think that would be possible. No. Detmers, it was the most chilling feeling in the world when I first set foot on that ship. I walked the entire upper deck. There were still cups of warm coffee on a table in their ward room. Equipment was running, magazines and newspapers were sitting by chairs. The vessel was underway, but with no one at the helm.”

  “Perhaps they were going to use it as a target ship?”

  “With those rockets still aboard? I hardly think so.” Now Heinrich became very serious, a troubled look on his face, and an inexplicable hint of anxiety in his eyes. “Detmers, listen carefully now… Those magazines—I took one. I can read and speak English well enough. Have a look at this!”

  He reached for a document folder on the table, opening it slowly and showing Detmers a magazine, with a full color cover, where an old General sat in full military dress, a map of Europe behind him on the wall. He ran his finger over the titles and read aloud: “Monty’s outspoken Story, Triumphs, Blunders of World War II, Bittersweet world of growing up.”

  “Monty?”

  “Look, here is his name.” He pointed to the white text lettering that read: “Field Marshal, The Viscount Montgomery of Alamein, K.G.” The man’s decorations were prominent and thick on his uniform jacket breast. Heinrich had his hand over the lower segment of the magazine, hiding something there. He opened it and flipped to an article, plain in two typeset columns below a bold headline that read “DESERT DARING.”

  “Listen to this,” said Heinrich, reading. “Starting his memoirs, the great general tells how he disobeyed orders, took over a whipped army, changed strategy—and smashed the Germans.”

  “Smashed the Germans?” Detmers gave him an incredulous look. “What is this drivel about? That man is not in North Africa any longer, and Rommel almost had him by his mustache when he was. They’ve sent him to Singapore now. I learned this just last week when we intercepted some British radio traffic on the way here.”

  “There is very much more,” said Heinrich. “I have read it all, locked away in my cabin for hours after I found it. Then I immediately ordered the men I sent aboard to collect every other magazine and document they could find on that ship and bring it here in a box. No one was to look at anything, and nothing, not the slightest bit of paper, was to be left behind. I have everything, these magazines, a few newspapers, ships records, log books. Look here…”

  He thumbed his way to a new page, where a large color photo showed Montgomery, sitting in civilian dress now, in what looked to be a quiet study. On the wall, hanging like a hunter might display the heads of fallen prey, were framed portraits, and Detmers immediately recognized them—Erwin Rommel, Model, and Kesselring. Below it was a another photo showing Monty in a mobile caravan, its walls plastered with maps, his hand touching a spot on one as he studied it. Heinrich read the caption, translating it for Detmers.

  “Montgomery, wearing Paratrooper’s smock, studies map of West Germany which shows troop dispositions on V-E day.”

  “He’s got hold of our maps?” asked Detmers.

  “It’s his map,” said Heinrich. “V-E Day means “Victory in Europe Day. The troop dispositions he was checking on were his own—in Western Germany…” He gave Detmers a penetrating look. “Everything in this article speaks as though this war were already over and done—and we lose it, Detmers.”

  “Complete nonsense!”

  “Of course,” Heinrich conceded, but persisted, showing the other man a map and reading aloud again: “Victory Route of Eighth Army under Montgomery started at El Alamein 160 miles from Cairo, finished six months and nearly 2000 miles later at Tunis. Dates show duration of battles or day British captured key points.” He gave Detmers a riveting stare. “There is a detailed account of all these
battles—even photographs—Montgomery’s opening artillery barrage, a battle in the field and an aerial photo supposedly showing the German retreat. Look here, this one shows Churchill in Tunisia giving the Victory sign to what the article labels as ‘victorious British troops.’ It is absolutely chilling.”

  “It is absolute nonsense, I tell you, something the Americans must have printed up to entertain their sailors and buck up morale.”

  “But look at the photographs,” Heinrich protested. “They are so authentic in appearance.”

  “That shot of Churchill could have been taken anywhere.”

