Chapter One
18. March, 1947. Antwerp, Germany.
A man pulled up in another Kubelwagen and exited with much haste, walking at quick pace into the Western Kriegsmarine District Headquarters building. He walked in, a nice and young 47 year old, blonde hair and blue eyes walking straight for Admiral Friedburg’s office. The young U-Boat captain knocked on the door.
“Come in,” said the man in the room (Admiral Friedburg). As Paul Kruger walked into the room he was pleasantly met by Admiral Friedburg who had already a glass of wine poured for the U-Boat captain. “It’s nice to meet you in person Mr. Kruger.”
“Likewise Herr Admiral, may I ask…”
“No, you already know why you’re here, let me brief you quickly…”
After the Admiral had briefed the U-Boat captain on his mission he was told that the submarine had just docked only hours ago with the crew that was going to work with the captain on this all-important mission. The captain nodded his head and thanked the Admiral for the wine and briefing and turned about, walking out of the room and heading back into his Kubelwagen that was just as quick to turn around and take him to the docks. Admiral Friedburg, with his glass of wine still in his hand looked out the window at the captain as he left for his post, and then was disturbed by another man at the door.
“Herr Admiral, Feldmarschall von Bock is here to see you.”
“Let him in,” said the Admiral calmly as the Volkswagen pulled away from sight.
On the roads heading for the docks, Captain Kruger took several deep breaths, taking his captain’s hat off and stroking back his hair quickly followed by placing his officer’s hat back on his head. The driver pulled up to the docks and stopped the car, it was a bleak day, the dark clouds were out and it appeared as if it was going to rain rather soon.
“Thank you,” said the captain as he got out of the car and walked towards a lieutenant who was waiting for him.
“Captain Kruger?” asked the young 30 year old lieutenant.
“Aye,” replied the experienced veteran.
“A pleasure to meet you at last. I’m Lieutenant Peter Kress, secondary officer on this ship, well, third now that you’ve arrived. Come; let me take you to your quarters. I have word we leave in morning.”
“That would be lovely,” said Captain Kruger as he held his hat on his head as the winds began to pick up.
They entered the submarine, rather spacious in comparison to what Captain Paul Kruger had been accustomed too. He walked around the crew, many young and idealistic faces, mainly in their early twenties, some perhaps in their teens; most of whom had never experienced combat before; even in the officer’s corps onboard this ship. Lieutenant Kress walked him to his doors, opening them to show a rather large office for him, a desk, chair and everything.
“Right next door is Captain Robert Gysae’s room; the senior secondary commander behind you. You know, the big shot U-Boat captain. Try not to upset him.”
Captain Kruger laughed, “I remember to think I’m in charge here.”
Lieutenant Kress smiled and moved to his left to uncover an SS-Major who was standing behind him. The large SS-Major walked into the office with the captain and introduced himself, “I’m Major Pelzer, Administrative SS. I’ll be accompanying you to ensure a mission success if you would say so.”
“Is that so,” said the captain.
“Yes. You know, I don’t understand it sometimes. I think we should have ended the last war by taking England and America.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m captain of this boat,” said Kruger, taking out a Walter P-38 from inside his jacket and placing it on the desk beside him. He walked over and closed the door behind the SS Major and sat down at the desk.
“You’re a man of good sense captain. To bad Hitler died, he would have certainly pushed for a war with America. You know, we’ve captured four renegades this month trying to start the war up against America…”
“Here’s to a fifth,” said Captain Kruger, picking up his P-38 and shooting the SS-Major square in the head, his head exploded and brains falling out from his skull. The Major landed on his back, knocked cleaned off his chair. The captain walked over to him and dragged his body to a local locker, stuffing him inside and dropping a bottle of red wine where his blood lay to make it look like an accident.
The captain walked out and met the crew, including Captain Gysae who was eager to meet the man who was going to lead them on their little expedition, although no one outside of Captain Kruger knew the true nature of this mission: his trip to Iceland wasn’t going to be a trip to Iceland, but a trip to New York City instead. The captain smiled and began to talk with his new subordinate Captain Gysae telling him they make for water by nightfall, not morning like originally scheduled.
18. March, Washington DC, United States of America.
A man sitting in a chair looking a letter of urgent importance from England; the man turned around, “Pete, we got an urgent message for President Wallace, signed Joseph Kennedy – Ambassador to the United Kingdom.”
“Forward it immediately,” replied the other man.
The first man in the chair then stamped the letter with “Critical,” and placed it on the bins to be taken by a postal carrier to the White House. The man then took a step back and started talking about other things as a postal man walked down the hall and collected the letters, checking them for any important markings like the one just labeled ‘critical.’
“Have a nice day Robert,” said the postal carrier to the man in the chair.
“Thanks Joe, you have a better one.”
The postal carrier walked out, but a single letter fell out of his bag: the letter from Ambassador Kennedy to President Wallace labeled ‘critical.’ As it hit the ground, it fell atop a street drain, resting so close to the hole as the postal carrier crossed the street. The letter was then flung into the air by a speeding car, stained from white to a mucky brown.
Inside the Wallace Administration, an advisor was talking on the phone to someone on the street corner, his fedora hat covering his eyes and rain jacket concealing his identity.
“Are you sure about it?” the man in the asked.
“I’m positive, the SS are onboard the ship, it won’t be heading to Iceland but to New York.”
“So it is done,” said the man in the hat.
“Yes,” replied the man on the over side of the line. “We’ll have our war soon enough.”
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“No one.”
“Good,” said the man in the hat as he hung up the phone and walked out of the phone booth walking back towards the United States Capital Building directly in front of him, gleaming bright white in this Mid-March spring day.
18. March, 1947, Vauxhall, London, SIS Headquarters.
Mr. John Brooks and Nathan Banks were engaging in spirited conversation outside of the SIS Headquarters out in the streets of London. Both men were eating a local sandwich that was prepared roadside.
“I must say Mr. Brooks, your people make the best sandwiches I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
“Thank you,” replied Mr. Brooks. “Now, back to the topic at hand.”
“Ahh, yes,” said Nathan Banks as he whipped his face from some mustard stains. “The Germans have built a nuclear-powered submarine according to our insider. It has twin-turbine engines, can virtually travel silently and is hard to detect on sonar. The biggest problem we have is it’s ability to carry up to two nuclear missiles on board, and, well, that’s the main cause of concern.”
“There’s no way in hell that bloody boat makes it passed our Grand Blockade,” added John.
“I would love to think you’re right, but German U-Boat success during the war proves otherwise. So, we lost contact with it, it’s somewhere out in the Atlantic, and our informant has told us that there are some radicals in the German Government who plan on using the ship to start a war with us. That’s our first priority concern Mr. Brooks. If America goes to war, Britain goes to war, and I highly doubt those damned Germans will hesitate in using their nuclear arsenal against us.”
“Just why are you hear then? A simple phone call would have done things right.”
“I’m here with Ambassador Kennedy, but there’s more. I can’t have him knowing the situation otherwise it could cause mass panic back home. Simply, we wait for re-contact with our insider, and if that doesn’t happen – the chase is on for that submarine.”
“Is it controlled by a radical rogue captain?”
“That’s what I fear the most Mr. Brooks, that’s what I fear the most.”
