Dead heat to destiny, p.24
Dead Heat to Destiny, page 24
Jean sighed. “Have you prepared a message?”
“Yes. I have written it out,” Adrienne said, removing a folded paper from her wallet.
“With an address?”
“Yes, Papa. It is all here.”
Jean accepted the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “I shall see what I can do.”
•••
Several passengers were ahead of the Bochs in a line at the Compañía Transatlántica window. Mendez said to Adrienne, “Were you able to sleep on the train?”
“Some,” she said. “But fitfully. The noise and the movement—you understand.”
“I have not slept in two days,” Jean said. “It was impossible.”
Mendez smiled, showing his teeth again. “Ah, but you will sleep as a child once you are on the ocean. You are so fortunate to have Senhor Grover Magnin as a benefactor.”
The Bochs stood by as Mendez consigned their luggage to the agent at the Compañía Transatlántica window. Once the forms were stamped and their tickets to San Francisco dispensed, they followed other passengers to a small crowd on the embarkation platform.
The Alfonzo XIV sat tied at the quay, a two-masted passenger liner with one funnel. It was small by Titanic standards, with but two decks above the weather deck.
Spots of rust showed through the hull’s black paint. A tugboat puffing dirty smoke appeared poised to assist the liner’s departure.
Jean Boch glared at the ship. He faced Mendez. “This is the Alfonso XIV?”
Mendez nodded. “The Alfonso XIV is not a great liner like the Mauritania, but—”
“I understand—there is the war, yet this vessel is smaller than I envisioned.” He turned to Adrienne. “Are you satisfied with this Spanish vessel?”
“Yes, Papa. It is our chance for a new life—away from the war. We have gone over this before. The choices were severely limited.”
Dominique smiled at Jean. “I do not understand. It is long, it is iron, steam issues from its chimney. What more do you wish?”
Jean said nothing, only tilted his head and looked away.
The Bochs sighted their luggage being loaded into an opening in the bulwark. Transatlántica officials went to the gangway and passengers ahead of the Bochs approached the officials.
Mendez said, “You will soon be on board and on your way. I wish you a peaceful and speedy voyage. It has been a pleasure serving you.”
Adrienne smiled. “Thank you. On behalf of my family, we are grateful for your assistance.”
Jean nodded to Mendez and took a position between Mendez and the women. The two men conferred in lowered voices, and Jean passed a paper and a sheaf of francs to Mendez.
Mendez bowed and retreated. The Bochs identified themselves to the officials at the gangway, tendered their tickets and identification papers. The officials marked their lists, assigned passenger numbers, and welcomed the Bochs. The three of them grasped their bags and suitcase and began the climb up the gangway.
Partway up the gangway, Adrienne paused to allow her father to replenish his breath. “You paid José to send my cablegram?”
Breathing heavily, Jean said, “Yes. I overpaid him. I only hope he completes the task and sends the message.”
Adrienne slowly turned and began climbing again. “Yes, Papa.” A small wrinkle formed on her brow. “I concur earnestly with your wish.”
Caribbean Sea
Following Gregor Steiner’s order, First Watch Officer Krauss had arranged S-3’s trek across the Caribbean Sea so that the U-boat could arrive in the middle of the night.
The lookout on the bridge of the conning tower peered into the inky night. He saw two lights and shouted his sighting down the hatch.
Max Krauss, on watch in the control room below, ordered the diesels to neutral. He sent a seaman to wake the Kapitän while climbing quickly to join the lookout on the bridge.
“What do you see?” Krauss said to the lookout while raising his binoculars to his eyes.
The lookout lowered his binoculars. “Dead ahead may be a light tower. A second, weaker light, four points off the starboard bow. Also winking lights—probable buoys.”
Below, Gregor wiped the sleep from his eyes and grasped his binoculars. He climbed to the bridge and joined Krauss and the lookout peering into the darkness.
