 
Dawn Patrol

An adventure in the world of Billy Bowman

by Stephen Archer

Copyright 2020 Stephen Archer

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorised retailer. Thank you for your support.

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This work references some historical events but uses them in a fictitious manner. Some historical events have been entirely highjacked and re-written to create the world of this story. While the role played by historical figures in this narrative are entirely fictional, wherever possible (to suit the narrative and world of this story), they do abide by the generally known facts of the real person's life.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Other titles by Stephen Archer

History and the Billy Bowman Adventures

Language used in this novella

Acknowledgements

About Stephen Archer

Connect with Stephen Archer

Excerpt from The Sun Never Sets \- Book 1 of the Billy Bowman Adventures
Prologue

An extract from _The History of the British Empire_

'The Prelude to the Great War of 1914-1916'

After the turbulent years when the American colonies had tried (and failed) in their revolt, the British Empire had continued to expand under the reign of successive Kings. First France had been brought into the Empire, along with all their colonies. Then, through war and treaty, action and diplomacy, the Empire had been expanded to include seven-tenths of the world. The sun never set on the British Empire.

By the end of the reign of Queen Victoria and her son King Edward VII, in the early 20th century, the Empire was strong and her citizens were happy and peaceful. Life across the far-flung colonies of the Empire was stable and ordered, with each person contributing in their own way to their community, their colony and the Crown. Each person knew their place in the social order, but anyone could improve their lot through hard work and dedication.

The watchwords of the Empire were _Honour_ , _Loyalty_ and _Duty_.

While the Empire was at peace, the Monarch never forgot how hard the people had fought for that peace. And so, the formidable military force developed under Queen Victoria was maintained and expanded under subsequent Kings.

The Empire was always ready, at a moment's notice, to protect its interests and ensure that any rogue elements or foreign threats would be dealt with in an honourable but efficient manner.

Any young man or woman could join the Royal Navy fleet in their home colony from the age of 12, after finishing their compulsory education. Those who stayed in the Navy had the opportunity to seek their commission as officers, if they had the aptitude, once they turned 18.

Most of the colonies had even implemented mandatory cadet training for everyone not already in one of the armed forces. From ages 12 to 26, the young men and women of the Empire - be they post-compulsory education students, factory workers or university undergraduates - all participated in the cadets, learning discipline, honour and combat skills. With these schemes, if the stability of the Empire was ever threatened, the colonies would be able to mobilise hundreds of trained men and women to defend the Crown in their own lands or overseas.

The British Navy ruled the waves. The British Army ruled the land. And, as new technology emerged in the new century and steam engines became smaller, lighter and more powerful, the Royal Air Force ruled the skies with powerful airships.

By the time George V succeeded King Edward as Monarch in 1910, only a few parts of the world remained outside the British Empire. Most of Europe was united under the Crown, with only the Germans and the Ottomans not paying allegiance to King George.

Even though the King had sent emissaries to invite the German Kaiser and the Ottoman Sultan to join the Empire, both countries had chosen to remain outside the benevolent protection of the British Crown. King George was saddened, of course, by this news, but he was wise and patient. He knew that, like a petulant child, the German and Ottoman leaders would eventually realise how magnanimous the King was to invite them into the British Empire.

King George was also a practical and prudent ruler. If the Germans and Ottomans were being obstinate like children, there was a chance their pouting could turn into a tantrum. And so, our wise Monarch ordered his Admirals, Generals and Air Marshals to prepare for acts of aggression against the Empire.

Sadly, the preparations made by King George were needed when Kaiser Wilhelm declared war on His Majesty and the British Empire in July 1914, followed by Sultan Mehmed a few months later.

Both Germany and the Ottomans had been trying to secretly build up their armies, and to stockpile weapons and ammunition. Despite their best efforts at being stealthy, the intelligence officers of the Empire had been monitoring their every clandestine move and had even intercepted communications directly between the Kaiser and the Sultan.

When the Germans and Ottomans tried to launch their offensives against the Crown, His Majesty's forces were ready for them, defending the Empire in bloody battles along the borders and across the seas.

Chapter 1

Admiralty Harbour, Dover, England  
Saturday 25 July 1914

"Penny for your thoughts, XO."

Mark Bowman looked up from his drink to see his captain, Commander Dominique Faucheux, standing next to his table in the corner of the small tavern. She smiled at him, asking with her eyes if she could join him at the table while at the same time apologising for the interruption.

"Please," Mark replied, gesturing to the other rather uncomfortable wooden chair at the small rickety table.

He'd been serving as the Executive Officer - XO for short - to Commander Faucheux on the corvette _HMS Cautious_ for almost six months now. In that time, he'd learned how to interpret most of her subtle mannerisms and gestures. She, in turn, had learned to rely on Mark and his judgement. Now, they could sense when something was troubling the other person.

"I was just thinking about Margaret and Patrick, Captain," Mark said simply, as Dominique sat down, "It's Patrick's birthday today."

Mark loved all of the traditions of the Navy. It gave him a sense of pride and camaraderie to be part of an organisation that could trace its history back for centuries. He was always just a little amused, though, by the tradition of referring to the officer in charge of a vessel as 'Captain', regardless of the rank the person actually wore.

On some of the very smallest boats, the captain was a Lieutenant, one rank lower than Mark's Lieutenant Commander rank. The _Cautious_ was large enough to have a Commander as the captain, while the officer in charge of the enormous battleships in the fleet wore the actual rank of Captain.

"How old is he?" Dominique asked, her French accent giving a song-like tone to the question.

"He's 10 now," he replied, his voice a little distant.

Dominique put her hand on his arm, a reassuring gesture that came from the strong bond the two officers had formed. Within a week of starting his year-long secondment to the Royal Navy Home Fleet, he and Dominique had become firm friends. Both officers were completely professional when they were onboard and on duty, but they also enjoyed each other's company when they were not engaged in patrols through the English Channel.

Mark had loved every minute of this posting and didn't for a moment regret applying for the temporary position. But his love of the job, the ship and her 300-strong crew didn't stop him missing his wife back in Australia, or his young son.

Mark and Margaret had been married now for 17 years, and they had been living in the home they bought in Caloundra, in the Colony of Queensland, since 1899. Patrick had been born in that house, and Mark planned to retire there once his service with the Navy was over.

Mark had joined the Australian Fleet of the Royal Navy when he was 12 and had gained his commission as an officer when he was 18. He had served in peacetime, in defence of the Empire, and in the Boer war, travelling all around the world.

Now, he was 42 years old and had risen to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. He was finally on the verge of gaining command of his own ship, and his selection for this secondment to the Home Fleet of His Majesty's Royal Navy would likely accelerate that promotion.

"I know what it is like to miss family, Mark," Dominique said quietly, "but for people like us, it is the price we agreed to pay when we accepted this responsibility to the Empire."

Mark nodded. Dominique's wife was an artist living in Paris, and he knew it had been months since Dominique had seen Claudette.

He took a sip of his drink, and felt the alcohol burning his throat.

"I'm sorry, Dom," he replied, "every now and then it becomes a little overwhelming."

"I understand, mon cheri." she said, smiling gently, "If it did not trouble you from time to time, I'd be concerned about your marriage."

"To marriage," Mark toasted, raising his glass with a smile and clinking it with Dominique's.

"Marriage," Dominique echoed, smiling back at Mark.

They both drained their glasses and set them on the old wooden table. A comfortable silence settled between the two officers.

"Come," Dominique said, breaking the silence after a few moments, "it's time for us to get back to work."

Mark looked at her quizzically. Then his eyebrows lifted as he realised something must have happened.

"It seems we are on the brink of war, XO," she continued, "and so we have new orders. Let's get back to the _Cautious_."

oOo

Village of Gruiten, near Dusseldorf, Germany  
Monday 27 July 1914

Siegfried Herzschlag stood outside the small wooden school building, waiting patiently. In one hand he held his gold pocket watch. In the other, he held a brass bell mounted on the end of a stout wooden handle.

The watch had been in his family for almost 400 years, passed down from father to son through the generations. It was one of the first pocket watches ever made and was crafted by a small company in Nuremberg in the early 16th century.

Siegfried wore the watch on a fine gold chain that looped through a buttonhole in his waistcoat. The chain stood out starkly against his dark grey suit and black academic robes, the only flash of colour in his otherwise sombre attire.

As the minute hand on the watch approached the top of the dial, Siegfried prepared to raise the bell to the level of his shoulder. He would ring the bell at exactly 8 o'clock, not a moment sooner or later.

The seconds ticked by, and a few of the more eager children scampered past him and into the classroom. He smiled at them, greeting each one by name.

"Guten morgen, Heidi. Guten morgen, Stefan. Guten morgen, Karl."

"Guten morgen, Herr Lehrer Herzschlag" each student replied.

This response always pleased Siegfried. He felt being called 'Mr Teacher Herzschlag' was the right blend of respect and warmth. While it was true he had authority over the students in the classroom, he also saw it as his responsibility to nurture them towards becoming good German citizens. To his mind, the term 'Herr Lehrer' showed a good balance between these obligations.

As the hands of his watch reached the hour, he tucked it back into the pocket of his waistcoat and began to ring the bell. After three peels of the bell, he stopped to watch the children racing into the schoolyard.

"Come along children," he chided gently, "you should all be inside by now."

He rang the bell three more times, before turning on his heel and walking into the classroom. As he stepped through the threshold, the last of the children dashed inside. Siegfried tutted at them, using a stern look to remind them that being tardy was not acceptable in his classroom.

Siegfried looked around the room at the faces of the children. Some were smiling and eager, keen to begin their lessons. Others were still in a playful mood, not yet settled into the formal environment of the classroom. A few were sullen and withdrawn, wanting to be anywhere else but at the school.

After almost 30 years of teaching, Siegfried had seen every possible variation in the behaviour of the children. He'd also learned how to deal with those behaviours, to motivate the children so they transformed into disciplined students.

Siegfried had become a consummate actor in the classroom, able to step in and out of his nurturing persona and into the strict disciplinarian at will. For dealing with the more unruly behaviour, he'd learned to take the emotion out of his response, and calmly apply the right technique do to bring the wayward students back into line.

Sometimes, he'd discovered, the best treatment was to coax the student into seeing the error of their behaviour. At other times, causing the student to become ashamed of their actions was the most effective response. Most of the time, the solution lay somewhere in between these two more extreme measures.

Siegfried had never married, instead devoting himself unreservedly to his school and his students. Before beginning the class, Siegfried smiled, content with his life, and his place in the world.

"You are all my children," Siegfried thought, as he continued to look at the faces of his students, "and I must be your father in this classroom, guiding you, leading you, helping you become better Germans."

