Weapons of choice

"I'm just the messenger. It's Yamamoto he'll curse. And the admiral is beyond even the fuhrer's reach."

Himmler's men, an Oberfuhrer and Standartenfuhrer-Brigadier General Hoth and Colonel Skorzeny, respectively-scrambled over the deck rail. Brasch knew nothing of Hoth, but Skorzeny was already a legend among veterans of the Eastern Front. A former bodyguard to the fuhrer, he stood six-four and was one of those very rare individuals who led a life of mortal danger without ever knowing fear. Brasch had never met him, but he could recite half a dozen stories of his exploits against the Soviets. Some of them may even have been true.

The giant storm trooper slapped a deckhand on the back, and the sound of the blow against the sailor's leather jacket cracked in Brasch's ear.

"Who is that giant oaf?" asked Hidaka.

"His name is Otto Skorzeny. And a piece of advice, my friend-do not let him hear you say that. His concept of honor is even more outlandish than yours. He'll kill you where you stand, and damn the consequences."

"Really?" said Hidaka, intrigued. "Where do you know him from?"

Brasch laughed. "Everyone knows him. In America they have Superman comics. In Germany we just have Superman. And there he is, stomping all over your precious ship. He'll probably dent it."

They left the walkway, entering the bridge and making their way down to where the two guests waited. Hoth's greeting was perfunctory. He was distracted by the surroundings. Skorzeny by way of contrast roared a welcome to Brasch as though they were the oldest of chums.

"I have wanted to meet you since I heard about your fucking madness at Belgorod. To pile up their dead and rain fire down on them like a Viking god. Take my hand, Brasch, but do not crush it, you are obviously not a mortal man."

Unable to match Skorzeny's ferocious hail-fellow-well-met routine, Brasch didn't even try. He sketched a smile that was half grimace. "I was merely taking a piss when the Soviets interrupted with their damn charge. How could I sit down again? I had not finished shaking off."

Skorzeny's laughter roared out so loud that Brasch thought he must surely damage a lung. "That's the spirit that wins the Iron Cross. Shoot them or piss on them-it doesn't matter as long you kill them. Come along, Herr Major, introduce us to your comrades and show us around your magic boat."

Brasch did as he was asked. Hidaka was so taken aback by the giant Nazi's theatrical presence that he restricted himself to the briefest formalities. For that alone, Brasch was happy to have the Standartenfuhrer on board. Moertopo looked like he would give his right arm to be anywhere in the world but there.

They moved through to the officers' mess, where a light supper and a presentation of the previous weeks' research awaited them.

"I like it. I like it a lot," bellowed Skorzeny a short time later. "And the fuhrer will love it. The best bits anyway."

It seemed to Brasch as if the man never spoke at less than half a bellow. It must have driven the Seaplane crew to distraction. "What about you, Herr Oberfuhrer?" the SS man boomed. "It should give those pansies in London something to cry about, don't you think?"

Hoth's sour face hadn't changed since he'd stalked into the room an hour earlier. Uncomfortable in the presence of the mud races, he was affronted by the idea of subhumans like these Indonesians possessing such advanced weaponry. The sooner they were off these ships and into a shallow grave, the better.

"I am not a naval expert," he said, making it sound like some form of perversion, "but I will report to Admiral Raeder, and we shall see. The technical ministries will no doubt be interested. There is some potential here, if we can neutralize the threat of the other ships, the aircraft carrier and her escorts."

"Ha!" cried Skorzeny. "We'll give those dogs a flogging they'll never forget!"

He took Sub-Lieutenant Damiri in a fierce but playful headlock. "Our holy warrior here shall see to them," he boomed. "You're a credit to your race, Damiri, a credit."

The Indonesian grinned uncertainly and attempted to wriggle out of the giant Nazi's grip.

Oberfuhrer Hoth regarded Damiri with the sort of expression you might reserve for a dog that has just lost control of its bowels on your new carpet.

"As for this, I do not see why the admiral's communique could not have been written on paper." He held aloft a data slate that carried an encoded personal message for the fuhrer, sent by Yamamoto and Prime Minister Tojo.

Brasch answered on behalf of the Japanese.

"The slate contains briefing material that the fuhrer needs to see with all dispatch. It cannot be presented on paper. It consists of many sound and motion picture files. I would recommend highly that you do not delay in getting it to Wolfschanze, Herr Oberfuhrer. I suspect it would not be worth your life."

"It has apparently cost Steckel his," said Hoth in a flat, almost accusing tone.

"Then I'd guard it carefully," replied Brasch.