A Twist Of Sand

I tried to put myself in the place of the U-boat commander. The first thing, I thought, must be to rid myself of the fear which had engulfed me of this new frightful weapon. Was it, I asked myself again and again, quite as awe-inspiring as the Intelligence man had made out? Where was the flaw, the flaw of human fallibility? He had spoken of her radar as the Achilles heel. Well, that was one card in my hand, and likely to be a trump if well played. I projected myself into the skin of the U-boat commander Hans Tutte. Before I left the Admiralty I had asked for everything they had about him. Certainly the pipsqueak clerk had resented giving me the top-secret Admiralty appreciation of Tutte, but with my backing it seemed that I could ask what I wished. So also, I thought grimly, can a man on the eve of his execution.

Tutte was not the flamboyant extrovert that the great aces like Schepke and Prien were. The training of these great U-boat aces, their successes in early years and so on had been very similar. But when it came to attack, Tutte was different. There had been survivors' accounts of that dreadful blood-and-oil bath in the North Atlantic, some hysterical, some non-committal, but on putting them together I found that Tutte, daring, brave, resolute, was a master of the calculated risk. There was a fierce precision about his sinkings, even amid the tumult of burning ships, star shells and thudding torpedoes. It did not surprise me to read that his father had been a professor of mathematics. There had been throughout the momentary holding-off while he assessed the rate of risk and either he held back altogether, or struck with a rapid, deadly blow. His crew idolised him; there was warmth in the man to his crew and record of humanity towards boat survivors. One merchant first mate noted how, eight hours after Tutte had sunk his ship in one of those hideous melees in the North Atlantic at night, Tutte had surfaced alongside and passed a Thermos of coffee, some hunks of bread and a bottle of rum into the boat.

"The North Atlantic is a bastard," he had said in excellent English. "We sailors all know that. Steer such and such a course."

Imagine yourself such a man fresh from the North Atlantic, I told myself. Here is what Blohm and Voss says is the perfect U-boat. Reaction? First, call in your battle-trained officers and examine the new submarine in detail. I could imagine that conference in the as yet unliving control room of NP I.

Hans Tutte listens.

"Too big," says the first officer. "The new British corvettes and frigates turn on a sixpence. They'd get you in a clumsy big thing like this."

"All right for a straight fight with twenty knots, though," said the second thoughtfully. "Fast run in, no noise, torpedoes away, fast run out again."

The engineer is both thrilled and subdued. "Wonderful, if it all hangs together. But burn anything out at sea, and it would be a dockyard job."

"If the Royal Navy ever let you get home," said the first grimly.

"But she's big, and she'll be wonderful for the crew. The lack of confined space will keep up their morale wonderfully."

Hans Tutte leans against the periscope housing and weighs up the experience of his veteran U-boat men.

He says suddenly: "How long do you think men can stay submerged and retain their fighting efficiency? Number One?"

"You mean, sir, in relation to this, or the standard U-boat?"

"This."

"No surface, no action, just submerged?"

"Yes."

No. One pauses. "At a guess, I'd say twenty days."

Tutte surveys him judicially. "Number Two?"

"Maybe a month, but they'd be no match for anything when we came up."

"Engineer?"

"It's easier in the engine-room, sir. There's always something to keep my men fully occupied. Small things go wrong and need fixing. But a month is a long time…"

"Gentlemen," says Tutte coldly. "I have orders to carry out a cruise — without surfacing at all if possible."

The others gaze at him silently. He knows what is running through their minds, and the same doubts about morale and fighting efficiency are in his.

"No base," he added.

Number One coughs discreetly. "And the length of the cruise, sir?"

Tutte eyes him grimly. "The equivalent of once round the world — with action."

The U-boat service is too well disciplined to vent its surprise and dismay. Then Tutte smiles the smile for which his crew would follow him to the ends of the earth.

"I think, too, we must have a base, if it's only to surface and relax and see the sun. Not necessarily a naval base, for we have all our stores and torpedoes, but a base to relax in.

The U-boat Command disagrees with that. "Perhaps" he grins knowingly at his trusted officers — "once we are at sea the High Command might relent."