"Guten morgen, students," he began, bringing the attention of the students to the front of the room, "it's time to begin our lessons for the day. Let's begin with history and politics."

Siegfried watched the faces of the students light up when he announced the first lesson. Even the sullen students sitting in the back row perked up at the idea of learning about Germany's history.

Siegfried could understand why this topic caught their attention. It was one of his favourite parts of the day too. He loved to enthral his students with stories of their homeland and tales of Germany's leaders.

"Today, let's look at the reign of our Emperor, Kaiser Wilhelm II."

"1888 was both a sad and a joyous time for Germany." Siegfried began, "In that year, Kaiser Wilhelm I died and was succeeded by his son, Frederick III. Sadly, Frederick reigned for only 99 days, before dying from throat cancer.

"Kaiser Wilhelm II took over from Frederick, and 1888 became known as the year of three Emperors.

"But Wilhelm II was a much stronger leader than his ailing father or his diplomatic grandfather. The new Kaiser could see that Germany had been allowed to lose her strength and some of her independence, as the policies of Wilhelm I sought to ingratiate Germany with the King of the British Empire."

Siegfried was pleased to see that all of the students were paying close attention to him. It was important that they understand what was happening in Germany right now.

"And so, Wilhelm II set about creating a great German military force, to defend us and to make the German Empire great again. He made our Navy strong, using advanced mechanisms to give Germany the ability to defeat the British Navy at sea. He created an Army that could defend our borders and, if necessary, strike at our enemies."

"The Kaiser's policy was simple," he continued, "Let Germans be Germans!"

"The Engländer wants their Empire. So, let them have their Empire. Germany has her own Empire, brave and true. Scattered across the globe are little pockets of German territory, filled with German people. That is enough for us.

"But," he continued, looking at the eager faces of his students, "we must be ready to defend our colonies and our homeland, should the British ever decide to force us to be part of their Empire."

Chapter 2

Admiralty Harbour, Dover, England  
Friday 31 July 1914

"Telegram for you, Sir," Leading Seaman Smith said quietly, knocking on the frame of the door to Mark Bowman's cabin.

"Thank you, Smithy," Mark replied.

Mark Bowman was proud of the fact that he knew every one of the nearly 300 officers and sailors on board the _Cautious_. In his role as Executive Officer, it was his job to manage the crew. But Mark took this responsibility further, finding out about each sailor and junior officer's family, their personality, and even their nicknames.

The Communications Specialist smiled at the recognition.

"You're welcome, XO," he replied, as he stepped away from Mark's cabin and headed back to the radio room.

Mark glanced at the chronometer on the bulkhead next to his tiny desk. He still had an hour till he needed to stand watch on the bridge. The Empire had been at war for three days now, and the _Cautious_ was still in dock in Admiralty Harbour. Mark was impatient to put to sea, impatient to defend the Empire, impatient to put his years of training and experience to the test once more.

He turned his attention back to the telegram, a stiff piece of card which was folded in half across the middle. The outside showed the addressee and the sender, and the reader needed to unfold the card to see the message inside.

For the first time since Smithy had handed him the telegram, Mark looked at the sender. His heart stopped beating for a moment, and he involuntarily sucked in a breath when he saw who had sent the telegram.

TO: Lieutenant Commander Mark Bowman

FROM: Admiral Lord John Arbothnot Fisher, GCB, OM, GCVO, First Sea Lord

Mark gingerly opened the telegram card, his hands trembling slightly at receiving a personal telegram from the most senior Admiral in the Navy.

Mark George Bowman, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Commander, effective Monday 3 August 1914, with all the privileges and responsibilities of that rank

STOP

You are to report to the battleship _HMS Helios_ no later than 6 August 1914, to assume the duties of Executive Officer of that vessel

STOP

Signed: Lord Fisher

God Save the King!

Mark leapt up from his chair, and with the telegram still in his hand, he raced out of the cabin and headed for the captain's quarters.

When he got there, he knocked perfunctorily on the door frame and entered the room. Dominique Faucheux was sitting at her desk, but had turned to face the doorway. Clearly, she was expecting Mark.

As he entered the room, Mark saw a second telegram sitting on the desk. Commander Faucheux stood up as Mark entered the cabin, a huge grin on her face.

"Congratulations, Commander," she beamed at him, "I am sorry to be losing you from the _Cautious_ , but this promotion is well deserved, and I am sure you will make your new captain as proud as you have made me."

Dominique grabbed Mark by the shoulders and kissed him on each cheek, causing Mark to blush a little. Even though they had become close friends, Dominique had never before shown him this traditional French gesture.

She let go of Mark's shoulders and turned back to the desk. Dominique pulled on one of the drawers, which rasped softly as it slid open. She reached in and removed a pair of Commander rank epaulettes. Mark stared for a moment at the three thick, braided gold bands on each epaulette, the top one having the distinctive loop in the centre of the band that was the hallmark of His Majesty's Navy rank insignia.

"Here, mon cheri," she said quietly, handing him the epaulettes, "try these on for size."

oOo

Dusseldorf, Germany  
Wednesday 5 August 1914

A week after the Kaiser had declared war on the British Empire, Siegfried Herzschlag received a telegram ordering him to report to Dusseldorf to receive his commission as an officer in the German Imperial Navy.

After the last class for the day was completed, Siegfried locked the school building and began walking to Dusseldorf. He arrived at 6 o'clock in the evening and booked a small room in one of the hotels near the centre of town.

After a light supper in a local cafe, he had retired to his room to read. But Siegfried had trouble concentrating on the history book in his hand. He found his mind wandering to the days and months ahead.

"I wonder why I was selected to become a Naval Officer?" he mused, trying to think of a reason why he, nothing but a simple school teacher, would be accorded such an honour.

The next day, he reported to the Imperial Navy recruitment centre, which had been hastily set up in the Dusseldorf Town Hall. He joined the queue of young men and women waiting outside for the doors to open.

"Are you all here on orders?" he asked the fit young man standing next to him in the queue.

The young man looked to be about 19 years old, and Siegfried suddenly felt very old in comparison to those around him.

"Nein, we're here as volunteers," he said proudly, looking at his companions for approval.

The other young men and women began nodding vigorously.

"We're all in the same class at the university," another chimed in.

"We wanted to join together, to protect Germany from oppression and to save our heritage."

"And our future!"

These sentiments were greeted with cheers from the university group, who seemed to be the only people in the line, apart from Siegfried.

At the stroke of 9 o'clock, the doors to the Town Hall were thrown open and a young officer stepped out to the portico, accompanied by two Sergeants. He looked at the group, scanning each of the faces. When his eyes landed on Siegfried, he stopped and consulted his clipboard.

"Herr Herzschlag?" the officer asked.

"Ja," Siegfried replied, "I am Herzschlag."

"Please follow me," the officer said turning on his heel and walking into the Town Hall.

All of the young people in the queue stared at Siegfried, watching as he climbed the steps and entered the town hall.

oOo

Inside the Town Hall, Siegfried had been given a perfunctory medical examination and declared to be fit for service. He'd then been ushered into what had once been the office of the Mayor and had been sworn in as a commissioned officer in the German Imperial Navy.

Thirty minutes later, Siegfried was being whisked along corridors, in and out of rooms, meeting soldiers and sailors who were fitting him for uniforms and issuing him with equipment and instruction manuals. Siegfried felt like he was being moved so quickly through the recruitment process that his feet weren't even touching the ground.

Once everything had been signed for and issued, Siegfried was driven to a train that would take him to the Mürwik Naval School in Flensburg. He was wearing the uniform of a Navy Officer, with the gold rank insignia of Oberleutnant zur See on his shoulders. His head was reeling from how quickly everything had been handled, and it was only now that he was on the train that he had time to consider everything that had happened in the last two hours.

The biggest puzzle to Siegfried was his rank. He had no experience in the military, let alone the Navy. He had assumed when he received the telegram that his education had marked him for Officer status, but he fully expected to be commissioned as a Seekadett, the lowest rank in the Navy, at least until he finished his training and learned the ways of the Service.

Instead, he'd been given the rank of Oberleutnant immediately on commissioning, without any training at all. He didn't even know how to return the salutes the sailors and soldiers accorded him.

The train journey to Flensburg would take a little over six hours. Siegfried settled back in his seat and pulled out his instruction manuals. He knew he wouldn't get answers to his most burning questions until he arrived at the Mürwik school, but in the meantime he could at least try to teach himself how to salute.

Chapter 3

Plymouth Naval Station, England  
Thursday 6 August 1914

As Mark reached the top of the gangway leading from the dock to the deck of _HMS Helios_ , he turned towards the stern of the ship and snapped off a salute. He couldn't see the Royal Navy flag from here, but he knew the White Ensign would be flying off the rear deck and protocol dictated a salute when boarding and disembarking from any of His Majesty's ships.

"Good morning, Sir," a voice called warmly, as he finished the salute and took the last two steps onto the deck.

Mark looked at the Lieutenant Commander who had greeted him. As soon as he made eye contact, she saluted him. Mark returned the salute, then smiled at the officer.

"I'm Lieutenant Commander Natalie White, Navigator and third-in-command of the _Helios_ ," she said, smiling back at Mark.

"The Captain is waiting for you on the bridge," she continued, "If you'll follow me XO."

Natalie White started walking towards the bow of the ship, and Mark quickly fell into step beside her.

As they turned into the superstructure of the battleship and began making their way forward through the corridors and up the steep ladders towards the bridge, Mark mentally called up the layout of the ship. He quickly worked out their location, and how many decks they needed to climb to get to the bridge.

Natalie White didn't try to fill the silence as they travelled through the internal structure of the ship. At first, Mark was concerned she was aloof, or worse, intimidated by him.

Then a thought struck him. Perhaps Lieutenant Commander White, as third-in-command, had expected to be promoted into the Executive Officer berth when it became vacant. Mark may have inadvertently ruined her hope of promotion when the Admiralty sent him to be XO instead. He made a mental note to have a private discussion with Natalie White about her career aspirations.

The silence of the journey was broken as they turned the last corner and came to the open hatch that lead onto the bridge. Lieutenant Commander White stepped through the hatchway and stood to one side of the opening, but Mark stopped on the threshold.

"Commander Mark Bowman, Sir," the Lieutenant Commander called out from her position, formally announcing Mark to the Captain of the _Helios_ , Sir Bernard Grey.

From the doorway, Mark could see the back of Sir Bernard's head and his broad shoulders. He was seated in a chair that was bolted to a small raised platform in the centre of the bridge. The back of the chair hid the rest of his body from Mark's view.

