Kleber's Convoy (12 page)

That, decided Schluss after a stint on the chart-table in the control-room, gave U-0153 a little under five hours to get into position.

In terms of
Plan
X
the shadowing U-boat's ‘weather reports' gave – in a new code – the convoy's position, course and speed at each transmission and would serve as beacon signals, to be re-transmitted by High Command to ensure reception.

The plan also provided that the seven U-boats on the eastern arc of the patrol line – referred to as
Gruppe
Osten
– were to concentrate on a position indicated by a cipher group in the High Command signal. The special code attached to
Plan
X
showed this position to be north-west of the Skolpen Bank. The purpose of the Skolpen concentration was to lure escorts away from the convoy and to act as support and back-stop to
Gruppe
Kleber.

The U-boats of
Kruppe
Osten
in executing
Plan
X
were to acknowledge all High Command signals and report their positions on each occasion …
but
they
were
to
make
two
reports:
one upon receipt of the signal, the other at irregular intervals between fifteen and twenty-five minutes after its receipt – and two different call-signs were to be used so that the signals would appear to have come from two different U-boats. This
ruse
de
guerre
would lead the enemy to believe that there were fourteen U-boats in the Skolpen
concentration,
only one less than the total of fifteen on the Kola patrol line.

The eight U-boats of
Gruppe
Kleber
on the other hand were
not
to acknowledge High Command signals once
embarked
upon the execution of
Plan
X.
They were to maintain radio silence while making their approach to Kleber's
position
from the southward, keeping outside radar range of the convoy's escort force. Captains of U-boats were reminded that their search-receivers would pick up enemy radar transmissions well outside the range at which the enemy's radar could detect submarines, particularly in bad weather. As each boat of
Gruppe
Kleber
reached the concentration area it was to trim down, steer the course and speed ordered by High Command, and await a signal from Kleber to
commence
the attack.

The method of attack would vary, depending upon the circumstances at the time. There were many refinements and alternatives and a code word for each. For example,
KLEBER
repeated twice, followed by
CLOSING
DOWN
repeated twice, would require the U-boats to dive, seek the protection of temperature layers and allow escort screens to pass over. Thereafter they were to surface astern of the escorts and attack the convoy. It was probable, recorded
Plan
X,
that most enemy escorts would by that time be
disposed
on the opposite side of the convoy, having been diverted there by signals from
Gruppe
Osten
on the north-west rim of the Skolpen Bank.

Schluss had observed in the preface to the operational orders that
Plan
X
would only be ordered when weather conditions were regarded as favourable – and only if they were such that enemy aircraft could not operate. Since the U-boats would have the advantage of weather and surprise, read the preface, it should be possible to saturate the diluted escort force and inflict heavy losses on the convoy.

If the signal to attack had not come from Kleber within fifteen minutes of the time laid down for completion of concentration – given at 1530 in High Command's 1020 signal – all U-boats were to attack independently. Under certain circumstances, depending upon the movements of the convoy, Kleber was permitted to order the attack before completion of concentration.
Gruppe
Osten
was to concentrate upon attacking the escorts diverted to the Skolpen Bank.

The High Command's orders noted that the attack was to be pressed home with
hartnäckiger
Kühnheit
… relentless daring. Fine words, thought Willi Schluss, if one is a staff officer ashore writing the orders. For the U-boat crews in
Gruppe
Kleber
he believed them to be a death sentence.

The operational orders ended with,
Having
read
Plan
X
and
High
Command's
signal
ordering
its
execution,
you
are
to
proceed
at
maximum
surface
speed
to
the
point
of
con
centration
.

Willi Schluss decided that some delay might be
advantageous
so he re-read
Plan
X
slowly and carefully, becoming more and more unhappy as he did so. The knowledge that Kleber was to lead the attack made of his already
considerable
fears a mindless terror.

Korvettenkapitän Johan August Kleber had been chief instructor in the flotilla in which Willi Schluss had trained. They had met again only two months ago in Trondheim when U-0153 had joined Group North and Kleber had come on board to welcome the new arrival.