After a moment, Gregor ordered, “Ahead One Third.” He turned toward the two men. “We must approach in order to make a positive identification.” To Krauss he said, “Get some sleep—I will awaken you when a watch is warranted.”
As Krauss descended through the hatch, Gregor leaned on the fairwater and squinted straight ahead into his binoculars. The wind had died, so wave action did not strongly disturb observation. The air was warmly humid, and he felt sweat beginning to form under his oilskin.
The position of the two bright lights matched those on the navigation chart of the Isthmus. Still, the shore was but a blur. Three points off the starboard bow were two separated blinking buoys. Neither Gregor nor the lookout could see any breakwaters.
Gregor knew from his examination of photographs in the shipyard room at Kiel that identification of the big hotel on the northwest shore of the peninsula was critical to identifying the town of Colón. He also knew two riprap breakwaters were angled more than two kilometers seaward from the town. He expected to see acetylene-powered buoys at the entrance between the breakwaters. The two blinking lights to starboard might be—he thought—those buoys.
Gregor spoke into the voice pipe, “Ahead Very Slow.” Although he now saw a proliferation of tall palm trees onshore, he was unable to discern any structures. The U-boat slowed, making only a slight wake.
Low clouds helped visibility by reflecting lights from habitation back down onto the shore. But except for some twinkles of electric lights, nothing prominent appeared in the shadowy outline of the coast.
Gregor and the lookout sighted the silhouette of a single tall smokestack at the same time. “Not an identifier,” Gregor said to the lookout. “It is not included in the identification protocol for our destination.”
Gregor next perceived the outlines of buildings. “Stop engines,” Gregor ordered. “There is a town.”
“Buildings, yes,” the lookout confirmed.
Lacking propulsion, the U-boat glided forward on its own momentum. On shore was a large structure with three levels of windows. Gregor said, “You see the big building?”
“Confirm, Kapitӓn. Three stories of height.”
Focusing acutely, Gregor saw that the porticoes on the ground floor were punctuated by large arched openings.
“Destination confirmed,” he said to the lookout, smiling while lowering his glasses. He immediately ordered, “Astern Full.” The diesels coughed as they drove the propellers in reverse. The craft’s momentum propelled it forward, but at ever slower speed.
“Rocks ahead!” the lookout said.
A low row of riprap—a breakwater—became visible, a few hundred meters ahead. It angled off to port, where it disappeared from sight.
With the diesels furiously driving the propellers in reverse, the U-boat came to a wobbly stop. From a standstill, it began immediately to move backward. Because of the location and angle, Gregor identified the obstacle ahead as the shorter, east breakwater. He ordered, “Astern One Third,” to slow the retreat.
He lowered the binoculars from his eyes. He had positively confirmed the identity of Hotel Washington—the critical item signaling that U-boat S-3 had arrived at its intended destination, the Atlantic entrance to the United States Panama Canal.
Now it was time to hide.
•••
Gazing at his watch, Gregor mentally calculated how far seaward the U-boat was moving from the east breakwater. At 1.5 kilometers, he ordered an engine stop.
“Begin sending code fourteen at quarter-past,” he told the wireless operator. “Send it every quarter hour until answered. Until one hour before dawn we will station here, decks awash, to charge batteries. We will then submerge.”
With S-3 paused seaward of the east breakwater, the chief boatswain announced a meeting with Kapitän Steiner. As they gathered inside the cramped pressure hull, Gregor noted the apparent weariness of many crewmembers.
“I am aware that our journey has been long and arduous,” he began. “Nevertheless, your performance has been as expected of Imperial seamen, and I am pleased to announce a brief period of rest. Except for the tower lookout, you all may relax.
“As I said I would when we left Wilhelmshaven, I can now explain our mission, as assigned by Tactical Order one-two-seven.
“We are now outside the north entrance to the United States’ Panama Canal. We will torpedo a large ship in the first level of the Gatun Locks, blocking the Canal. The selected target will be a minimum of one hundred meters in length, thus blocking the Canal. If the United States decides to enter this conflict on the side of the English, this attack will deal a crippling blow to the United States naval fleet.” He noted the smiles on many of the crew.
