COUNTERCLOCKWISE--an excerpt
Prologue - Wednesday, 29 July, 1942
Spearhead
Thirty meters below the surface,
the sharp bow of U-166 pierced the warm, muddy waters off the Texas coastline.
Inside her gray steel bulkheads, Schutzstafein Major Otto Schneider sat in the
captain's cabin––a small, cramped quarter hardly bigger than a
closet with only a draw curtain and a few steps separating it from the control
room. The major watched as Oberloitnant Hans-Gunther Kuhlmann spread out a
chart over the gray wool blanket covering the tiny bunk.
"We are nearing the coordinates,"
Kuhlmann said quietly, using his finger to pinpoint the submarine at ten
kilometers south of Galveston Island. "Und it will get quite shallow."
The SS major nodded and whispered
instructions for Kuhlmann to come to periscope depth and wait.
Kuhlmann said nothing but wore his
impatience on his expression—his thick blonde eyebrows low on his
forhead. Schneider knew that waiting was all the young U-boat commander felt he
had been doing in recent days. After the last sinking of a fishing vessel off
Cuba, Schneider ordered Kuhlmann to cease any further engagements once they
ventured further into the Gulf.
"The transfer will take little
time, Herr Kapitan," Schneider said as he wound his wristwatch. "Soon, you will
be able to resume your duty."
"I wasn't aware that I had
abandoned it."
"Come now," Schneider began. "We
are both military men and trained to loathe spies—slinking about and
spreading terror from the shadows." He pulled a small metal case from the right
pocket of his back tunic inside pocket. "Of course, there are those who would
say a submariner is no better than a spy. Lurking in dark waters to lay mines
and sneaking up on its victims."
Kuhlmann snorted. He then explained
that a submarine's only advantage is its ability for surprise. Once launched,
the attack reveals the submarine's presence—afterwhich it can be hunted.
"And the resulting battle is, after all, a test between men of honor and duty."
Schneider admired Kuhlmann's pride
in his service. He thought it appropriately Aryan. Studying the captain's face,
he slipped a cigarette from its case and replaced the case in his pocket
without offering a one to Kuhlmann.
"What I don't understand is how an
officer of the SS finds himself on a mission of intrigue," Kuhlmann said as he
raised a foot to the edge of his bunk, resting an arm on his knee.
"It is enough for you to know that
I was selected for a specific task—and personally by Himmler, himself,"
Schneider said, sitting a little straighter.
"I only meant that I thought such
things were left to civilian specialists within the Abwehr."
"Which is under the direction of
the SS, after all." From his other pocket, Schneider retrieved a lighter. He
looked at the double lighting bolt insignia and added that the Abwehr had
become aware that it couldn't guarantee loyalty from certain operatives in
America.
"No doubt contaminated by mongrels
and vermin," Kuhlmann said.
Schneider grunted as he lit his
cigarette, the smoke providing momentoary relief from the persistent stench of
men and petrol.
Kuhlmann looked at the chart beside
him and continued. "Operation Drumbeat is all but a complete success just as
Admiral Donitz planned—the Kriegsmarine has nearly contained the
American's merchant fleet and we practically sink their ships leaving port."
"A wounded beast can still bite,"
Schneider said, exhaling smoke. "It can only be felled by a swift pierce to the
heart."
They were interrupted by a knock on
the bulkhead wall on which the captain's bunk was bolted. Seaman Herbert
Fischer announced that they reached the designated coordinates. Both men glanced
at their watches. Kuhlmann rolled up the chart and hopped off his bunk.
Schneider ordered the seaman to retrieve his duffel bag and take it to the
forward hatch.
Kuhlmann and Schneider moved aft
into the control room with only a few paces. Kuhlmann ignored the questioning
faces and tension as he gave orders for all engines to stop and to raise the
periscope. He also restrained any show of the pride he felt for the efficiency
of his crew during this mystery voyage.
Rumors and speculation had been inevitable.
One weekly shower and a single shared "head" for fifty-two men made for a
tightly knit crew. So while Kuhlmann never heard the quiet mutter among his
crewmen, he felt it. Nevertheless, the men of U-166 remained dedicated to their
duty.
Within minutes, Kuhlmann squinted
into the eyepieces of the periscope. Galveston Island's not-so-distant city
lights reflected on the water. He panned five degrees right and spotted a
silhouette. He turned a knob, moving a magnifying lens over his
eyepiece—it looked like a trawler. Kuhlmann noted the time at 00:10 hours
and he waited.
Three minutes later a signal came
by a light flashing in dots and dashes. Kuhlmann lowered the scope as he barked
orders. The normal lights dowsed and the red lamps came on. U-166 was "rigged
for red." Kuhlmann moved toward the ladder leading up to the bridge atop the
conning tower. A young lieutenant was already on the top rung with his hand on
the hatch seal handle. Kuhlmann ordered his dive officer to surface. Then
everyone leaned forward as the bow rose.