Reminded of that occasion, Willi Schluss took a snapshot from his wallet and looked at it sadly. Three officers on the bridge of U-0153, taken on a rare day of winter sunshine in Trondheim Fjord. Willi Schluss, characteristically glum, on the left. Kleber, tall, handsome and smiling, in the centre. Rathfelder on the right. He, too, was smiling. God knows why, thought Willi Schluss. There was nothing to smile about. Schluss knew Kleber only too well. One of the few surviving aces. Noted for his outstanding courage and
determination,
readiness to accept risks, almost reckless daring. Qualities Schluss regarded with profound misgiving.

‘Oh God,' he thought in silent misery. ‘Why does it have to be him?'

Pale, emotionally upset, he pulled aside the curtain and went into the control-room. With the conviction that he was about to commit an act of immolation involving all in U-0153, he gave the order to surface.

Having transmitted the
XXXX
sighting report at 1017, Kleber in U-0117 continued to shadow JW137 using the
search-receiver
to keep in touch while remaining outside the range at which the escorts' radar could detect the submarine.

Semi-twilight in the forenoon, a condition not far removed from the darkness, lasted for about two hours, but low cloud, constant storms of snow, sleet and flying spray kept visibility down to under a thousand metres. The moderate
southwesterly
gale persisted. Kleber, estimating its strength at force six, was satisfied that under prevailing weather
conditions
there was no danger from enemy aircraft.

That the German High Command agreed was evident when Ausfeld reported receipt of its 1020 signal to the Kola patrol line. Schaffenhauser, whose duties included those of cipher officer, put the message through the cipher machine and handed it to the captain. Not that Kleber was in any doubt as to its contents. Principal author of
Plan
X
and originator of the sighting report, he knew what it would contain – but for one item, the time by which concentration should be completed. He knew that already the fifteen U-boats off the Kola Inlet would be proceeding to their stations at maximum speed, seven of them making for the north-western rim of the Skolpen Bank, the remaining eight heading for him.

Having handed over the bridge watch to Rathfelder he went down to the chart-table in the control-room. Salt water dripped from his rubber suit, the flesh on his hands and face was numb with cold, but his spirits were high.

Dieter Leuner, third watch officer and navigator, had already plotted the positions of the U-boats off Kola, the estimated position of the convoy, U-0117's position –
obtained
by cross-bearings from German radio beacons on the Norwegian coast – and the concentration area north-west of the Skolpen Bank.

Those in the control-room, realising that the time for action was approaching, watched silently as Kleber worked
on the chart with pencil, dividers and parallel rulers. When he'd finished he turned to Dieter Leuner. ‘The eight boats of the western sector –
Gruppe
Kleber
– art on average eighty miles from us. We keep station on the convoy and make seven knots with wind and sea on the starboard quarter.' He paused, taking another look at the chart. ‘
Gruppe
Kleber,
keeping to the southward during the approach, will have the weather on the port bow. I estimate they cannot make more than ten or eleven knots steaming into it. Agreed?'

‘Yes,
Herr
Kapitän.
And that will be hard going.'

‘So, allowing for the westerly current, our combined speeds will be eighteen to nineteen knots. Distance to go for the U-boats, depending upon their position on the patrol line, fifty to ninety miles. It's now 1025 hours. The nearest should reach us by 1300. The farthest by 1500.'

Dieter Leuner leant over the chart, checking the captain's calculations. ‘Yes,
Herr
Kapitän.
If those assumptions are correct, that is so.'

‘And High Command orders concentration to be
completed
by 1530 hours. So we have a time margin. Small, but enough.' Kleber slapped the navigating officer on the back.
‘Nun
beginnt
der
Spass
… and then the fun starts, Dieter.'

Dieter Leuner was not sure about the fun, but Kleber's confident smile confirmed his belief, shared by the men in the control-room, that they had a first-rate captain. A man who liked a fight and whose record showed he knew how to handle one.

Ausfeld reported by voice-pipe from the sound-room. ‘Radar impulses gaining in strength. Estimated range of nearest, twelve thousand metres.'

‘So,' said Kleber. ‘We are too close. Their radar has tracked us down. More efficient than it used to be. Now they send destroyers to make us submerge.'

‘Thank God for temperature layers,' said Dieter Leuner,

Kleber called Ausfeld by voice-pipe. ‘Let me know when the range is eight thousand metres.' He turned back to Leuner. ‘We'll dive then. Get under a layer and make five knots submerged. Steer the same course as the convoy. We'll drop astern. Later we'll surface and catch up without
difficulty
.' The flashing white teeth and brilliant smile were
reassuring.
‘In the meantime prepare for depth-charging. I don't suppose it'll be any more accurate than the last lot.' He
had raised his voice so that all in the control-room should hear. Kleber knew a great deal about morale building.

