It would make sense that Hitler would oversee the transportation and installation of such a device, considering this new machine would allow the admiral and captain of the ship it was installed on to intercept and decipher all messages sent across the airways between Britain and her allies. Hitler might also ascertain irrefutable evidence of a truth everyone now took for granted—that both Canada and American were supplying the British with more than just food and medical supplies in their so-called humanitarian efforts for the people of the United Kingdom.
The Bismarck was built to lay waste to such foolishness, to destroy anything that dared to move across the North Atlantic—including so-called Hospital ships marked with the insignia of the Red Cross. She had two sets of magnificent turret batteries at bow and stern, four guns that could level a mountain and strike a row boat twenty-two miles off her stern or bow.
Hitler’s entourage had come aboard intent on going directly to the admiral’s quarters with the crate. Erwin Hulsing began to hear the whispers wafting among the rows of sailors lining the deck, all now curious about the box—a wooden crate marked as oranges, ostensibly a gift for Admiral Lutjens whose love of fresh fruit aboard ship was legendary. Although anyone seeing the strain on the faces of the four men carrying the elongated, coffin-sized crate, quickly realized it carried much more than oranges.
Meanwhile, Captain Lindemann and Admiral Lutjens followed in the supreme leader’s wake like a pair of puppies, Lindemann tripping over himself at one point to get closer to the German Chancellor. Boot lickers, Hulsing thought.
Erwin realized for the first time that Hitler, an oddly shaped, short-statured man appeaed nearly lost in his leather coat—as if it’d been borrowed from a larger man. Hitler had surrounded himself with taller men selected for the best in Aryan features: blue-eyed, blond-haired six-foot high soldiers in spanking new military uniform and Nazi insignia-emblazoned caps. Alongside such men, the Fuhrer appeared a perfect contrast in his high-heeled boots. By comparison to his SS men, Hitler himself was a dark-eyed, dark-haired man of little stature and bearing; in fact, he seemed weak and lost in his uniform by comparison—a man playing at being a soldier. Still, he could scream, shout, and yell poisonous words that the uneducated masses loved to hear and desperately wanted to believe.
Hulsing saw that Hitler was focused on one objective at the moment, intent on getting that crate tucked away in the admiral’s possession, in the admiral’s cabin atop the captain’s quarters. He seemed bound and determined to first deposit the ‘gift’ before bothering to inspect ship or crew.
This took the darkly-clad entourage up several decks to the catwalk embracing the Admiral’s bridge just above the captain’s quarters and captain’s bridge. Hidden somewhat amid his entourage, Hitler’s gait was that of a determined ape chasing a female and daring anyone to get in his path.
Once done with the ‘gifting’, this man who was determined to rule the world, would return to inspect the battleship Bismarck and her crew. Every sailor on board, including Erwin Hulsing must remain at attention while awaiting Hitler’s return to inspect the sailors—all two thousand of them lined along every deck.
Hitler took his time inside the private quarters belonging to Lutjens, and when he and the admiral finally emerged, they both acknowledged the sailors with a raised hand and a “Sieg Heil.” To which all two thousand sailors, mechanics, engineers, cooks, and farmers automatically responded with a collective “Sieg Heil!”
Hitler then finally got around to the inspection, ostensibly his purpose in being aboard, but then he’d done all this earlier at the launching months ago in Hamburg. So why now, why here—why come all the way to Poland, Hulsing silently asked himself. Hitler closely studied each man he passed, fixing a lapel here, a pin there, asking a question of this one and that—primarily about the sailor’s place of origin to which he might chuckle or simply nod in knowing fashion. To one or two, he said, “I have been to your village, a beautiful place in the Fatherland, and the people there! You make all Germany proud—men like you!”
Although a balmy day, standing at attention beneath the sun had some of the men sweating profusely in their dress uniforms, and Erwin Hulsing was among those hoping that their leader, or perhaps the Admiral, would shout the ‘at ease’ order. However, it did not come. Instead, they were expected to stand at attention until after the speech-making.
Hulsing, well aware of the fidgeting among the ranks, did his best to set an example, staring up at the fuehrer with a look of pride affixed to his face, even if he didn’t believe the rhetoric and the flag-waving. Soon Hulsing realized he’d allowed his eyes to wander to the other officers aboard—those who he could see with his limited view. There was the SS Officer, Herrmann Bonekemper, on the dais with the captain and admiral, an SS officer whose adoration for Hitler was unmatched, and the man’s vile, pinched face reflected the fact he was overjoyed at being so near Der Fuhrer.
Not far from Bonekemper stood Lt. Commander & Baron Buckard Von Mullenheim-Rechberg, one of two men who’d be stationed at the gunnery towers when they saw action. Rechberg’s purview was the rear gunnery tower, the rear gunnery control room, Dora, Caesar, and the anti-aircraft guns. Rechberg, a dedicated officer, appeared equally excited to greet the leader of the Third Reich.
“Think of it, Hulsing,” Mullenheim-Rechberg had said to Erwin at breakfast just that morning, “the leader of the Third Reich, Hitler himself, here to inspect our ship, to grace our ship with his presence.”
“Yes… yes,” Hulsing had replied, nodding. “To grace Bismarck yes.” Shrugging, Erwin had added, “To inspect her, but what’s to inspect? The ship itself is perfect, and all of Germany and Great Britain knows this and fears it.”
“You mean England fears it; Germany hails it as the final blow to those cowards and fools. It’s sure to keep the Americans out of the war now, ha!”
Erwin took a deep breath and held his tongue.
“Go ahead, my friend, speak your mind; we can trust one another,” Rechberg had said, reading Erwin’s blue eyes and chiseled features like an expert interrogator.
“I think there are many Germans who are not so sure of the path Adolf Hitler has forged for us, my brother.”
“You’d best not say that too loud or too often; you’ll find yourself being escorted to the onboard SS officer’s guard.”
As with any military venue in the Third Reich, the ship had its own SS officer headquartered within earshot. Everyone was encouraged to inform on anything or anyone seeming suspicious. Such encouragement gave men a sense of power no one should be given—a single word against another, and that man could be made to ‘disappear’. No judge, no jury beyond the SS officer aboard Bismarck, a man named Commandant Herrmann Bonekemper. Of course, he had the last word, and no one questioned it—not even the captain or the admiral, although some playful pretense to their standing might be entertained. An SS officer’s decisions could be revoked by no one. It had slowly become a fact of life in Germany since the Nazi Party had taken over the German government under this dictatorial little man in 1933. This man, Hitler, started WWII by ordering his troops to invade and occupy Poland.