“It is necessary to remind crew of the absolute importance to remain hidden during all maneuvers—our success depends upon our stealth.
“One hour before dawn, we will submerge. We will remain submerged from one hour before dawn until one hour after sunset each day unless you are instructed differently. Obviously, use of any lamps or light sources outside while surfaced is forbidden. For you smokers, that includes all flames.
“When a suitable target vessel is awaiting entry to the Canal, we shall enter Limon Bay, inside the breakwaters. We will wait there, submerged, until the target vessel enters the channel that leads from Limon Bay to the Gatun Locks.
“We will follow the target to the Locks, a distance of about eleven kilometers. When the gates of the Gatun Lock are opened and the target vessel enters the Lock, we will launch one or more torpedoes, sinking the target inside the Lock.
“The exact attack sequence will be explained to you prior to the attack. I look forward to sharing this formidable victory with each crewmember of U-boat S-3.”
•••
Bruno Ackermann was awakened by the ringing of his telephone. It was Hans Reinhart, who spoke anxiously. “Come quickly to the boat.”
Bruno pulled on trousers and a shirt and left the apartment. At the Colón dock, no lights were showing on the C.G.R. tugboat, although he heard the generator running. As he approached, he saw that Hans was pacing the aft deck of La Fernanda.
“Yes?” he said upon boarding the boat. “What is it?”
Hans waved Bruno to follow him inside, to where a dim lamp lit the wireless. “I received the code fourteen transmission. I replied with our code. The S-3 unit is offshore, Bruno, just a couple of kilometers beyond the east breakwater. This is outstanding! Can we go now?”
Bruno consulted his pocket watch. “We could go now, but there is much to discuss with the crew of S-3. There is not enough time to talk and return to the dock before dawn. To protect the security of the operation, we must therefore delay. Tell S-3 we will meet them at that location at ten o’clock tonight, Colón time.”
Hans frowned and said, “Are you definite? I thought this meeting was—”
“Hans, wire them exactly as I said.” Bruno squinted at the younger man. “We will meet S-3 at that location at ten o’clock Colón time, tonight.”
“Alright, alright,” Hans said as he seated himself at the fold-down table. He picked a pencil from a cubbyhole and began writing on a paper pad.
Bruno took the code book from its hiding place. “I’ll help you encode the message,” he said.
When they finished the encrypting, Hans slapped earphones on his head, adjusted the spark-gap, and tuned the transmitter. Without looking at Bruno, he began tapping the telegraph key.
•••
Adrienne grinned from the rail of the side deck. “Look—I see land!”
Dominique stared. “Are you not imagining? I see only a great expanse of water.”
“I am sure of it. A sliver of green.” Adrienne turned to her father, who sat reading in one of the Alfonso XIV deck chairs. “Papa—can you see land?”
Jean Boch laid the book aside and rose from the chair. “My,” he said, “it is becoming warm.” He went to the rail beside Adrienne and shielded his eyes from the sun. “Yes, I think we approach the coast.”
“Then we will soon sail aboard this vessel through the Panama Canal,” Adrienne said. “That will be so exciting!”
“Yes,” Jean said. “I hope there will be nothing beyond the usual delay.”
Adrienne turned to her father with a somber face. “The ‘usual delay’?”
“Usually there is but a day or two at anchor before entering the Canal. That is, if the Canal experiences no landslide. You see, in the very year you were born, my dear Adrienne, the French abandoned digging a canal across the isthmus, largely because of landslides.”
“The day of my birth seems so long ago,” Adrienne said, shaking her head. “But please continue with your tale of the French canal.”
“The French had endured more than eight years of trying. Some two decades later, the United States was successful in constructing a canal, the one we are approaching.” Jean looked from the distance toward Adrienne. “But landslides are a fact. They have blocked the U.S. Canal each year since it opened, three years ago.”