Whitehall intercepted the High Command's 1020 signal to the Kola patrol line and before long its contents were deciphered. But the Admiralty was little wiser than it had been after interception of the first signal – now referred to as the
KLEBER
weather report – made by a U-boat at 1017 that forenoon in a position twelve miles south-west of convoy JW 137.

Substantially the High Command's signal was a repetition of the
KLEBER
signal – ostensibly the High Command was re-transmitting the weather report to all U-boats in the area. But there were certain differences. The still unbreakable cipher groups, believed to be position co-ordinates, were now preceded by the words
Gruppe
Osten,
two new cipher groups – also unbreakable – appeared and the four Xs were followed by
KLEBER
and the High Command's call-sign.

The Admiralty and the escorts to convoy JW 137 intercepted acknowledgments by the U-boats off Kola-fifteen in all-their HF/DF bearings were noted, exchanged between escorts and plotted. Thus, within a few minutes, the positions of all fifteen U-boats were known to the Admiralty, to the Vice-Admiral in
Fidelix
and to the escorts.

It was noted that no signal of acknowledgment came from the area in which the U-boat which had sent the
KLEBER
weather report was known to be.

While the officers in the U-boat tracking-room at the Admiralty, and in
Fidelix
's operations-room, were analysing and weighing the contents of the
KLEBER
weather report and the High Command's 1020 signal, Redman in
Vengeful
was looking at both with a mixture of shock and incredulity. It wasn't the import of the signals which worried him. It was the name
KLEBER.

Could it possibly be Hans? Redman knew that he'd worked in his father's legal practice in Frankfurt before the war and that he'd been a keen yachtsman. Once, light-heartedly, knowing that Redman served in the Royal Navy, Hans had said, ‘If there's a war I think I'll try for the navy. I don't fancy marching or flying.'

Redman had said, ‘Well, don't get in my way if you do.
I'd hate to sink you.'

They'd laughed. Redman had added, seriously, ‘Let's hope there won't be a war,' and the subject was changed for it was one they avoided.

Remembering this, he frowned at the signal in disbelief. It couldn't be Hans. It was not an unusual name in Germany. He remembered once having asked trunk inquiries for the Klebers' telephone number. ‘There are a number of Klebers in Frankfurt,' the London operator had interrupted. ‘Five with those initials. Give me the address, please.'

No, he decided, handing the signal-board back to the yeoman, it was highly improbable. Hans could, after all, have gone into the
Reichswehr
or the
Luftwaffe.
More likely, in fact, for they were bigger services. Anyway, there were probably dozens of Klebers in the German Navy, particularly since its swamping by reserves.

But the nagging doubt remained, and while he leant over the chart-table watching Pownall plot the position of the Kola U-boats, he thought once again of that day in the mountains above Crans-sur-Sierre.

Redman breathed deeply, the Alpine air diffusing rivulets of cold sweat through his body. The profile of mountains, range upon range, fell back in perspective marking the horizon with pale serrated ridges. The slopes below, their extremities lost in mist, were buttressed with snow-laden rock, their flanks enfolding blue-green glaciers. Wisps of snow spiralled from distant peaks, church bells echoed up from the valley, the sun shone warm and reassuring.

He looked at his watch. Nine o'clock on Sunday morning. In the valley the Swiss were paying homage to their God, while the handful of visitors were probably still in their beds. The mountains, the fresh spring snow and crystalline air were remote from the world below. A sublime landscape, he seemed to be the only figure in it.

Narrowing his eyes against the glare he looked down the slopes. Skiing conditions seemed perfect despite small puffs of cloud low in the valley. The breeze would soon disperse them. The slopes, steep and difficult, were new to him and it was their reputation that had brought him there. Sampling the unknown, pitting his skill against danger. These things attracted him.

He bent down to adjust the safety release bindings, checking the calibrations:
leicht,
mittel,
hart.
He eased the bindings slightly: a broken leg on a deserted slope could mean disaster at that season when blizzards came with little warning, freezing an immobile body, concealing it until the summer thaw. He stood up, adjusted his goggles, ran the skis back and forth to clear their undersides of packed ice, and pushed off.