"We're about to take the _Helios_ out on patrol, Commander," the Captain said without turning around to look at Mark, "Move us out to open water, if you please."

Natalie White took a step forward, moving towards her station.

Mark didn't move, standing ramrod straight just inside the bridge. Natalie glanced at him, then over at the Captain, who was still staring out through the front windows of the bridge. She stepped back, resuming her previous position beside the hatchway.

Sir Bernard glanced at the hatchway, and for a brief moment made eye contact with Mark.

"Welcome aboard, Commander," the Captain intoned, then got up from his chair and made his way out through the starboard flybridge.

Mark smiled briefly, and moved towards the centre of the bridge, making sure his face resumed a neutral expression as he crossed the room. He stepped up onto the platform and stood next to the captain's chair, but didn't sit down.

"Stations, everyone," he called, keeping his tone warm but professional and confident.

"Nav, plot a course through the harbour mouth. Helm, standby for course input."

Mark picked up the intercom microphone and flicked the switch that connected him to the engine room.

"Engine Room, this is the bridge. Standby for departure."

Mark felt the floor of the bridge vibrate slightly, as the engine crew brought the massive steam engines on line and prepared to engage the propellers that would drive the battleship forward. He flicked another switch on the console, setting the system to ship-wide broadcast, then spoke into the microphone again.

"All hands, this is the XO," he called over the tannoy, "prepare for departure. All crews to stations. Deck crew, clear all moorings and raise the gangway."

Over the next few minutes, the various crews around the _Helios_ scurried about completing their assigned tasks. As each area completed their preparations, their Chief or an Officer called up to the bridge to report they were ready.

Mark mentally ticked off each of the reports, and when he was satisfied that everything was ready, he turned to the bridge crew.

"Helm, take us out. All ahead slow."

With a slight shudder, the propellers engaged and the _Helios_ began to inch forward, pulling away from the dock in a gentle arc. Once clear of the dock, the ship continued to turn, increasing her speed as she went, until her bow was pointed towards the open ocean and she was cutting through the gentle chop like a steam powered knife through butter.

oOo

Mürwik Naval School, Flensburg, Germany  
Thursday 6 August 1914

Siegfried had arrived at the Naval School late Wednesday afternoon, after a carriage picked him up from the Flensburg station. He was tired from the long journey, but excited to see the academy.

As the carriage made its way up the winding gravel drive, Siegfried could see the imposing structure of red bricks and gothic windows. The building looked more like a castle than a school.

"The Commandant will see you at 9 o'clock tomorrow morning, Sir," the driver had informed him, as Siegfried climbed out of the carriage and collected his luggage from the rack at the rear of the cabin.

"Where should I..." Siegfried had begun to ask the driver, but the man had already climbed back onto the transom and had snapped the reins to get the horse moving.

Siegfried put his luggage on the ground, then began looking about, uncertain where to go. A moment later, a young woman in bright red livery came through the main doors of the building.

"I apologise for keeping you waiting, Sir," she said, "please follow me to your quarters."

Siegfried bent down to pick up his luggage.

"That isn't necessary, Sir. One of the porters will bring your luggage to your room. This way, please."

Shrugging slightly, Siegfried left his luggage on the ground and followed the steward through the main entrance.

oOo

At 8:55 Thursday morning, Siegfried was waiting in the outer office of the Commandant of the Naval School. A secretary was busy typing up some papers, but she kept peeking over the top of her typewriter at Siegfried as she worked. Part of his mind wondered why she found him so interesting, but he was so curious about why the Commandant wanted to see him that he was largely able to ignore her furtive glances.

The intercom buzzed once at exactly 9 o'clock, and the secretary stopped typing.

"The Commandant will see you now," she informed Siegfried, before returning to her typing.

Siegfried got up, straightened his uniform jacket and stepped to the closed door of the inner office. He drew a breath, then knocked twice on the door.

"Enter," called an authoritative voice from inside the office.

"Strange," Siegfried thought, "that voice sounds familiar."

Siegfried opened the door and stepped into the office. The Commandant was standing next to his large polished timber desk, beaming.

"Guten morgen, Herr Lehrer Herzschlag!"

Siegfried was shocked by the greeting. He didn't for a moment expect the senior naval officer in front of him to call him 'teacher'. He squinted his eyes at the Commandant, looking closely at his tanned, lined face and short-cropped hair that was going very grey at the temples.

"Guten morgen, Herr Commandant," he replied, pausing to give himself a moment to try to place the officer.

The Commandant said nothing, continuing to beam at Siegfried. Suddenly, Siegfried recognised the officer.

"Claus Raabe?" he gasped, "is that you?"

"Ja, Herr Herzschlag," the Commandant replied, grinning even more broadly, "it is so good to see you again!"

"How long has it been?"

"Almost 30 years, Herr Herzschlag. Or should I say, Herr Oberleutnant zur See Herzschlag."

"Did you do this?" Siegfried asked, waving his arms to indicate his uniform and rank insignia.

Commandant Raabe nodded, indicating for Siegfried to take a seat in one of the plush leather chairs in the meeting space on one side of the office. The Commandant sat in one of the other chairs, turning it slightly to face Siegfried.

"In addition to my role here as Commandant, I also sit on several committees set up by the Kaiser as part of the military development program.

"We have been preparing for war with the British Empire for a number of years now, and have been building our Navy to try to match their enormous fleet."

Siegfried nodded. Everyone in the world knew of the power of the British Navy.

"Our surface fleet is very powerful, but we also have another, smaller fleet of very special vessels - our unterseeboots."

"Submarines?" Siegfried gasped.

This time it was the Commandant's turn to nod.

"These boats will be able to monitor and attack the British fleet from both the surface and below the water. They have been built to be undersea hunters.

"Now, technically speaking, the submarines are very good, and new equipment is being developed and fitted regularly, to make them even better.

"The issues we have had with the unterseeboot program has nothing to do with the vessels themselves," the Commandant continued, "the problems come from the crews and, more specifically, the captains of these vessels.

Siegfried looked intently at the Commandant, suspecting he now knew why he was here.

"I have been tasked," the Commandant stated evenly, returning Siegfried's stare, "with selecting a number of individuals who I believe are capable of becoming submarine commanders. These people will receive minimal training before being given command of an unterseeboot. You are the first of my selections."

Siegfried paused for a moment, considering the gravity of this undertaking.

"When do I start?" he asked, a tight smile on his lips.

"0700 hours tomorrow."

Chapter 4

North Atlantic Ocean  
Thursday 6 August 1914

Thirty minutes after leaving Plymouth, the _Helios_ was in open water in the North Atlantic Ocean, and the coast of England could be seen dwindling behind her as she headed south.

Lieutenant Commander White came up to stand next to Mark, as he alternated his gaze between the ocean ahead and the crew on the bridge.

"The Captain just piped a message to my station, Sir. He'd like to see you in his cabin at your earliest convenience."

Mark smiled slightly at the euphemism. When a more senior person asked to see you 'at your earliest convenience', it was polite military speak for 'drop everything and report to me now'.

"Very well, Lieutenant Commander," he replied, "you have the Conn."

"Aye, Sir."

Mark strode to the hatchway and exited the bridge.

oOo

"Come," the Captain called, in response to Mark's knock on the door to the cabin.

The voice that came from inside the cabin seemed far more jovial and warm than the cold, distant inflection the Captain had used to address Mark on the bridge. Mark raised an eyebrow at this change of tone, and stepped quickly into the cabin.

"Well done, Commander, well done!" the Captain enthused, grinning broadly.

"Sir?" Mark asked, a little confused.

"That was a very smooth departure, well done!"

"Thank you, Captain, I..."

"No, no," the Captain interrupted, "when we're in private, I'd much prefer if you called me Bernard. And I'd very much like to call you Mark, if that's acceptable to you."

"Of course you may call me Mark, but even in private I would only be comfortable to refer to you by your title, Sir Bernard."

Sir Bernard Grey chuckled, his blue eyes gleaming and his bristling moustache and mutton-chop sideburns quivering slightly.

"Very well, Mark, we'll call that our first compromise," he replied with a slight wink, "I think we're going to get along famously."

Sir Bernard reached out his hand. Mark stepped forward to shake it.

"I've read your file, Mark, and now I've seen a little of what you can do when there's some pressure on, I'm convinced the Admiralty made the right choice by sending you to the _Helios_ as her XO."

"Thank you, Sir Bernard, but may I ask what happened on the bridge? Why did you simply walk away like that?"

The Captain chuckled again.

"I'm sure you've been thinking about it ever since it happened. Why don't you tell me your theory, and I'll fill in any blanks."

Mark thought for a moment, trying to condense his ideas on what had happened on the bridge into a simple explanation. He drew a deep breath before addressing his Captain.

"I think your intent was to achieve two things in that exercise, Sir Bernard.

"First, you wanted to confirm that, if something happened that incapacitated you, I would be able to take over without hesitation and achieve our mission."

Sir Bernard nodded, the mischievous glint still evident in his eyes.

"Very good, Mark. It's one thing to wear the rank of Commander. It's another thing entirely to take command. Especially when you're not expecting it."

"As we could experience during this war," Mark mused.

"As we most certainly could. No disrespect to the _Cautious_ , but the _Helios_ is a battleship and therefore a much more valuable prize to our enemies."

"Which makes her much more of a target!" Mark said, suddenly realising the gravity of the situation.

His position title - Executive Officer - might be the same as on his last ship, but the stakes had jumped up dramatically with his new role.

"And the second thing?" Sir Bernard prompted, returning Mark to his explanation.

"There are 800 men and women aboard the _Helios_ , and many of them will have concerns for one reason or another, about their new XO."

Sir Bernard nodded once, then cocked his head to one side, indicating for Mark to continue.

"By having me put the ship to sea with no instruction or direction from you as Captain, you forced me to demonstrate my competence in front of the crew at the very start of my time as XO."

"Yes, exactly!" the Captain beamed.

"But what if I'd made a hash of the departure?"

The Captain shrugged, still smiling.

"I felt that was a risk worth taking, Mark."

oOo

Mürwik Naval School, Flensburg, Germany  
Friday 28 August 1914

For a little over three weeks, Siegfried had been completing the most intense training regime he'd ever experienced.

He'd learned how to march, how to behave in an Officer's Mess and how to salute. That part had been completed in just three days, and Siegfried had collapsed into his bunk from exhaustion at the end of each 15-hour day.

Once the basic military skills training was completed, the submarine systems training began. Siegfried had thought the first few days were difficult, but the technical aspects of the complex systems were close to overwhelming. For 10 days he struggled with wiring diagrams and steam engine mechanics, until finally he had on overview of how a submarine worked.