  “Possibly… But everything in this magazine is consistent. If it is a work of fiction, then it was masterfully done, right down to the advertisements. I tell you, Detmers, if you spend an hour with this magazine you will be quite a different man and mind when you finish. And this is why…. There is one other thing you should see.”

  Now he flipped back to the front cover, the place at the bottom that he had hidden with his hand. There, in prominent letters, was the publication date: “October 13, 1958,” and the price, “25 Cents.”

  Detmers gave him a smirking grin. “See what I tell you? The whole thing is a fantasy, a fairy tale made up by the Americans. They fabricated this to show their troops the world they could live in if they do win this damn war, which is highly unlikely.”

  “Maybe so,” said Heinrich, “but as you are staying for dinner, I invite you to study this little fabrication, and then tell me what you think over brandy.”

  The two men discussed further ship’s business, but Heinrich left the magazine with Detmers to take to his cabin, as he would be sleeping aboard Kaiser Wilhelm that night. When that brandy finally came, and Heinrich was pouring, Detmers reached out and kept his hand steady, seeing his glass filled to the brim.

  “I will need that after what you have given me here.” He seemed just a shade paler at dinner, where the two men had discussed nothing more than future plans on the trade routes. Heinrich could see there was something eating at Detmers, and he knew exactly what it was. That magazine was like a window on a world that had not yet been born, a shadow of things to come, and a find that seemed like the most valuable gift any man in his position could ever have—a vision of the future, with knowledge of how these days would resolve themselves, and how this war might end. It was so completely consistent in its presentation of these facts, that it was, indeed, chilling. It had left Detmers deeply disturbed, in spite of every effort to simply dismiss it as he had before. The photographs, the narrative, all worked to create a perfect harmony that seemed completely believable. Yes, it was absolute nonsense, masquerading as absolute truth, and a masterful guise it wore.

  “So you have read it?” Heinrich smiled. “Your English is better than you knew. Well, let me tell you there are six more just like it—different months of that same magazine in the year 1958. Most have nothing to do with this war, but they depict the world they pose as coming from with uncanny reality. One had an article concerning warfare at sea. It clearly showed naval rockets being launched from under the sea by submarines, and by American destroyers. I will give it to you to read this evening, but hear this first…”

  He leaned in again, his voice hushed. “There was an aircraft in the hanger of that ship out there, a very strange one—a kind of helicopter. You will see a photograph of several in flight over an American naval task force in this magazine. Look very closely. Those aircraft are identical to the one in the hanger out there on that ship…. Study it all. They refer to something called an Atomic Sub, a vessel called the Skate. They call it a nuclear submarine. There are photographs, and another long article about a submarine called the Nautilus, making an historic voyage to the north pole. They hold up a flag emblazoned with their accomplishment, and it reads: ‘Submerged Polar Transit, Nautilus, 1958.’”

  There was a hardness in Detmer’s eyes as he listened, edged with uncertainty.

  “Now listen to this…” Heinrich finished. “I have that ship’s logs. Every date logged agrees. As crazy as it sounds, whoever made those entries thought it was 1958.”

  Detmers took a very long swig of his brandy. “More,” he said darkly.

  Chapter 21

  “What do you intend to do about this?” asked Detmers.

  “What else?” said Heinrich. “I will inform Group West, and deliver what we have found.”

  “You actually expect them to believe the information printed in those magazines is real? Those ship’s logs? It could all be a ruse.”

  “A very elaborate ruse indeed,” said Heinrich. “Why would the British or Americans do such a thing? Why would they abandon such a valuable ship, considering its contents. Do you think they would assume we would just come along and find it, even if that is what actually happened?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Detmers was feeling his brandy now, the heat on his neck and cheeks, and yet clearly disturbed by the implications of what they were now discussing.”

  “I’ll tell you what they will think when I show them what we have in those naval rockets,” said Heinrich. “They have bedeviled us for months, put damage on this very ship, and now we finally have some clue as to how they so suddenly appeared, and why they are in such limited use. They are getting them from the Americans! Admiral Raeder has been pulling out his hair over this, and when he sees what I have found, I will surely get my oak leaves for this.” He flicked his Knight’s Cross, a smug grin on his face.

