Robert Williams - Ice Fortress

Helmut Sohler had led countless raids against merchant convoys and survived many relentless pursuits by enemy ships pounding the sea with depth charges. He was a man who relied on his instincts and right now his gut was telling him that something terrible was being transported on his boat.

If that wasn’t enough to deal with, the crew was becoming restless and difficult to discipline. On patrol, they engaged in drills day and night when not actually hunting down targets. Drills kept them alert and alive. Drills sunk enemy ships.

But on this new mission to the Antarctic base, there was to be no engagement with enemy ships and the general had forbidden drills of any kind for fear that they might be detected by allied sonar. Silent and deep were his orders. They were to remain submerged at all times until their batteries required them to surface for recharging by the diesel engines. That was all well and good for a tried and tested U-Boat, but U-2532 hadn’t even completed sea trials. Hasty, last minute changes to her design had been pushed through the chain of command by Kammler himself before the boat was ordered to make way for South America.

Sohler pulled the cap from his head and ran his fingers through his greasy blond hair. The diesel fumes and battery gases were giving him a thumping headache. It never bothered him when he was the wolf chasing down a lone battle cruiser, but now that he was reduced to nothing but an underwater taxi service for SS, it bothered him like hell. Fatigue lined his face. He’d been forced to sail with a barely enough crew to operate the boat. Sohler hadn’t slept properly for days. He couldn’t remember the last time he smelled fresh air.

“Take us to periscope depth,” he ordered. His tone sharp.

The helmsmen and planesmen looked to the Kapitänleutnant with a fear in their eyes. They were well aware of the general’s orders not to surface for even the most extreme emergency. Under attack they were ordered to scuttle the boat to prevent the enemy ships boarding them. It was made very clear that the general did not want the cargo falling into enemy hands.

“This is still my boat and I’m still the Kapitänleutnant !” Sohler’s abrupt shout filled the cramped control room.

The Kapitänleutnant saw the look of indecision on the men’s faces. A bullet in the back of the head was a sure reward for ignoring the orders of a Waffen-SS general, even aboard a Kriegsmarine U-Boat.

“All ahead two-thirds. Take us to periscope depth and prepare to trim,” Sohler commanded calmly but sternly.

After a moment’s hesitation, the young submariners complied. Sohler could feel the deck shift beneath his feet slightly. He would have the snorkel raised and instruct the diesel officer to run the diesels for a while to power the screws and charge the batteries. The generals demanding timetable would remain on schedule. The men would also welcome the opportunity to enjoy the fresh sea air pumped through the stuffy hull as they made their way on the surface to refuel at Port Stephens.

Before he could make his way to the periscope platform, the lights dimmed for a few seconds and the drone of the electric engines tapered noticeably. Whatever Kammler had back there was draining the batteries again. Sohler shook his head. He didn’t want to go back there and warn Kammler about the batteries. That compartment gave him the creeps. And so did Kammler.

But Sohler had a duty to his boat and his men and an overwhelming desire to know exactly what kind of weapon Kammler had hidden on his U-Boat.

The Kapitänleutnant set his cap firmly on his head, adjusting the well-worn peak so that it sat straight on his brow and made his way toward the stern. Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler wasn’t going to take charge of his boat and keep him in the dark. Sohler was determined to find out what it was that was so important that he was forced to risk his crew in a brand new, untested boat. Whatever it was, there was no way it was more important than sinking enemy ships.

An almost tangible stench of rotten egg gas greeted Jack as he reached the bottom of the ladder. Sam’s light was already scanning the ancient control room by the time Jack’s boots hit the deck plate. The stale odor of sweat, cigarette smoke and diesel fumes swirled with the hydrogen sulfide creating a gaseous cocktail that had Jack gagging. He tried breathing through his mouth to see if that helped.

It didn’t.

Both torches cast their beam across gauges, pipes, levers and valves that had not seen action for over seven decades. It was a surreal experience for both men but Sam seemed to be almost enjoying himself. Like a kid in a toy store, his eyes darted all over the confined space as if trying to take it all in at once.

This wasn’t Jack’s first time in a sub, he’d been fired out of a torpedo tube on many occasions to insert himself unseen on an enemy shore. The memory of a dark, claustrophobic torpedo tube made him shudder. A torpedo tube was no place for a man to be shut in. His first time gave him a whole new respect for the Navy SEALS who did it on a regular basis. Jack preferred covert ops and working solo any day.

Each man had completed a 360 degree inspection of the control room and as they finished they faced each other. They each thought it. Neither would say it. It was beyond unfathomable.

“I’m not going to say anything.” Sam was the first one to break the silence.

“Good.” Cold fingers raked Jack’s spine.

“But I’m about to do something and if we’re both thinking the same thing and if what I’m about to do works, then we can’t pretend it’s not true any longer.”

Before Jack could protest, Sam turned, reached up high on a bulkhead and wrapped his thick fingers around a large red circuit breaker.

“No—” Jack’s cry was cut off.

Cut off by the hum of electric circuits coming to life and incandescent lights flickering before lighting up the entire length of the German submarine.

“Impossible,” Jack whispered as he looked around at the gauges and dials dancing behind their glass binnacles, amazingly free of the dirt and grime that should have built up from years of idleness.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Sam’s face was lit up with an ear-to-ear grin. He had to stoop to avoid hitting his head on some of the overhead pipes and conduits, but other than that, he looked for all the world like he belonged there and was having the time of his life.

“Bluey, let’s forget for a minute that we’re trapped in a metal coffin under the ice shelf. Let’s also forget that we’re in a Second World War Nazi U-Boat that should be a rusted ruin by now, but isn’t. And let’s conveniently move to the parking lot the issue of the army that’s topside and trying to blow our fucking heads off.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed.

“Where’s the crew? Shouldn’t there be dead mummified bodies or skeletons strewn around? There’s not even the smell of decomp and believe me, I know that smell all too well. This place even smells like they’re still here. Among the gagging stink of diesel and rotten eggs, it’s pretty plain that the whiff of BO and cigarettes is fresh and ripe in the air. And it shouldn’t be. Not if this sub has been abandoned since the war.”

“It’s the batteries,” was all Sam said in reply.

“What?” Jack shook his head at Sam. He’d been doing a lot of that, lately.

“The rotten egg smell… that’s the hydrogen sulfide from the boat’s batteries.”