The last eight days of his training were spent learning the tactics of naval warfare. Surface tactics were quite straight forward, but Siegfried discovered that as a submarine commander he needed to think tactically in three dimensions, as the depth of his vessel played a significant part in his search and destroy mission.

On the final day, an exhausted Siegfried had been promoted to the rank of Kapitänleutnant and ordered to take command of Unterseeboot 13. After having lunch with the Commandant that Friday, Siegfried had boarded a train for the town of Norden. He had the weekend to travel and recover, before taking his first command on Monday morning.

oOo

Island of Norderney, North Sea, off the coast of Germany  
Monday 31 August 1914

The sun was still low on the horizon, and the early morning mists hadn't yet begun to clear. There was a slight chill in the air, but not enough for Siegfried to pull his leather gloves from his jacket pocket.

Standing on the small wooden dock, he had the rising sun behind him. If he squinted, Siegfried could just make out the coastline of Germany, a dark smudge against the lightening sky, a few miles away across the water of the North Sea.

Siegfried reached out his hand to touch the cool grey metal of the vessel moored to the dock. For a moment, he indulged himself by gently caressing the steel, feeling the vibrations coming from the engine housed somewhere below decks, back towards the stern of the boat.

As his hand reached the metal ladder bolted to the side of the boat, he grabbed hold of one of the rungs. His senses reeled with conflicting emotions - awe at the potential of this vessel, and anxiety at this powerful boat being his first command.

Siegfried had been a teacher of history, but now, he was making history. He had left his school behind to fight for his Kaiser, his land and his future. Deep in his heart, he knew that this fight was necessary to secure peace and freedom for his students.

Siegfried swung onto the ladder and quickly climbed to the conning tower of the submarine.

"Welcome aboard Unterseeboot 13, Kapitänleutnant," a tall, blonde officer with short-cropped hair greeted him with a salute as he reached the top of the tower, "I'm your Executive Officer, Oberleutnant zur See Hans Schmidt."

"Danke, Oberleutnant," Siegfried replied, returning the salute.

"How long until we can put to sea?" he continued, trying to hide his impatience to be underway.

"About 36 hours, Sir," the XO responded, "we are finalising the testing of the new steam engine for surface propulsion and calibrating the new battery system for undersea operation. Also, our supplies are enroute from the mainland and should arrive tomorrow morning."

"Ja, I understand," Siegfried acknowledged.

"Would you like to meet the crew, Sir?"

Siegfried paused for a moment, trying to balance the importance of the crew meeting their new captain against the delay in completing their work that such a meeting would impose.

"I'll meet the remaining two officers at 11:30," he decided, "then we'll all have lunch together at noon. I'll tour the boat after lunch and meet the crew informally then."

Hans Schmidt nodded, inferring from the Kapitänleutnant's instructions that he was to make the necessary arrangements.

"I'll be in my cabin, XO," Siegfried concluded, "you have the watch."

"Jawohl, Sir," the Leutnant responded, before following Siegfried down the internal ladder of the conning tower and into U-13.

Chapter 5

North Sea, off the coast of Belgium  
Friday 4 September 1914

"What's the most important part of a battleship?"

It was a rare quiet moment on the bridge, after several long, stressful days patrolling the English Channel and the Celtic Sea for enemy vessels. Everyone on the bridge crew was wound tight from constantly focussing on their equipment and scanning the ocean. Captain Grey's question seemed to ease the tension on the bridge.

"The guns, Sir," replied the Armoury Officer.

"Why do you think that, Lieutenant?"

"Without the guns, Captain, the ship is no deterrent to an enemy," he responded.

Captain Grey continued to look around the bridge, inviting other opinions.

"The engines, Captain," piped up the Junior Engineer, stealing a glance at the Armoury Officer, "if we can't get to where we need to be, the guns are useless."

Captain Grey nodded, acknowledging the comment and smiling slightly at the rivalry between the two Lieutenants.

"What do you think, Helm?" the Captain asked the Chief Petty Officer who was steering the ship.

The grizzled old sailor paused for a moment, considering his words.

"I think, Cap'n," he said slowly, "that there ain't no part of a battleship that ain't important. Otherwise, why would we 'ave it onboard?"

"Well said, Chief," Captain Grey smiled.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the watch," the Captain continued, addressing his officers and senior crew, "a battleship is an amazing collection of parts that must always, always, mesh together and work in perfect harmony.

"From the paint on our hull to the way the coal is loaded in our holds, everything must be exactly right.

"It is true, of course," he said, with a head tilt towards the Lieutenants, "that without the guns or the engines, we cannot bring our firepower to bear in defence of the Empire. But while those two parts of our ship are the most obvious, they are no more or less important than any other part.

"Never forget, whether we are in peacetime training or action against our foes, the most important part of a battleship is the part that you are responsible for. Your role, no matter how large or small, is vital to the operation of this great ship. How well each and every one of you perform your duty is how well the _Helios_ will perform."

"Do not ever think of yourselves as too insignificant to make a difference. Like the Empire, a battleship is always greater than the sum of its parts."

oOo

After the watch had finished, Mark returned to his cramped cabin behind the bridge. The bunk was calling loudly to him, after being awake for almost 18 hours, but there was something vital he needed to do before he tried to catch a few hours of precious sleep.

Pulling the chair out from the tiny desk built into the bulkhead, Mark sat down and deftly set up his pen and ink set. With practiced ease, he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out the oilskin bundle that contained his battered notebook.

The cover of the book was starting to wear thin in places, and there were stains from oil, grease, mud and even blood on the small, leather-bound volume. Mark reverently caressed the cover with his thumb, feeling the rough spots in the leather.

Mark took a few moments to scan some of the entries in the notebook. There were a few sketches of Table Mountain, made from the deck of the cruiser he was assigned to during the conflict with the Boers. One of the pages had a black border, with the date 22 January 1901 written in sombre lettering and a newspaper clipping announcing the death of their beloved Queen Victoria.

Several pages contained quotes that Mark had heard in his travels. Sometimes Mark heard something in speeches or even just in conversation, that touched a chord in his heart. These were the things he committed to his notebook. By writing them down, these poignant words would always be available to him when he needed solace or inspiration.

Mark made a new note, based on the words of the Chief about the importance of every part of battleship, and an Empire. He gave the ink a moment to dry before carefully wrapping the notebook back in its oilskin covering.

After slipping the notebook back into his jacket pocket, Mark stood up, stretched, and collapsed onto his bunk. He was asleep within a few seconds.

oOo

Island of Norderney, North Sea, off the coast of Germany  
Friday 4 September 1914

Kapitänleutnant Siegfried Herzschlag held his hands tightly behind his back, as he stood immobile in the control room of U-13.

Internally, his impatience to be underway was growing with each passing hour. Externally, he kept his body under rigid control and his face a mask of inscrutability, hiding his emotions from the officers and crew of the submarine.

"They're like the naughty schoolboys and girls back in Dusseldorf," he thought, "They lack focus and discipline. They are slow to concentrate and even slower to work."

Siegfried knew how to deal with naughty school children, but getting the crew of U-13 into working order was going to tax even his skills at motivating and cajoling. The crew had been given very little training before being sent to his submarine, and they were struggling with being forced into taking on this assignment. There were few in his small crew who were there by choice.

They had been meant to sail on patrol on Tuesday afternoon. It was now Friday morning, and the U-13 hadn't budged. Siegfried was getting frustrated, but he dealt with the crew the way he might once have dealt with a rowdy classroom. He'd already heard whispers as some of the crew began calling him 'the Schoolmaster', but Siegfried didn't care.

"Oberleutnant," Siegfried called out to his Executive Officer, using one of his sternest tones, "what is the status of each department?"

Oberleutnant Hans Schmidt turned quickly to face his captain, his face grave. Yesterday, in the privacy of his cabin, Siegfried had made his displeasure at the delayed departure abundantly clear. Now, the XO was being called to account more publicly, on the bridge and in front of the crew.

He glanced at the clipboard in his hand and gulped, although in reality he didn't need to refer to his notes to know the exact status of the submarine

"Engineering reports the steam engine is now fully operational, and the batteries are at 60 percent charge," he reported.

"We are able to proceed at full speed on the surface, but require an additional..." he paused, knowing this would not be welcome news, "an additional 15 hours to fully charge the batteries."

Siegfried's face remained impassive, and the XO felt compelled to continue his report, either to fill the silence or to stave off his captain's fury. Or perhaps even, both.

"Weapons reports they have now received six torpedoes of the correct type and have returned the ones issued in error. Torpedo loading requires another 3 hours to complete."

Siegfried was pleased that the correct torpedo type had arrived so quickly after he discovered the error on his inspection tour on Monday afternoon. He was far more concerned that neither the XO nor the Weapons Officer, Leutnant zur See Gerhard Traube, had detected the error.

When he had walked into the torpedo room on Monday, six fat torpedoes were already loaded into the racks mounted to the walls, apparently ready for use at his command. Then, Siegfried noticed that the torpedoes seemed to be too large for the racks, and that they'd been lashed into place with wire, as the clamps that locked them to the rack weren't long enough to close.

At first Siegfried had thought that the racks had been built too narrow, but then another possibility occurred to him. What if the torpedoes were the wrong type and were too large to fit into the torpedo tubes?

"Leutnant," he asked, "does it strike you as odd that the torpedoes do not fit into the storage racks?"

Gerhard Traube looked at Siegfried, then at the torpedoes, then back to Siegfried.

"It's almost as if that idea never occurred to him," Siegfried thought, dismayed.

"Measure the diameter of these torpedoes and the diameter of the torpedo tubes," he ordered, before adding the command to hurry, "Schnell!"

Quickly, the young officer found a measuring tape and scratched out his calculations. The blood began to drain from his face as he finished the comparison and turned to face his new captain.

"The torpedoes are too large, Sir," he reported, with a tremble in his voice, "they will not fit into the tubes."

"Unstrap these torpedoes and get them off my boat!" Siegfried demanded, "I will procure the correct torpedoes for this vessel."

The conversation Siegfried had with the XO that night about the torpedoes was not a very pleasant one. Of the three officers under his command, Siegfried was concerned about the competence of two of them.

At least the Leading Engineer, Leitender Ingenieur Gretel Schulberg, was working hard to deal with the issues of the new propulsion systems.

Just a few days before he took command, U-13 had been fitted with a new type of steam engine, lighter but more powerful than those previously installed in German submarines. Everything was being rushed because of the war, and this new, barely tested engine was another example of how more time was needed to make new equipment fully operational.