  “You expect Raeder to believe the Americans are sending the British these weapons on ships like this—from the year 1958?”

  “Who can say? Those magazines could be a wild fiction, just as you say, but rockets are certainly real enough. Raeder will believe his eyes, as I must. I have the rockets, and now I must get them safely home.”

  “Home? Then you are not proceeding to the Indian Ocean as planned?”

  “That will be up to the Admiral.”

  “You have sent him a signal about this?”

  “About the greatest prize of the war to date?” Heinrich beamed. “Of course! I could sink a hundred thousand tons of merchant shipping, but it wouldn’t matter at all compared to what I have over there in that ship. Think, Detmers! We have two fully functioning naval rockets in our possession. They are absolutely invaluable. They could advance our own research into missile development in one gigantic leap. I simply must get them to a safe port.”

  “What port?”

  “It will have to be in Europe. Gibraltar might do, or the coast of France. They will have to be shipped by rail to Germany for further study and analysis, but how best to do this? I could load them aboard one of my ships, reverse course, and deliver them myself. My ships are fast, well gunned, and we have our own air cover.”

  “Yet you have already tangled with the British. What about that aircraft carrier? They know you are out here somewhere, and they will be hunting for you.”

  “Let them try,” said Heinrich. “Here is what I propose to do. I am putting my engineers onto that ship tonight. They will begin inspecting some of that radar equipment to dismantle it and bring it aboard our ships.”

  “Our ships? You mean Kormoran as well?”

  “Certainly. I cannot take the risk of leaving everything on that captured ship out there. You have a good ship, well disguised, and with some real teeth if you get caught. So we will distribute the goods, and then all four of us will head north. ”

  “I have orders to the contrary,” said Detmers.

  “I expect you will find they will soon be changed,” said Heinrich. “I will then load one of those two rockets onto Kaiser Wilhelm, and move the other to the Goeben. I cannot risk losing them both with one chance hit if we are found and engaged. As to the radars and other equipment, some will go to you, and some to my ships. I will even leave some on the prize ship, and we will put a good reliable crew aboard. This is where you come in. You’re a commerce raider, and you know how to play that game. Perhaps there is a good man in yo
ur crew who could take the prize ship north. We’ll all set out together, but on any sign of trouble, we can scatter and go our separate ways. One or another ship must make it safely to a friendly port.”

  “What about the U-Boats,” Detmers suggested. “We could deliver some components to one or more boats, and they can help out too. We can all be seen by aircraft, but cannot dive and hide like a good U-boat.”

  “Good idea,” said Heinrich enthusiastically. “The more chances we have to get this equipment home, the better. I will send another message to Raeder tonight to suggest this.”

  “Well,” said Detmers. “I could certainly use some good radar. The junk they gave me doesn’t even work.”

  “More than that, Detmers. You’re a Korvettenkapitan, and the youngest man to be given a command that would normally go to a full Kapitan, or at least a man who had already made Fregattenkapitan. Here is your chance to prove your worth. As I said, those ships and tonnage you have already logged on your kill list won’t mean anything compared to this. When you deliver your charge to Berlin, expect a big promotion, and another medal to go with it. Now… Who can you recommend for that prize ship out there?”

  “Oberleutnant Meyer is my number one Prize and Boarding Officer. I have six others, Leutnant Kube is a promising young officer. I could sent them both.”

  “Excellent! Get that prize safely home, and you can take credit for it. There will be plenty of laurels to go around.”

  Detmers thought for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “Assuming Group West permits it, I am willing to join this expedition home. Once we deliver this prize, we can always get back out here and continue the war. But we must also plan what we will do should anything go wrong. Your ship is going to cause quite a stir. The British will already be scrambling to protect their convoys at sea.”

  “Yes,” said Heinrich, “we already ran into a battleship. No matter how many we sink, they always seem to pull one out of their hat.”

  “Well you must now operate differently. Our mission would be to avoid enemy contact as much as possible.”