The crew was silent, as ordered.
The dive officer looked at Kuhlmann and made a circular motion with his index
finger. The tower had just cleared the surface. Kuhlmann patted Lt. Oppel's
leg. The lieutenant then turned the wheel, releasing the watertight seal.
Kuhlmann kept his face down and his shoulders hunched up. Oppel pushed open the
hatch, and seawater washed over them and splashed onto the deck plates below.
The two men rushed up
through the portal and onto the bridge. Kuhlmann grimaced from the musty stench
of the Gulf. These were sour waters compared to home—as sour as his guilt
for leaving Gertrude on the day of their second wedding anniversary. He also
missed the crisp air of the North Atlantic. The surface was always a break from
the stink, heat and closeness below deck. But off the coast of Texas, the
summer air was sticky and oppressive—even in the middle of the night.
"Vessel approaching, Kapitan;
bearing zero-nine-five at three hundred meters und
closing," whispered Oppel, standing on the starboard
lookout's riser-step.
Kuhlmann scanned the horizon off
the starboard beam. He focused his field glasses on the approaching shrimp
trawler and the white dots continuing to flicker from its wheelhouse.
A seaman climbed up onto the
conning tower and took position on the 20-mm gun mounted at the "Wintergarten"
rail, turning it toward the oncoming vessel.
The U-boat commander knelt close to
the open hatch and softly called for his signalman standing-by at the base of
the ladder.
The signalman emerged with an
electric lamp with a louvered lens cover. He set it into a mounting pedestal
normally used for targeting binoculars, turned the lamp to face the trawler,
and flipped a lever to open and close the louvers that formed the series of
dots and dashes. The luminous exchange lasted only a minute.
The submarine's forward hatch
opened and two sailors immediately appeared on the foredeck to take their
positions on the deck-mounted gun. Schneider also came up, his blonde hair
shinging even in the dark. Two other crewmen followed the major, fumbling with
a bundle. A sudden pop and hiss broke the quiet as a black rubber raft
inflated. Then the crewmen slid the raft into the water.
Kuhlmann batted his attention
between the raft and the trawler. The vessel was close—only a few dozen
meters away. Its engines stopped and the trawler drifted. Now the submarine
commander could make out details. The trawler was once green on white. But sub
and saltwater long fadedsee the faded the paint, showing exposed gray wood in
some places. Her nets hung empty from the otterboards, which were drawn almost
straight up and secured to the mast.
Major
Schneider stepped clumsily into the raft; Kuhlman turned up one corner of his
mouth. Two crewmen rowed the inflatable toward the trawler as someone lowered a
rope ladder over the side. On reaching the fishing boat, Schneider climbed up
onto the deck. A tall man in a suit walked back amidships from the trawler's
pulpit to greet the major. Each man raised his right arm into the air. Kuhlmann
couldn't hear them say "Zeig Heil!"
But he knew they said it just as he knew he would have heard the sound
of their heels clicking together.
The tall man and Schneider
disappeared into the wheelhouse.
The fishing boat's engines gurgled
to life and left behind a small cloud of dark smoke as it moved off from U-166.
Kuhlmann watched it fade into a silouette on the water as his men recovered the
raft and two crewmen. On the surface this close to the enemy coast, taking the
time to properly stow the rubber raft was an unnecessary risk. Kuhlmann needed
to dive. He ordered a crewman to deflate the raft with a knife and leave it to
sink. In the meantime, all hands secured the deck and went below. The topside
decks of U-166 were deserted except for the Kuhlmann and his lookout.
Kuhlmann made a last check of the
trawler disappearing in the distance while his lookout checked the ocean around
them. They cleared the bridge and went below, where Kuhlmann ordered U-166 to
come about 180 degrees and submerge.
The course he plotted was for the
Mississippi Delta. That was where, two days before, he had noted a good deal of
unescorted shipping. Finally, it was time for U-166 and her commander to resume
the hunt.
Kuhlmann retired to his cabin and
lowered the work surface panel over the sink. He pulled his log from a slot in
the wall and opened it to his last entry for review. Scratching the scraggly
growth under his chin, he made a new entry:
29 Juli 1942
Ordered all-stop at position 029
degrees north by 094 degrees west. Confirmed location and made pre-arranged
contact with local vessel. Surfaced for transfer of SS Major Schneider as
ordered. Transfer completed at 00:43 hours and observed vessel on course for
homeport. Ordered U-166 to come about and make for 28.5 degrees north by 89
degrees west—a position of noted enemy traffic.
Leaving the logbook open, Kuhlmann
stretched out on his bunk and propped his head on his arm. He shut his eyes to
visualize a freighter as he mentally rehearsed torpedo-firing procedures. He
smiled while imagining the sound of two hits against the hull of his prey. Then
he imagined the shatter of depth charges.
Copyright 2004, 2005, 2006 by David Falloure