Dominique frowned at her husband. “Do you mean a landslide might block the Canal and prevent our use of it?”
“It is unlikely,” Jean said to her, “but not impossible.”
Adrienne looked soberly at her father. “Though I have become a French citizen, I am deficient in French history. Why was France unable to complete the canal?”
Jean chuckled. “The answer is very complicated. I shall only try to tell you my impression. To the French at the time, in the 1880 period, it became La Grande Entreprise. The canal was promoted by Ferdinand de Lesseps, a most clever man, a man of unshakeable faith, yes, perhaps of unshakeable faith—in himself.”
The women laughed.
“Do not laugh. De Lesseps was an ingenious and successful hero. He was the builder of the 170-kilometer-long Suez Canal.”
“That surely is magnificent!” Adrienne said. “That certainly recommended him.”
“Indeed,” Jean said. “I seem to recall learning that he was addressed as ‘The Great Engineer’—a miracle man to whom failure was impossible. Although, as I later learned, he was uneducated as an engineer and knew little of technical importance.”
“But Papa—I do not understand. What went wrong in the effort to span from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean?”
“As I recall, the construction of the French canal was made impossible by two faults. First, the canal was planned to cross the continental divide from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean—at sea level. Second, it was to be financed by the people of France, led by de Lesseps.”
Adrienne said, “I see nothing wrong with either instance.”
“A sea-level canal was a dream only. After five years of effort, only a small fraction of the earth had been dug. Yet both the loss of workers’ lives and the expense grew enormous. Finally, around 1889, the French company, known as Compagnie Universelle du Canal Interocéanique, became bankrupt.”
Adrienne peered landward and seemed to identify some habitation. She turned to Jean. “Yet the United States overcame the obstacles you name. They were able to complete a canal. Why?”
“The U.S. came to Panama later, with improved equipment. And, as you might think, the U.S. government’s treasury was equal to the huge expense. The U.S. planners rejected France’s concept of a canal at sea level.” Jean smiled. “Instead, they built a big dam on the Chagres River. This created a giant lake that spanned much of the path between oceans. At either end, they built locks that first raise ships to the level of the lake and then lower them at the opposite end. It was necessary, it was clever, it was successful.”
“Aha!” Dominique said, “It seems the United States learned from the mistakes of the French.”
Jean smiled at his wife and said, “You may interpret it in that manner.”
Dominique glanced and waved her hand toward the distant coast. “But then as you say, there today remain the hazard of landslides that can halt use of the Canal.”
Adrienne raised both hands, palms outward, toward her mother. “Please, Mama, let us at this moment think of something less worrisome—and much more pleasant: a safe, direct, and interesting journey through the Canal to the Pacific Ocean.”
Seaward of Colón
The thrum of the diesel was like a friend to Bruno, especially now, in the dark. He liked the feel of power with his fingertips curled around the throttle handle.
As always, night navigation was a challenge that never failed to provide a chill. Ahead was the blinking buoy at the west end of the east breakwater. Standing at the helm, Bruno feathered the throttle and turned the tug to starboard. How was the sea outside the breakwaters? Would there be swells, or just a chop? He squinted hard into the shower of rain in an effort to verify.
Hans, seated behind Bruno and silent since they’d left the dock, finally spoke. “With no lights, how will you find it?”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult,” Bruno said, completing the turn around the buoy. “It is big. It is at least sixty meters long.” He glanced at the compass and set a course of twenty-five degrees.
Bruno turned briefly to Hans. “You might as well get into your oilskin—the submarine will show soon enough.” Bruno’s concentration heightened as, without mention, he reached and switched the tugboat’s running lights off.
With the tug now barely creeping forward, his right hand hovered nervously between the throttle and the gear lever.
Abruptly, a gray shape appeared out of the gray rain. “Get out there!” Bruno ordered, as his hand went first to the gear lever, clutching the gear changer into reverse. He then increased the throttle while quickly turning the helm with his left hand. The conning tower of the U-boat emerged from the rain.