To compound the problems, Gretel was also dealing with a new system for generating the electrical power needed to drive U-13 when submerged. To her credit, the engineer was efficient and methodical. That also meant that she was cautious and had refused to rush through the checks to make sure the propulsion systems were operating correctly.

"Respectfully, Kapitänleutnant," she had told him, "putting to sea without these engines and systems being thoroughly tested poses an unnecessary risk to the boat and the crew."

And so, Siegfried had waited, with ever decreasing patience. As the XO finished his report, Siegfried pulled his shoulders back, finally feeling that they might be ready to depart.

"Very well," he said, "inform the crew we sail at dawn tomorrow."

Chapter 6

North Sea, off the coast of the Netherlands  
Thursday 10 September 1914

"Where are they?" Siegfried muttered under his breath.

Since leaving Norderney almost a week ago to begin their patrol of the North Sea, they hadn't seen a single British warship or merchant vessel. Not even a smoke plume on the horizon.

Siegfried had been running U-13 on the surface for their entire patrol. The new steam engine was incredibly efficient, and the submarine could make excellent time ploughing through the water.

They had also taken the opportunity to test the battery motor with a few practice dives. Siegfried was pleased with U-13's performance, although he would have preferred her to be quieter and faster when submerged. More importantly, though, under the watchful eye of Gretel Schulberg, they hadn't experienced a single breakdown or system failure since leaving port.

The other officers of the U-13 were also starting to prove their worth. Intent on making up for their earlier mistakes, both Hans Schmidt and Gerhard Traube had responded well to Siegfried's firm discipline and his insistence that they meet his high expectations.

Since leaving Norderney, Hans had been working closely with the crew, building their skills in their individual roles, as well as their ability to work as a team. The crew were now at the point where their level of incompetence was no longer a threat to the safety of the boat.

Gerhard, too, had been performing well. Likely highly embarrassed by his error with the torpedoes, he was now driving the weapons crews hard during the drills, and was leading his men and women to become more and more efficient in their role.

"You have the potential to become a fine officer, Leutnant Traube," Siegfried thought, smiling, "perhaps even a Kapitänleutnant yourself one day."

For the first time since taking command of U-13, Siegfried felt they might actually be ready to face their enemies in battle. All he needed to test this theory was a British warship.

He turned to his navigator, Obersteuermann Dietrich von Bruch, who was standing next to the small chart table with some brass measuring instruments in his hand.

"Obersteuermann," he ordered, "set course to patrol along the Belgian coast."

oOo

North Sea, off the coast of Belgium  
Friday 11 September 1914

"Kapitänleutnant! Contact! Bearing 037, range 8,000 metres." Unteroffizier Marta Reichen called urgently from her station.

Siegfried responded instantly to the report from the sonar operator, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through his system. Leaping from his chair, he grabbed the periscope and lowered the wooden handles on each side until they clicked softly into place, pointing outwards from the large brass tube. Putting his eyes to the rubber hood around the screen, he turned the periscope using the handles until he was facing the bearing the Marta had called.

For a long moment, Siegfried couldn't see anything except the black of the sea and the slightly darker black of the night sky. Then, as the clouds parted, the moonlight showed him the silhouette of a ship. An enormous ship.

"Contact is a British battleship," Siegfried called across the control room of the U-13, without taking his eyes from the periscope.

"Confirm bearing is 037 degrees, range 7,800 metres." he continued, "Oberleutnant, mark the time in the log."

"Jawohl, Kapitänleutnant. Time is 0445 hours," the XO replied.

"Navigator, what time is sunrise?"

"0510 hours, Kapitänleutnant," Dietrich replied, after taking a moment to consult his almanac.

"Good," Siegfried thought, "we have a small window of darkness remaining. This will help us hunt our prey."

"Helm, ahead two-thirds," he ordered, "bring us to torpedo range."

"Ahead two-thirds, aye-aye Kapitänleutnant," Steuermann Otto Strobl replied.

Siegfried nodded to Hans Schmidt, who picked up the microphone in the console next to his station and flicked a switch to activate the intercom.

"All hands, we have located an enemy battleship. All crew to stations. Prepare to engage. Torpedo room, load tubes one and two."

oOo

Mark's eyes shot open, and he leapt out of bed.

After being on board the _Helios_ for six weeks, he'd become attuned to the vibrations and sounds the battleship made. Something had changed in the way the ship was behaving, and it had been enough to rouse Mark from his slumber.

With his feet now resting on the floor of his cabin, he could feel the change through his socks. The vibration made him think that one of the engines had been thrown into reverse.

A moment later, his suspicion was confirmed, as the giant ship started to heave to the starboard and the floor of his tiny cabin began to tilt as the right side of the ship dipped and the left side rose. In the same movement, Mark felt the _Helios_ turning, almost pivoting to the right.

"The captain must have ordered the starboard engine hard astern," he thought, "to make the ship come around on such a sharp turn."

He glanced at the chronometer on the wall above his desk - 4:56 am. Mark had been asleep for less than five hours, but he felt alert and geared up for whatever was about to happen.

Just as Mark was pulling on his boots, the klaxon sounded throughout the ship. Mark cocked an ear for the announcement that he knew would follow.

"All hands to battle stations," came the call over the tannoy, "all hands to battle stations. This is not a drill."

Before the announcement had even finished, Mark had bolted through the doorway of his cabin and was racing for the bridge.

oOo

"Range?" Siegfried asked.

"2,500 metres and closing," Marta Reichen replied.

Siegfried felt like he was walking on a tightrope. He needed to get closer to the battleship in order to fire his torpedoes.

If he continued to rush towards the giant ship at two-thirds speed, he'd be spotted by their lookouts, either from the noise of their engines running so hard, or from the long white wake the submarine left when she ran along the surface.

If he slowed the submarine down, they'd be quieter and harder to spot, but it would take them longer to reach torpedo range, which also increased the risk of being spotted simply from being in view of the lookouts for longer.

After a moment or two wrestling with the dilemma, Siegfried decided on a compromise.

"Helm, reduce revolutions to one-third," he ordered, quietly, "let's try to sneak up on them."

oOo

It took every ounce of willpower in Siegfried's possession to stop himself from pacing around the control room of U-13. Instead, he stood rigidly at the periscope, gripping the handles so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His eyes were glued to the viewing pane of the periscope. He kept his ears tuned to the quiet murmurings from the men and women of the watch, of course, but most of his attention was focussed on the dark shape of the British warship that was slowly getting larger in the viewer.

"Range 1,800 meters, Sir," Marta Reichen reported from the sonar station.

"Danke, Unteroffizier," Siegfried acknowledged the report, already considering whether he should reduce speed now or continue for a little longer at their current rate.

They were still too far away. The maximum range of his torpedoes was 800 metres. If he fired the torpedoes any further away from the battleship, the torpedoes would run out of power before reaching the target and drop harmlessly to the ocean floor.

"Helm," Siegfried called, taking his eyes from the periscope to look at the young man steering his boat, "maintain current course and..."

"Kapitänleutnant!" Marta yelled across the control room, interrupting Siegfried's order, "the Engländer must have spotted us. She's turning sharply to face her bow towards us."

Pandemonium started to break out across the control room, as the sailors responded to the report the sonar operator had just blurted out. The panic in her voice was quickly spreading to the crew in the control room.

Siegfried knew the crew needed to be brought back under control quickly, or all their lives would be put in even greater danger. He was about to speak to the crew when Oberleutnant Schmidt, shouted across the cramped room.

"Enough!" he bellowed.

Everyone stopped exactly where they were, instantly falling silent under the harsh voice and stern glare of the XO.

"We are German," he said gruffly, "we are sailors and submariners. We do not cower before the enemy. We do not cringe and panic when we are seen by their sentries.

"Either we will be victorious, or we will die with honour. But no matter which outcome befalls us, we will do our duty to our homeland and to our Kapitänleutnant!"

The faces of the sailors in the control room looked ashamed of their behaviour. Without another word, the crew of U-13 returned their attention to their stations and awaited Siegfried's orders.

"Your orders, Kapitänleutnant?" the XO asked, turning to Siegfried.

Siegfried was incredibly proud of how Hans had stepped up to take charge of the crew. When this skirmish was over, he'd make sure he told the Oberleutnant how well he'd performed.

Right now, though, he needed to focus on the task at hand. He drew a breath, quickly calculating his strategy to engage the enemy.

"Helm, full steam ahead." he barked, "Weapons, flood torpedo tubes 1 and 2. Prepare to fire on my command."

Chapter 7

North Sea, off the coast of Belgium  
Friday 11 September 1914

As soon as he entered the bridge, Captain Grey began explaining the situation to Mark.

"One of the deck hands spotted a small wake off to starboard, about mid-ships. She grabbed a pair of binoculars and managed to work out it was a German submarine trying to sneak up on us."

"Good eyes to spot that," Mark commented, making a mental note to find out who the deck hand was, so she could be noted in the ship's log.

"Yes, quite," replied Sir Bernard, before continuing his explanation.

"Word got passed straight to the bridge, so we undertook a spot of emergency manoeuvres to give the U-boat the smallest possible target. Hence our rather sharp turn to the right."

Mark noticed how utterly calm Sir Bernard was, describing the dramatic movement of the ship as if he was talking about a rather bland chukka in a polo match. The Captain was demonstrating for the crew how to remain calm in a crisis.

"Now that's how you show courage in adversity," Mark thought.

Mark also saw how the Captain didn't stop scanning the instruments, the ocean, or the members of the bridge watch throughout the entire explanation. At no point did he look directly at Mark. It was clear that Sir Bernard was more than capable of holding a conversation while maintaining full awareness of his ship, his crew and the situation at hand.

Suddenly, a shout came from one of the lookouts on the starboard flybridge.

"Captain! She's fired her torpedoes. One...no, two torpedoes in the water, from directly ahead."

Every pair of eyes on the bridge of the _Helios_ snapped up, peering intently through the forward glass windows for the wake of the oncoming torpedoes.

oOo

As Steuermann Otto Strobl pushed the throttle lever forward to full, U-13 leapt forward, bouncing slightly in the slight chop on the ocean surface. Now that they had lost the element of surprise, the steam engine was doing a magnificent job of quickly getting the submarine into torpedo range.

"Range?" he called across the control room to Marta Reichen.

"1,200 metres and closing, Sir."

Siegfried had moved away from the periscope, stepping back to the captain's chair, but he didn't sit down. Instead, he stood next to the chair, rigid with barely contained energy. He picked up the microphone for the tannoy system and selected the switch that connected him to the torpedo room.

"Leutnant," he called over the intercom to the weapons officer, "open outer torpedo tube doors. Stand by to fire torpedoes."

