Chapter One
19. March, London, United Kingdom
Nathan Banks and John Brooks were walking the cold London streets, near Westminster Abbey in their rain coats, protecting their precious suites from the cold rain falling from the sky. Nathan pulled out a cigarette, offering one to John first, who declined, then placing it in his mouth, angling down to light his cigarette. He pulled from his mouth and exhaled a breathe of smoke into the air.
“So,” he said, “what are you willing to do?”
“For what? “ John asked.
“For what? To find that ship,” answered Nathan, taking another smoke from his cigarette.
“Your missing ship is a major concern I won’t lie, but it isn’t of the top of our priority. The Royal Navy would never take you onboard any of their ships without due clearance from the Foreign Ministry…”
“You need clearance, what of a completely destroyed London, New York or Washington, THAT is all the clearance you’ll need from me!”
“Nathan,” said John, trying to calm his American colleague down, “I think you’re currently blowing this out of proportions. Your insider hasn’t informed us much outside the fact the ship has left port, and those pictures are sketchy at best.”
“Sketchy? Do you think that ship is sketchy? Those German bastards built that thing with one goal in mind, drifting into British and American waters virtually undetected, launching their missiles at our largest cities and military installations and quickly racing back home completely unharmed as we sit on our ass thinking what the hell just happened? Quite frankly, I’m not the type of man that is going to wait in this new age of nuclear weapons to wait for the enemy to take the fight to us and let 50 million Americans die before we do something!”
“Nathan,” pleaded John, “Ambassador Kennedy sent men back to Washington early in the morning, still the eighteenth of March back in Washington to give your government those pictures. They’ve probably reached Washington by now, and President Wallace is most likely reviewing those pictures right now, as we speak, and determine a plan of action; especially since you’ve been keeping in touch with your FBI man in Washington, informing him on everything going on in the North Sea right now…”
German Embassy, Washington D.C
Inside the halls of the German Embassy in Washington D.C. was American Diplomat and Wallace Administration Advisor Jack Hall who was sitting at his desk inside the German Embassy waiting for the German ambassador to enter the room. Mr. Hall was talking to several members of his staff just as the door opened and Ambassador Ludwig Veck walked in, a handpicked diplomat to serve in the United States by Reinhard Heydrich himself. The old gentleman, his hair fading in the center acknowledged Mr. Hall who told his staff to leave. Moments later the German Ambassador sat at the chair in front of Jack Hall.
The German had a bleak and blunt look upon his face, he was looking at the ceiling, then down at the floor, then back at Mr. Hall.
“What seems to be bothering you Ludwig?” asked Mr. Jack Hall, taking his seat to have a face-to-face conversation with perhaps the only non-German American he had any mutual respect for.
“May I have a glass of water,” asked Ludwig Veck, loosening his collar and tie, slowly slumping back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling wall.
“Of course,” said Mr. Hall, walking from his seat into the a small room nearby and poured a glass of water for the German Ambassador, quickly walking back and handing it to the German Ambassador – who was quick to drink from the glass.
“You don’t seem well, like sick, is everything okay?” asked Jack Hall once more.
Ludwig Veck took a deep-gasp of air, looking at Mr. Hall straight in the eyes at the time being, “Something of great urgency has befallen the Reich in Berlin, something of such importance that when I was informed only moments ago, I couldn’t believe it myself.”
“Take it easy Ludwig, now is not the time to talk of World War Three,” laughed Jack Hall.
Ambassador Veck didn’t smile from the comical comment made by Ambassador Hall, “You see, Jack, that’s one of the reason’s why I’m talking to you right now. I have an urgent message from the Reich Ministry, the Fuhrer Reinhard Heydrich himself, and the Kriegsmarine High Command…”
Ambassador Hall slowly turned from looking out at the calm March day, his glasses in his mouth and giving Ambassador Veck a very bleak look. Yesterday, one of our submarine captain’s: Paul Kruger, the commanding officer of one of our newest U-Boats, U-SSN 881, a nuclear ballistic missile submarine, a revolution of it’s class resigned from his commission while commanding the ship – giving a letter to Grand Admiral Karl Donitz in which he announced his intention of firing his missiles on the East Coast of the United States of America. My best guess would be Washington and New York. Exactly twenty-one minutes ago, Berlin Time, we lost contact with U-SSN 881, and have since classified the ship as “Going Rogue.”