Skiing down the slopes he avoided the moguls with quick showy turns, gauging the quality of the new snow. At the bottom he flung fast round a shoulder of the mountain to find a narrow pass, a sharp rise in its crutch. He schussed down the last stretch, crouching, taking the shock of impact with angled knees, shooting into the air with a vigorous kick as he reached the crest. Landing beyond it, he swung in his skis, stopping urgently in his tracks, churning up a flurry of snow.

Below him lay the descent the locals called ‘
das
Geschiitzrohr
' – ‘the gun barrel'. The piste was exceptionally steep, barely passable. The sharp upward curving sides gave the impression of a blinding white tunnel, its edges deep in snow while the piste itself – or what he had presumed to be the piste – had been swept clean by the wind. Its ice ridges and moguls glistened menacingly and less than two hundred metres down its length it melted into cloud. Redman realised that visibility there would be no more than a score of feet.

He looked back up the mountainside. Most of it was hidden by the shoulder round which he'd come. It was unlikely that anyone would be following, that day or any other. He reproached himself for his foolhardiness. Two eagles circling above a distant valley reminded him of vultures and he shivered. The drifts and icy confines of the gun barrel' made it impossible to traverse. If he schussed, it could be years later before he emerged, deep frozen, from the bottom of a glacier. But he had to do something. He couldn't stay there. For a moment he wondered if he was dramatising the situation, then decided he wasn't. Sobered by fear, he pushed off, skis parted, crouched down, sticks under arms, speed building up until he was deafened by the wind.

Crashing over ridges and tumuli he tried hard to keep his legs supple, but was thrown through the air with increasing
violence. Then, without warning, he was in the clouds plummeting through misty oblivion, only his reflexes saving him from baling out. The ground appeared from nowhere, rushing up to meet him, ramming his knees into his body. Again he was flung into the air. Fighting to keep the skis parallel, bracing himself for impact, he landed heavily on hard-packed snow. Miraculously he was still on his feet and free of that frightening speed.

The fog thinned. Ahead he saw a ledge, beyond it a clear drop. With fierce energy he attempted a turn but there was hard ice under the skis. For the third time he was thrown through the air. He hit the ice and his body seemed to burst. Enormous forces wrenched his legs from under him, his arms flailed, and a yellow light exploded behind his eyes.

It seemed he was stumbling through a dark forest and had come suddenly upon a clearing for the light was dazzling. It was a cold hostile world in which he found himself – a world filled with pain and blood-stained snow. Frightened, he attempted to make for the forest again but could not move.

Later he became aware of a dark shape above him, hands gripping, a man's voice. Absurdly loud.

Kleber traversal the snow slowly savouring the crisp Alpine air. He stopped above ‘
das
Geschützroh
' and slipped up his goggles. Resting on his sticks, he examined the ski tracks. They were fresh. Someone had gone down there recently.

He looked down the long narrow chute, its end shrouded in mist. It was well named. Expert though he was he would not tackle it alone. He'd been down once, the year before, with Max Weinhardt, chief instructor and leader of the mountain rescue team. It had been an exciting experience. But Weinhardt knew the safe route and had led. He'd explained the danger before they started. ‘
Das
Geschützrohr
' had a lethal piste at its lower end, a steep hump, eight metres high. In bad visibility a skier unfamiliar with the chute would go straight over the hump to find a sharp ledge beneath it, below that a glacier. It was not large, but laced with edges, clefts and crevasses, and there was little snow. Once on it, the chances of survival for an injured man were small.

He pulled down his goggles, was about to move on, when the mist eddied and cleared from the foot of the chute. Below it he saw the glacier and frowned in disbelief. The body on it, grotesquely sprawled, must be the lone skier whose tracks he'd just examined.

After a moment of indecision he set off down the chute, skiing carefully, controlling his speed, and when he reached the hump, climbing it with special care. He went up its steep side, edged round the shoulder avoiding the jutting rock ledge, working his way cautiously on to the glacier. He was well aware of the risks he was taking. But since boyhood danger had drawn him. It was not bravery. It was a compulsion. The attraction of that which was to be feared. A challenge to skill and manhood.