Jon Merz - Raider X

They were helped aboard Raider X by several German sailors while other kept their machine guns trained on them. It was almost like being back in prison, thought Thatcher, although he thought the Germans were being more considerate than the guards back at the jail. They helped them reach the deck, especially the elderly couple, and then had them stand together near the stern of the ship.

Being up on the deck now, Thatcher could see how much more impressive the ship was. While from the exterior it did indeed look like some sort of merchant ship that had seen the better part of more than forty years of service, once on the main deck he could see it was a brand new ship, outfitted with at least a dozen 5.9 inch gun emplacements, bristling with antennas that gave it state-of-the-art communications including Seetakt naval surface radar abilities, and much more. Left alone to do its nefarious work, it could easily send thousands of tons to the sea floor each month. Within a few months, Britain would be starved out of the war.

Cyra stop close to Thatcher and whispered, “What happens now?”

Thatcher shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m sure they’ll tell us shortly. Best just to keep quiet until they do. I wouldn’t want to upset our hosts.”

He glanced to his left and watched as the motor boats zipped back and forth from Raider X to the Archimedes. Some of them carried over the remaining passengers and crew while the others sent over supplies to the Archimedes. Thatcher guessed they were setting scuttling charges that would send the proud ship to the bottom. But watching them work was truly impressive. There seemed to be no wasted effort and Thatcher wondered if Schwarzwalder was watching all of the activity from the bridge of Raider X for later critique. That was why the passengers had been left to stand idly by, the captain was busy watching his men at work. The passengers were not the priority at the moment.

For any commerce raider, the task was always to grab the ship, get the passengers and crew off — provided the German captain wanted that added responsibility — and then look for anything important before scuttling it. Thatcher had heard that there had been one such raid last year that had netted the Germans a treasure trove of classified communications about the British forces in Malaysia. It had been seized and then given to the Japanese. The Japanese had then used that information to plan their invasion of the peninsula and had succeeded in driving the British back. For that, the Japanese high command had presented the German captain of the commerce raider with a prized samurai sword for his efforts.

The sun overhead soon gave way to bloated clouds that threatened rain. Thatcher glanced skyward and wondered if Schwarzwalder would permit them to stand there and get soaked. The answer came soon enough. A German naval officer that Thatcher presumed was perhaps Schwarzwalder’s second-in-command, stepped out on the deck and spoke to the crew watching the passengers. Thatcher was able to grasp the majority of what he said.

“Get the passengers inside. Put the elderly in the mess and bring the younger ones to the bridge.” He had nodded toward both Thatcher and Cyra, which told Thatcher where they were headed. He thought about letting Cyra know, but then decided against it. There was nothing pressing about the information, so letting her know that Thatcher could understand German wasn’t proper just yet.

The German sailors immediately snapped to attention and began carrying out the order, but still with respect. They approached and one of them explained what was happening in English. The older couple was asked to follow them toward the mess deck, while two others separated Thatcher and Cyra from the group, informing them that the Captain would like a word with them. Thatcher said nothing but smiled and nodded to show he understood. He thought it would be best if he pretended to be slightly scared rather than confident and unfazed by the fact they’d just been taken over by a German naval ship.

As they were led into the superstructure, he noted that the entire assembly was meticulously clean. There was no rust anywhere; Thatcher assumed the Captain would consider it a personal affront to his honor if that had ever been allowed to happen. The interior of the structure was equally clean. The floors gleamed from having been waxed. It was as if Raider X had two sides: its exterior which was justifiably burnished looking to aid in its camouflage, and its interior which looked as spotless and modern as Thatcher would have expected from a recently-commissioned vessel.

The sailor they followed led them up a flight of steps and then another until they reached the exterior of the bridge. The sailor bade them wait there while he went inside. Cyra grabbed Thatcher’s arm and he gave her a gentle squeeze to reassure her.

Finally, the sailor came back out and ordered them both to enter.

As soon as Thatcher stepped onto the bridge, he saw the dizzying array of instruments that lined it. The communications hub itself had two sailors working it. Two more were plotting navigational courses on charts. One sailor stood by the wheel. And two others busied themselves with other tasks. Standing beside the bank of windows looking toward the Archimedes with binoculars in his hands was the Captain.

As Thatcher and Cyra entered, he lowered the binoculars and then turned to face them for the first time. His eyes were a brilliant blue that immediately drew Thatcher’s attention. His beard was gray but neatly trimmed to frame his handsome face. There were the beginnings of crows feet at the edges of his eyes that, despite his stern demeanor, Thatcher suspected indicated the Captain had a good sense of humor and laughed a lot.

“Welcome about the Loki. I am Captain Klaus Schwarzwalder, in command of this vessel. The German high command regrets the inconvenience that has been forced upon you, however, our two nations are at war currently. And the Loki is thereby within its rights to board your ship and take you all prisoners.”

He stepped forward and offered his hand to Thatcher. “What is your name?”

“Thatcher. Harrison Thatcher.”

Schwarzwalder shook it firmly and with a smile before moving to Cyra. “And you, miss?”

“My name is Cyra Dumiere.”

Schwarzwalder bowed his head and then brought it back up. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He stepped back and regarded them both. “I have instructed my men to separate you two from the rest of the passengers for what I hope are obvious reasons?”

But Thatcher wasn’t about to offer his theory so he waited. Schwarzwalder looked at them both for a moment with a vague grin on his face before continuing.

“No? Well, the rest of your co-travelers appear to be somewhat older than you.” He turned and looked back at the Archimedes before resuming. “You are both much younger. And I am always interested in learning more about people your age who travel during these dangerous times. After all, you, Thatcher, would appear to be in prime age for serving your country. And yet, you are aboard a ship. How does that happen?”

“I’m not British,” said Thatcher. “That’s one thing.”

“And the other?”

“I’m a criminal. I escaped from prison and took a plane hostage. I was shot down over the Channel and then the Archimedes fished me out of the water before I could drown.”

Schwarzwalder looked at him more closely now. “What a remarkable story.”

Thatcher shrugged. “There doesn’t seem to be much point in lying. I’m sure you could find out anything you wanted by radioing back to Berlin about us.”

Schwarzwalder inclined his head slightly. “It would take some time, but you are not incorrect.” He looked at Cyra. “And you, miss? What brings you aboard the Archimedes?”