F. R. Tallis
The Passenger
The sea is the favorite symbol for the unconscious, the mother of all that lives.
THE CREW OF U-330
Kapitänleutnant Siegfried Lorenz Commander of U-330, addressed as Kaleun, an abbreviation of his full title.
Oberleutnant Falk First Watch Officer
Leutnant Juhl Second Watch Officer
Oberleutnant (Ing.) Graf Chief Engineer, addressed as Chief
Leutnant Pullman Photographer from the Ministry of Propaganda. Joins crew for Patrol II.
Stabsobersteuermann Müller Navigator and Third Watch Officer
Waffenmeister Schmidt Master-at-Arms. Responsible for weapons and crew discipline.
Obermaschinist Fischer Chief Mechanic
Elektro-Obermaschinist Hoffmann Chief Electrician
Elektro-Obermaschinist Reitlinger Chief Electrician. Replaces Hoffmann for Patrol II.
Obermaschinistmaat Richter Senior Mechanic
Maschinistmaat Neumann Mechanic
Oberfunkmeister Ziegler Senior Radio Operator/Medical Orderly
Funkmaat Brandt Radio Operator’s Mate
Oberbootsmann Sauer Boatswain (Bosun) and head of the Deck Department. Addressed as Number One.
Bootsmannsmaat Voigt Bosun’s Mate
Bootsmannsmaat Wilhelm Bosun’s Mate
Bootsmannsmaat Danzer Bosun’s mate (control room)
Matrosenoberstabsgefreiter Werner Cook
Obertorpedo-Mechanikersmaat Kruger Torpedoman
Torpedo-Mechanikersmaat Dressel Torpedoman
Oberhorchfunkermaat Lehmann Senior Hydrophone Operator
Horchfunkermaat Thomas Hydrophone Operator
Matrosengefreiter Keller Steward
Obersteuermannsmaat Stein Senior Quartermaster’s Mate
Matrosenobergefreiter Krausse Seaman (compressors, cooling system, water)
Matrosengefreiter Schulze Seaman (periscope, oxygen, ventilation system)
Diesel-Maschinisthauptgefreiter Peters Seaman (right-hand diesel mechanic)
Diesel-Maschinisthauptgefreiter Engel Seaman (left-hand diesel mechanic)
Elektro-Maschinisthauptgefreiter Martin Seaman (batteries)
Matrose Berger Seaman (deck division)
Matrose Wessel Seaman (deck division)
Matrose Arnold Seaman (deck division)
The above are only the named members of the crew. A Type VIIC U-boat carried fifty men in total.
PATROL
Kapitänleutnant Siegfried Lorenz looked back at the foaming wake. Pale green strands of froth separated from the churning trail and dispersed on the waves like tattered ribbons. The sea surrounding U-330 had become a gently undulating expanse of floating white pavements, and the mist was becoming thicker. He had only been on the bridge for a few minutes, but already his hands and feet were frozen and his beard was streaked with tiny glittering crystals. Diesel fumes rose up from the gratings and lingered in the air like a congregation of ghosts. As he turned, his face was lashed by spray and his mouth filled with the taste of salt.
Below the conning tower sailors were hammering at shards of ice that hung from the 8.8 cm gun. Glassy spikes shattered and transparent fragments skittered across the deck. Others were engaged in the arduous task of scraping encrustations of rime from the safety rails.
‘Hurry up,’ Lorenz called down. ‘Get a move on.’
Excess weight made the boat unstable. It rolled, even in the absence of a heavy swell.
Juhl — the second watch officer — moved stiffly toward Lorenz; he was wearing oilskins that had become as inflexible as armor. Icicles had formed around the rim of his sou’wester. ‘I hope they don’t do any damage,’ he muttered.
‘It’ll be all right,’ Lorenz responded. ‘They’re not using axes.’ One of the men swore as he slipped and dropped his hammer. ‘I’m more concerned about the state of the deck. It’s like a skating rink. If one of them slides off the edge there’ll be trouble. We’d never get him out in time.’
‘Perhaps we should dive?’
Lorenz considered the suggestion. ‘The water temperature will be a little warmer, I agree. But I’m not confident the vents will open.’
Juhl peered into the fog and grumbled, ‘And all for a weather report!’
Lorenz pulled his battered cap down low and pushed his gloved hands into the deep pockets of his leather jacket. ‘What are your plans — after we return?’
‘Plans?’ Juhl was puzzled by the question.
‘Yes. Where are you off to?’
‘Home, I suppose.’
‘I’ve been thinking about Paris again. There’s a very fine restaurant near the cathedral. A little place on the Isle Saint-Louis — only a few tables — but the food is exquisite.’
Stein and Keller (one fixedly monitoring the south quadrant, the other gazing east) stole a quick, smirking glance at each other.
An iceberg came into view. Even though the sky was overcast the tip seemed to glow from within, emitting a strange, eldritch light.
‘I didn’t expect the temperature to drop like this,’ said Juhl.
‘Surprisingly sudden,’ Lorenz agreed.
Veils of mist drifted over the bow and the men below became indistinct and shapeless. The gun rapidly faded until only its outline remained, and within seconds they were moving through a featureless void, a white nothingness — empty, blind.
‘This is ridiculous, Kaleun,’ said Juhl. ‘Can you see anything: anything at all?’
Lorenz leaned over the open hatch and ordered both engines to be stopped. He then called over the bulwark, ‘Enough! Down tools!’ The men on the deck were hidden beneath a blanket of vapor. Voigt, the bosun’s mate who was supervising the work party, acknowledged the command.
The boat heaved and the collision of ice floes created a curious, knocking accompaniment.
‘What are we doing, Kaleun?’ asked Juhl.
Lorenz didn’t reply. Paris, Brest, Berlin — the steamed-up windows of a coffee house, fragrant waitresses, billboards, cobbled streets, and tram lines — umbrellas, organ grinders, and barber shops. They were so far away from anything ordinary, familiar, apprehensible. Eventually Lorenz said: ‘We should dive soon.’
‘As soon as possible,’ Juhl concurred.
‘If the vents are stuck,’ said Lorenz, ‘we’ll just have to get them open again — somehow.’
The rise and fall of the boat was hypnotic and encouraged mental vacancy. Lorenz inhaled and felt the cold conducting through his jaw, taunting the nerves in his teeth.
‘Kaleun?’ The speaker had adopted a peculiar stage whisper. ‘Kaleun?’
Lorenz leaned over the bulwark and could barely make out Peters — one of the diesel hands — at the foot of the tower.
‘What?’
‘Herr Kaleun?’ The man continued. ‘I can see something…’
Juhl looked at Lorenz — tense and ready to react.
The commander simply shook his head and responded, ‘Where?’
‘Off the port bow, Kaleun. Forty-five degrees.’