“You have a rogue captain somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, heading straight for the East Coast of the United States, I heard that much correctly didn’t I?”
“That you have Mr. Hall, that you have. We have launched restriction codes to prevent them from firing their SLBMs: Submarine-launched ballistic missiles, but this will be of little avail as they can manually be overridden within the chambers of the submarine. Mr. Hall, we need you to help us find our lost U-Boat, and in all likelihood, sink her before she could do her damage and potentially start World War Three…”
German Nuclear High Command, Berlin
Inside the Halls Reichstag, within the wing of the German Nuclear Command Headquarters, two German officers were running down the halls to Colonel Josef Haltzer’s Offices, the ranking-officer and holder of the German Nuclear Arms codes and being perhaps the only man within the Third Reich who knew the positions of the entire German Nuclear Arsenal.
Outside of his halls, the German officers barged in, quickly saluting the Colonel and placing a folder on his desk, the younger lieutenant spoke like a robot, looking straight at the colonel who was still sitting at his desk.
“Sir,” he began, “urgent message from the Kriegsmarine Headquarters, U-SSN 881 has gone rogue. She broke radio-contact with us less than thirty minutes ago and the German Strategic Missile Command just stumbled upon a mystery within their own ranks sir. The entire stockpile of SLBM’s have gone missing. Four of which were already armed on the U-SSN 881 for a secret mission to test her capabilities at Iceland, but the Reich Ministry thinks differently,” said the lieutenant as quickly as possible, parts of his spiel being unrecognizable.
“Lieutenant,” said the Colonel, “I need you to get a grip on yourself and tell me what needs to be said.
“Sir, Sir… sir… sir… umm… We don’t know where the stockpile of Submarine-launch ballistic missiles have gone. Someone within the Reich Ministry gave the order to board all ten ballistic missiles onto the U-SSN 881, which thirty minutes ago went rogue and broke all radio contacts with Berlin. Admiral Donitz received a letter yesterday by the ships captain, Paul Kruger in which he listed upon his resignation his intentions of firing those missiles on the United States.”
“May God help us,” said the colonel falling back into his chair, his jaw-dropped and speechless, looking a deafening pale-white as if he was sick to his stomach.
Bremen Naval Base Air Field
The sirens of the air base were screaming, pilots rushed out of the barracks and heading straight towards the air field that was housing their aircraft. Pilots rushed into the cockpits of their Lippisch P. 13a ramjet interceptors, their only mission – attempt to locate the lost U-Boat, U-SSN 881 and radio their cordinates back to Bremen upon which FW 200 Condor’s would be launched in an attempt to sink the rogue submarine.
The first planes to lift off the air fields immediately embarked towards the last known position of the submarine, 67 miles from the coast of Norwich. The German Air Ministry failed to inform the Royal Air Force of the sudden move and shift of aircraft into British air space. The P. 13’s were storming forward at over 1,000 miles per hour, quickly violating British Air Space, and then vanishing from British Coastal Radars.
As the pilots looked for any trace of the submarine down below, they dropped their speed to about 250 miles per hour, standard cruising speed in hopes to find the revolutionary German submarine, most of the pilots not knowing that such a submarine was in the German arsenal, nor knowing what it looked like. From high above, a German captain looked down from his ridge-sloped cockpit, recognizing water tails from a ship, a ship that was no longer visible as in: above water. The captain set coordinates from his cockpit and sent an immediate radio transmission back to Bremen.
The Air Base commanders gave the go-ahead, radioing the coordinates to the Naval Bombers as they raced off to the new location of where the German Luftwaffe believed the rogue submarine to be below. As the P.13’s raced back to their air bases low on fuel, they passed their comrade bombers, armed with the newest revolution of air-to-sea missiles and torpedoes hoping to end the short and already historic journey of the U-SSN 881.
A Lippisch P.13a flying over the waters of the North Atlantic attempting to locate the “lost” U-Boat, U-SSN 881.
Anyone for naming the original aircraft that the P.13a was based off of?