"Open outer doors, aye-aye Kapitänleutnant," came the reply, crackling through the speaker mounted in the bulkhead above the chair.

"Range 1,100 metres."

The seconds ticked by. Siegfried could see the chronometer mounted in the forward bulkhead, but the hands seemed to have slowed down, creeping around the dial as if they were fighting off the passage of time.

"Range 1,000 metres," Marta chanted the update, her voice taking on a melodic lilt.

"Stand by, Leutnant," Siegfried spoke quietly into the microphone.

"900 metres."

"Stand by."

"800 metres, Sir! We're at torpedo range!"

"Fire one!" Siegfried almost shouted into the microphone.

U-13 shuddered as the torpedo shot out from the tube in the port bow of the submarine.

"Fire two!" he called a few seconds later.

Again the submarine shuddered, as his second torpedo began to make its way towards the battleship.

"Time to target?" he asked the navigator.

"58 seconds, Sir," came the almost instant reply from Obersteuermann Dietrich von Bruch

Siegfried began to count. Everything depended on what happened in the next minute.

oOo

After hearing the warning about the enemy torpedoes being launched, the Captain paused for perhaps half a heartbeat, although to Mark it seemed like a few minutes. Then he sprang into action, issuing orders in rapid succession.

"Engines full ahead!

"Helm, steer straight towards that submarine. If she moves, follow her."

Mark saw the colour drain from the weapons officer's face, as he turned to look at the Captain.

"Sir!" Lieutenant Evans spluttered, "that will put us in the way of the torpedoes. Shouldn't we be taking evasive action?"

"Lieutenant!" Mark barked, fixing the young officer with a stern look, "Mind your station. Be ready to bring weapons to bear on the enemy submarine, when the Captain gives the order."

"Aye, Sir," Lieutenant Evans, mumbled, turning away and looking deeply embarrassed at letting his fear show in front of his crew and his commanders.

"Nav," the Captain called across the bridge to Lieutenant Commander White, "how long until we intercept the submarine?"

"One minute and 35 seconds, Sir," she replied, instantly updating the calculation in her head to account for the _Helios_ ' increase in speed.

"And how long until the enemy torpedoes intercept us?"

"45 seconds, Captain," came the immediate reply.

Mark reached up for the tannoy microphone mounted to the ceiling of the bridge. As he plucked the microphone from its cradle, he flicked the switch to ship-wide broadcast.

"All hands, brace for impact."

If one of the torpedoes hit the _Helios_ , Mark wanted the crew to be ready.

"This could be a bit of a bumpy ride," he thought grimly.

oOo

"Kapitänleutnant, the battleship is steaming straight towards us!" Marta Reichen shouted.

"What?" Siegfried queried, thinking he'd misheard the navigator.

"Sir, the Engländer is accelerating towards us. It looks like they're going to try to ram us at full speed."

Siegfried was stunned. There was nothing in his training about British ships ramming submarines. There was something desperate, almost ungentlemanly, about the manoeuvre. It wasn't something he imagined a British officer would ever consider, let alone attempt. For a moment, he was uncertain what to do.

"Sir, what are your orders?" Hans Schmidt whispered in his ear.

Siegfried snapped out of his stupor.

"Helm, all stop!" he called across the control room, "Sonar, time until the battleship reaches our position?"

"One minute and 20 seconds."

Siegfried picked up the tannoy microphone and flicked the switch to talk to Gretel Schulberg.

"Engine room," he spoke urgently into the microphone, "secure the steam engine."

He flicked the switch again, this time to ship-wide broadcast.

"Alarmtauchen! All hands, prepare to crash dive!"

oOo

"20 seconds to impact, Sir!"

Mark looked up at Lieutenant Commander White, a slight furrow in his brow. It hadn't been 25 seconds since her last advice about the time till the torpedoes arrived at the ship. He was about to question her on the calculation, when he realised the mistake was his.

He'd forgotten that the _Helios_ was accelerating towards the torpedoes. Since they were moving faster and faster, but the torpedoes had already reached their maximum speed, the time to impact would be getting shorter.

"10 seconds, Captain."

"3 seconds."

Everyone on the bridge held their breath, waiting for the violent explosion and the sound of water rushing in through a massive hole torn in the hull, but hoping with all their hearts that they'd hear none of those sounds. In the artificial hush that now pervaded the bridge, the only sounds were an occasional beep from a piece of equipment.

Just off to starboard, Mark heard a faint whoosh, as one of the German torpedoes raced past the _Helios_ , five or six feet away from the hull. Mark let out half his breath, as he waited for the second torpedo.

Three seconds later, the second torpedo slammed into the hull of the _Helios_ , a few feet behind the bow and just below the water line. The impact made the entire ship shudder, and Mark stumbled slightly as he was thrown off balance.

An enormous clang rang out across the entire ship. The sound the torpedo made as it hit the steel plating of the hull was like being inside a gigantic church bell being struck by a giant with a massive mallet. The echo of that sound reverberated throughout the ship, bouncing off the bulkheads and travelling through the corridors and pipework from bow to stern.

The entire bridge crew waited for the echoing clang to be replaced by the roar of an explosion, as the warhead at the tip of the torpedo exploded.

The seconds ticked by, and the clanging sound began to fade. Nothing happened. No explosion, no plume of water erupting from the port side bow, no carnage and pandemonium. Only the sound of the soft regular beeps from the bridge equipment, reasserting itself as the mighty clang faded away.

Mark dared to let out the rest of his breath. He could see the rest of the bridge crew doing the same. The torpedo had hit the _Helios_ , but hadn't exploded. They were safe from this attack.

"Well done, everyone," Captain Grey congratulated the bridge crew, "you held your nerve in the face of the enemy, and I'm proud of you all."

Mark raised an eyebrow at his captain, silently entreating Sir Bernard to share the reason for his unusual tactic of steaming into the path of the torpedoes.

"For those of you who don't know," the Captain said, grinning, "we've had reports of German U-boats being damaged and destroyed by their own torpedoes. Apparently, the torpedos arm as soon as they leave the tubes, and more than a few have exploded prematurely.

"British Intelligence intercepted a communique ordering all torpedoes to have a time delay fitted to their arming mechanism. Now, the torpedoes won't arm until 30 seconds after launch.

"So, if we could get close enough, fast enough, we'd be inside the arming range of the torpedoes when they hit us."

Mark was stunned. He'd read the same briefing about time-delayed arming of German torpedoes, but he'd never considered how to use that information as a tactical advantage in combat. He suddenly realised how much he still had to learn.

Chapter 8

North Sea, off the coast of Belgium  
Friday 11 September 1914

"Engine room! Report!" Siegfried demanded, using the intercom microphone.

After Siegfried had given the order to crash dive, the XO had raced from the control room to the engine room to supervise the emergency shutdown of the steam engine.

"Steam engine is ready for crash dive, Sir!" Hans Schmidt's voice came through on the overhead speaker.

"Sir, the torpedoes are almost at the target!" the navigator called across the room.

Siegfried didn't even bother acknowledging the statement from Dietrich von Bruch. He leapt over to the periscope, hoping to see the destruction of the battleship.

"Miss!" Marta Reichen called out, the disappointment evident in the voice of the sonar operator.

Siegfried couldn't see anything in the periscope to show that the torpedo had missed. Then he remembered that Marta was listening to the sounds being picked up by the sensitive underwater microphones mounted on the outer hull of U-13. She had been trained to interpret those sounds and had never made an error so far during their journey. If Marta Reichen said the torpedo had missed, Siegfried knew he could rely on that information.

"Hit!" Marta shouted.

Siegfried pushed his face even tighter against the rubber hood of the viewer and braced himself for the shockwave from the explosion. And then...nothing happened.

"The warhead failed to detonate, Sir," the sonar operator said softly, devastated by the failure of the attack, "I think the enemy ship was inside the time-delay for arming the torpedo.

Siegfried didn't have time to be disappointed. He had hoped that one of the torpedoes would have stopped the warship in her tracks, but that hope had been dashed. Now, Siegfried had a responsibility to save his boat and his crew from the mad Englishman who was racing his battleship down on top of him.

"Crash dive!" Siegfried ordered, "Dive, dive, dive!"

oOo

Captain Grey quickly brought the attention of the bridge crew around to hunting for the German U-boat, once the threat of the torpedoes had passed and his tactics had been explained.

"Nav," he called, quietly but firmly, "are we on track for the enemy submarine?"

"Aye, Captain," replied Lieutenant Commander White, "We're in range of the guns now, and in 25 seconds we'll be on top of her."

"Very good, Nav. Let me know the moment she tries to run or to submerge.

"Weapons, bring the forward gun batteries to bear, in case she makes a run for it, but wait for my order to fire."

"Aye Sir," Lieutenant Evans responded, having regained his composure.

"And prime the depth charges, Lieutenant. We're almost on top of the sub, so I think she'll submerge. We'll have a good shot at taking her out with the charges, if we're quick."

"Depth charges are already primed and ready for release on your command, Captain."

"Very good, Lieutenant," the Captain replied, nodding.

"Sir, I have reports from our lookouts of large plumes of spray coming from the nose of the submarine. It looks like she's blowing all her ballast tanks and making an emergency dive."

"Very good, Nav, mark her last known position. Helm, steer for that position. Prepare to reduce speed and begin depth charge manoeuvres."

"Aye, Captain!" came a chorus of voices from the bridge crew, acknowledging their respective orders.

Mark once again grabbed the microphone and checked that the switch was still set to broadcast ship-wide.

"All hands, this is the XO," he said, using his tone of voice to convey confidence and reassurance to the crew.

"We have engaged with an enemy submarine. She sent two torpedoes at us, but neither caused any damage to the ship. The enemy has now submerged, and we are hunting her. Maintain battle stations until further notice."

"Sir, we are now in the position where the submarine was before submerging," called the Navigator.

"Helm, ahead slow." the Captain ordered, "Follow depth charge course."

"Ahead slow," echoed the Chief Petty Officer, "Depth charge searching course, Aye Sir."

"Weapons, set depth to 60 feet and release the first set of depth charges from the starboard rack."

"Aye, Sir," replied Lieutenant Evans, twisting a knob on his console to set the timer, then pulling a lever to release the set of five charges.

Each depth charge was a large metal barrel, filled with high explosive and a timed detonator. The timer determined how deep the charge would fall before exploding.

Mark felt a shudder coming from the stern of the ship, as the first depth charge rolled down the metal chute before dropping over the gunnels of the ship and into the ocean below. The mechanism was designed to release the depth charges a few seconds apart. Since the _Helios_ was still moving, this delay spread the charges across a wider area of the ocean and increased the odds of damaging the enemy submarine.

He automatically began counting the charges as he felt the vibration of each one rolling roll off the chute.

"One."

Mark listened carefully, hearing the faint splash of the depth charge hitting the surface of the ocean a few seconds after the chute stopped vibrating.

Thirty seconds later, Mark felt the vibration from the chute start again.

"Two."

Again, he heard the splash, as the second charge smacked into the ocean and began to sink into the depths.

An instant later, Mark felt a massive rumbling from deep beneath his feet. The deck of the _Helios_ bucked slightly, and some of the loose objects on the consoles around the bridge quivered and shook.

Behind the _Helios_ , an enormous plume of water jetted 30 feet into the air, erupting from the surface of the ocean with a booming sound that shook the battleship a second time. The water that shot into the air from the exploding depth charge came raining back down onto the surface of the ocean, looking and sounding like a ten-foot wide tropical storm was raging behind the ship.

The ship began to vibrate again, as the third depth charge rolled down the chute.

"Three," Mark counted in his head.

The splash of the third depth charge landing in the ocean was drowned out by the boom of the second depth charge detonating. Once again, the _Helios_ was rocked by the explosion. Even while the plume of water from the second detonation was still falling back to the ocean surface, a message came through on the speaker mounted in the ceiling of the bridge.

"Bridge, this is Leading Seaman McDougall on the aft weather deck," a deep Scottish voice with a hint of excitement came crackling out of the speaker, "I can see what looks like some oil and a wee bit of debris on the surface, just forward of where the first depth charge exploded."

oOo

"Depth?" Siegfried queried the helmsman.

"10 metres and descending, Sir," Otto Strobl replied, glancing at the gauge in front of his station in the control room.

"Maintain rate of descent."

"Maintaining 15 degrees down on bow planes, battery engine to full." he replied, "Aye, Sir."

"Come on," Siegfried thought to himself, trying to mentally hurry U-13 deeper into the ocean, "come on!"

"Depth charge in the water!" Unteroffizier Marta Reichen shouted across the control room, pushing her headphones tightly against her ears to better hear the faint signal picked up by the undersea microphones.

"Charge is falling 25 metres off our bow, Sir," she continued.

"Helm, change course to two-three-zero degrees, maintain dive angle."

"Second charge in the water!" Marta shouted again, "35 metres astern."

"Maintain course and speed," Siegfried ordered.

Surrounded by depth charges, with more likely to be launched by the battleship, his best option was to get the U-13 as deep as he could as quickly as he could.

"All hands! Brace! Brace! Brace!" Hans Schmidt ordered through the tannoy.

The control room fell eerily silent, as everyone held on tightly to their consoles and waited for the explosion from the depth charges. The undersea bombs were so close to the U-13, it would be a miracle if they survived beyond the next few minutes.

oOo

The roar of the first explosion was deafening. Siegfried could hear the metal skin of the submarine crumpling up near the bow, as the depth charge exploded and the shockwave of water pummelled the craft.

Water driven by an undersea explosion hits like snow in an avalanche. U-13 was picked up by the shockwave and rolled, over and over. Every loose item in the submarine, including the crew, were thrown around.

Siegfried grabbed hold of the arm of his captain's chair but was unable to prevent himself from being slammed first into the deck plating, then into the overhead console above his chair. His left temple struck the bracket that held the microphone, and Siegfried felt himself falling into blackness.

With an enormous effort, he shook his head to clear the darkness away, as the submarine stopped rolling.

"Damage report!" he shouted, but before his crew could answer, there was a second explosion.

This time, the impact was far less severe. It seemed as if the first detonation had pushed the U-13 away from the second depth charge.

"Third charge is in the water, Kapitänleutnant," Marta Reichen called, but it's nearly 100 metres away from us. It shouldn't cause any damage."

Siegfried looked around the control room. His crew were bleeding from minor wounds, and the room was strewn with paper and debris. A few of the control panels were sparking and thin tendrils of smoke were escaping from cracks in the consoles. Some of the crew members were using fire extinguishers to make sure the equipment didn't burst into flames.

"Damage report!" he demanded again, this time looking straight at his XO. Oberleutnant Schmidt had a cut over his right eye that was oozing blood, but otherwise he was unscathed.

"The boat is sitting nose-down, Kapitänleutnant" the XO reported, "and the helm is very sluggish. The Steuermann is having trouble bringing her back to straight and level.

"The intercom is out," he continued, "but the engine room has sent a note to say that the battery system is undamaged and the electric engine is still operational.

"All other stations have advised they have minor injuries and minimal damage, except..." he paused, "except for the torpedo room, who have not reported in."

Siegfried felt a cold sense of dread wash over him. U-13 was lying nose-down, and the torpedo room at the very front of the boat was unresponsive.

"Oberleutnant," Siegfried said, "you have the conn. I'm going forward to the torpedo room."

Chapter 9

North Sea, off the coast of Belgium  
Friday 11 September 1914

"Weapons, put a hold on the last two depth charges," Captain Grey ordered, "until we get a closer look at that oil and debris."

"Aye-aye, Sir," Lieutenant Evans responded, reaching out to push the lever on his console to the lock position.

"XO," the Captain said, turning to Mark, "head aft and take a look at..."

Captain Grey stopped talking mid-sentence, distracted by what was happening at the weapons station. Mark turned to follow his gaze.

Lieutenant Evans was frantically pushing the lever, trying to force it into the locked position. The lever refused to engage with the lock. Every time he pushed the lever forward, it immediately dropped back down again.

"I think the chute is jammed!" he cried, the panic once again colouring his voice and making his words come out as a choking sound.

"Can you deactivate the timer on the remaining depth charges?" Lieutenant Commander White asked, trying to help the junior officer.

"Not without locking the mechanism first," the Lieutenant replied distractedly, still trying to force the lever into place, "it's a fail-safe."

"How long left on the timer?" Mark demanded, moving to the weapons station and looking at the gauges and settings on the console.

"Um, um," the Lieutenant stammered.

"Out with it, man!" Mark snapped.

"Three minutes, Sir."

Mark looked at the Captain, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Without another work, Mark sprinted off the bridge, heading aft towards the depth charge chutes. In less than three minutes, the two remaining depth charges would go off. If they were still in the rack, they'd blow half the stern of the _Helios_ to molten steel and put the mighty battleship on the bottom of the ocean.

oOo

As Siegfried hurried forward, his heart was pounding in his chest. He had to pass through three compartments to get to the torpedo room, and each compartment had been sealed with its watertight door.

The engineers had added a new safety feature to U-13 during the engine refit, but now Siegfried was cursing their new design.

"If the system detects water entering the submarine," the head of the refit had briefed Siegfried, "all of the compartment doors will automatically close. This way, only one or two compartments will flood and the rest of the boat can be saved."

At the time, Siegfried had thought this was an amazing piece of technology, that might help him save the boat in the event of enemy damage. Now, he was finding the safety system working against him, as he tried to get to the bow of the submarine.

Once the system closed the watertight doors, only the command codes would override the seal and reopen the door to let him pass to the next compartment. Each time he got to a sealed door, Siegfried needed to enter a 7-digit code and wait for the system to recognise him, before slowly breaking the seal and sliding the compartment door open.

Siegfried couldn't help himself. As he was waiting frantically for each door to open, he was mentally composing the list of drawbacks to this safety system that the engineers hadn't thought of when it was being designed.

"One. Only the Captain and the XO have override commands. If we were both incapacitated, these isn't another soul aboard who could unseal a door," he fumed.

"Two," he continued, "all of the doors, along the entire length of the boat, automatically seal is there is water detected in any one compartment. That is a redundant requirement. I shouldn't need to unseal three doors just to get to the torpedo room!"

This last point was probably the most significant. Siegfried was wasting precious time fighting his way through doors that did not need to be sealed. And what if another compartment was damaged? The crew in that compartment would be trapped, unable to escape as all of the doors were sealed.

"Clearly," Siegfried muttered in anger and frustration, "the people who designed this system never had to work on a submarine in combat!"

Siegfried entered his code and the door to the last compartment before the torpedo room began to slowly open. Without looking, he squeezed through the narrow space, not bothering to wait until the door was fully open. When his boot hit the deck on the other side of the door, he realised he was ankle deep in water.

He looked across the compartment to see two crewmen collapsed against the door to the torpedo room. Their Petty Officer was standing on one side of the compartment, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Unteroffizier," he demanded, staring at the Petty Officer, "Report!"

As the Petty Officer tilted his head up, Siegfried could see the hollow look in the man's eyes.

"What happened?"

"The explosion," the Petty Officer mumbled, "the explosion."

His head dropped back down, and the man became silent again. Siegfried could see he was in shock, paralysed by the situation. He realised it was unlikely he'd get any information from the Petty Officer.

Siegfried took a few steps closer to the door to the torpedo room. The water rose to his knees as he moved forward, and his feet were in danger of slipping on the downward sloping deck.

"What happened?" he asked the sailors.

"There was an explosion," one of the torpedomen said, "outside the hull."

The Mechaniker turned away from the door as he spoke. Realising the man standing in front of him was his captain, he tried his best to come to attention.

"Ja, it was a depth charge," Siegfried confirmed, "from the enemy battleship."

"Water came pouring in through the hull, Sir. I think the explosion buckled some of the hull plating. The whole compartment started to flood and the watertight doors started to close."

Suddenly, Siegfried looked around the compartment, with a sinking feeling in his chest. He'd seen the torpedo room Petty Officer and the two torpedomen, but the one man he hadn't seen in his frantic journey from the control room to this compartment was the Weapons Officer.

"Where is Leutnant Traube?" Siegfried asked the sailors, hoarsely.

"He's in there, Sir," the torpedoman replied, pointing forward into the sealed torpedo room "he pushed us out of the compartment as the doors were closing."

"And now we can't get the door open again!" the other Mechaniker cried in frustration, "he's trapped!"

Siegfried looked at the watertight door in horror.

oOo

As Mark raced through the flybridge on the _Helios_ , he grabbed one of the portable radio transceivers from the rack just inside the door from the main bridge. He quickly clipped the radio onto his belt, before throwing open the exit door in the outer rear wall of the flybridge.

The dawn light was turning everything a pale orange colour that grew more intense as the sun slowly climbed higher in the sky. A cool sea breeze whistled into the flybridge, pushing past Mark as he stood at the top of the steep metal stairs that led down to the main deck of the battleship. The bridge sat three stories above the deck, and Mark felt a sense of vertigo sweep over him as he stared down the steep narrow stairs that led straight to the deck below.

Mark realised he didn't have time to climb down the stairs. He needed to get to the stern of the ship, so he could deal with the charges before they went off.

Quickly, he turned so he was facing the stairs and jumped down three steps. He grabbed hold of the handrails on either side of the stairs, before swinging his feet up on the handrail as well. He was now hanging over the stairs like a starfish, his hands above his head and his feet braced against the metal pipe of the handrail, locking him in place.

Mark could feel the air rushing around him and gravity tugging at his body. Drawing in a deep breath, he relaxed his grip with both his hands and his feet. His body started to slide down towards the deck, his hands loosely holding the rail to keep him on track, his boots acting as a brake, helping him not to go careening down the stairs and crashing into the unforgiving steel deck plates some thirty feet below.

Fifteen seconds later, he was nearing the bottom of the stairs. As he got closer, he loosened his grip but applied a little more pressure with his boots, slowing his descent and preparing to jump onto the deck. When he was still six feet from the bottom, Mark pushed off the handrail with both his hands and his feet, sending his body away from the stairs. At the same time, he pivoted, turning himself in the air so he'd be facing the stern of the ship when he landed.

For a moment, all Mark could see was the hard steel edge of the gunnel and the deep, black ocean beyond. For that brief, heart-stopping moment, Mark thought he had misjudged his mid-air turn and was going to go over the edge and into the sea.

He knew that if he fell overboard now, he'd be lost forever. The crew of the _Helios_ wouldn't have time to try to save him before the depth charges exploded.

Mark continued his mid-air turn, missing the gunnel by just a few inches and landing hard on the steel deck plating. He heard his right ankle crack under the force of the impact, and his right knee twisted painfully. Reaching out with his right hand, he grabbed a railing bolted to the outer wall of the superstructure and balanced himself, before hobbling up the deck towards the rack of depth charges.

His ankle and knee were throbbing madly, and the pain was shooting up and down his leg. Mark bit his lip and tried to ignore the pain. He'd get the ship's surgeon to have a look at his injuries later. Right now, he was the only hope the _Helios_ had of staying afloat, and he wasn't about to let a sprained ankle or a sore knee stop him from trying to save the ship.

Chapter 10

North Sea, off the coast of Belgium  
Friday 11 September 1914

As Mark raced up the deck, he pulled the radio from his belt and pressed the transmit button on the side of the Bakelite box.

"Bridge, this is the XO, do you read me?"

Mark released the button, and the tiny speaker built into the box hissed static back at him. He sighed. These miniaturised radio transceivers were new technology, and even though the larger sets had been installed on warships for years, having a portable unit that could be carried in the palm of one's hand was still largely untested.

"Bridge, this is the XO, do you read me?" he repeated, hoping someone on the bridge crew could hear him.

"XO, this is the bridge. We read you loud and clear."

Mark tried to keep the relief from his voice. If he could maintain contact with the bridge and get to the jammed rack in time, they might stand a chance.

"Lieutenant Evans," Mark called into the radio, as he continued to race towards the stern, "what's the status on the rack?"

"Still jammed, Commander," came the reply.

"Time till detonation?"

"93 seconds, Sir."

"Evans, I want you to leave the release lever alone. Leave it in the engaged position until I get to the rack."

"Sir? If the lever stays at the engaged position, the mechanism will keep trying to release the charges. It could be making the jam worse!"

"I'm aware of that Lieutenant," Mark snapped into the radio, "but if the jam hasn't cleared on its own, it's not going to in the next 90 seconds. Set the lever to the engaged position until I can see what the problem is!"

"Aye, Aye, Commander," came the static-filled reply.

Despite the danger to the ship, Mark found himself shaking his head at the way Lieutenant Evans was responding to orders.

"Evans and I are going to have a little chat over a cup of tea when all this is over," Mark muttered to himself.

Mark had seen other Executive Officers, on other ships, invite a Junior Officer to join them in their cabin for a 'cup of tea'. He knew those meetings rarely involved tea, but instead were a combination of a dressing down for the wayward junior and a counselling session to get them back on the right track.

If he wasn't careful, Lieutenant Evans' continued questioning of orders was going to land him in the brig. Given that this was wartime, the brig might be the best possible outcome the Lieutenant could hope for if he continued this behaviour. There were fates far worse than imprisonment for insubordination when the Empire was at war. Mark had an obligation to guide and direct Mr Evans, before his actions brought about more dire consequences.

Mark was snapped back into the present when he passed the end of the superstructure and spotted the depth charge chute just ahead.

"Evans," he called into the radio, "time till detonation?"

"57 seconds, Sir." came the immediate reply, "Release lever is in position."

Mark reached the chute and instantly saw the problem. The last two depth charges were jammed together on the chute, one above the other on the ramp that led to the gunnels of the ship and the ocean beyond.

The lower charge had released cleanly from its cradle but had gotten out of balance as it slid down the chute, twisting slightly so that it was now wedged in place, almost two feet short of the end of the chute.

The barrel was stuck fast, one side higher than the other against the side rails of the chute. The upper charge had started to roll down the chute but had become blocked behind the lower one. Mark could see that if he was able to release the wedged barrel, both depth charges would travel down the ramp and into the ocean.

Mark ducked under the ramp and reached up to grab the high end of the wedged charge. Bracing his feet on the deck, he heaved on the metal rim of the barrel. For a moment, he was in equilibrium with the barrel, as he brought his full body weight and every ounce of strength he possessed to bear on releasing the barrel.

Then, his hands slipped in the grease that coated the edges of the barrel, and he crashed onto his back on the steel plating of the deck. The fall knocked the wind out of him and sent blinding flashes of pain along his spine.

The grease that was supposed to let the charges roll more smoothly down the chute was now stopping him from getting the charges rolling again. The irony of the situation was not lost on Mark.

He cursed quietly in frustration and anger as he lay on his back on the hard steel decking of the _Helios_ , sucking in agonised breaths as the seconds ticked by and dawn lit up the sky above him.

oOo

Siegfried waded to the watertight door. With a flick of his wrist, he opened the protective cover on the control panel next to the door, exposing the keypad. He began to enter his command code when he heard a shout from one of the sailors.

"Sir, wait!"

Siegfried turned to glare at the Mechaniker, but paused when he saw the fear in the man's eyes.

"The compartment might be flooded, Kapitänleutnant!"

Siegfried had been so focussed on trying to rescue Leutnant Traube that he'd not for a moment stopped to consider the situation.

If the torpedo room was flooded, Gerhard Traube would have drowned by now. If he opened the door, the water could rush into this compartment, putting his and the torpedomen's lives at risk.

There was also the risk that with the two most forward compartments flooded, U-13 wouldn't have the power to stay afloat, and the entire submarine would be dragged nose-first to the ocean floor below. Siegfried knew that the boat wasn't designed for that depth, and that they'd be crushed like a tin can long before they hit the bottom of the sea.

Siegfried didn't want to believe the Leutnant was dead, but he couldn't put the boat at risk to find out. He sighed, for the first time hating the responsibility that came with being in command.

"Very well," he intoned, his voice betraying his sadness, "move to the rear compartments of the boat. I'll reseal the doors on my way back to the control room."

The two sailors began wading up the sloping deck, grabbing hold of pipes where they could to help them climb towards the upper door. When they were halfway up the compartment, they stopped to collect the still insensible form of their Unteroffizier.

In the momentary silence that came from reaching out for the Petty Officer, Siegfried heard what sounded like a banging sound. He dismissed the noise, until he heard it again just a second later, and then a third time.

"Ruhig!" he hissed, "Quiet! Can you hear that?

Both sailors stopped instantly, trying to listen for any sound. Then it happened again. Bang! Bang! Bang!

Regular, rhythmic, and coming from the torpedo room.

oOo

"This will not be my last dawn!" he thought grimly, staring at the chute and the last two depth charges.

The seconds ticked by as Mark tried to overcome his anxiety and fear, to look at the problem from another direction.

"30 seconds, Sir," squawked the radio speaker, "do you still want the release mechanism set to engaged?"

The unbidden update sparked an idea in Mark's fevered mind. It was a risky move to make, but it was the only move Mark had left, if he wanted to save the _Helios_.

"Wait for my signal," he spoke into the radio, "then set the release lever to the 'Free' position."

"Free position, on your command. Aye-aye Sir," Lieutenant Evans replied through the radio speaker.

Quickly, Mark climbed onto the chute, so he was perched above the topmost depth charge, with his feet resting on the top of the barrel. He reached up over his head, grabbing one of the supporting cross beams of the chute with his right hand.

The angle of the chute looked incredibly steep from this position, and Mark couldn't see anything except the inky black of the ocean when he peered past the two remaining depth charges.

"Evans," he called into the radio, "unlock the release lever NOW!"

Mark quickly slipped the radio back into his belt, then reached up with his left hand, grabbing the cross beam. He was now holding on to the frame of the chute with both hands.

Mark heard the clanking of the mechanism as it moved into the 'Free' position. The mechanism was now completely disengaged, allowing the depth charges to roll freely down the chute. Assuming, of course, he could unjam the lower depth charge.

Summoning all his strength, Mark lifted his feet up into the air. Bending at the hips, he brought his legs into a position where he could kick out at the uppermost depth charge.

He bellowed with effort and rage at the depth charges, as he used his strength, his weight and the force of gravity to slam his feet into the barrel of the upper charge. The sound of his feet hitting the metal wall of the barrel echoed off the superstructure, and was accompanied by a deafening grinding sound as the wedged charge slipped slightly in the chute.

The pain that Mark had felt in his ankle and knee when he landed at the bottom of the stairs was replaced by a fresh agony from those injuries that was so intense it threatened to rob him of consciousness. All Mark could see was a blinding white light, and all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears.

It took a moment for Mark's vision to clear. He shook his head, then looked down at the wedged depth charge.

It had moved, a lot. But not enough. It was still stuck in the chute.

"20 seconds, Commander," the speaker in the radio told him, but to Mark it sounded like the radio was buried under thick, wet sand.

Mark raised his legs into the strike pose once more, his ankle and knee protesting loudly at the abuse.

"One. More. Try!" he grunted, slamming his feet into the uppermost charge once again.

As Mark's feet collided with the barrel, the pain overwhelmed him and he lost consciousness. His hands involuntarily relaxed, releasing their grip on the cross beam, and his body crumpled onto the top of the upper charge.

With a violent screech of metal grinding on metal, the wedged side of the lower charge finally came free from the rail. It started rolling down the chute, gathering momentum until it hurled itself off the end of the chute and out into the ocean with an enormous splash.

Once the blockage was cleared, and with the mechanism set to the 'Free' position, there was nothing to stop the upper charge continuing its path to the sea. Just a second later, that depth charge also began rolling towards the end of the chute and the ocean beyond, with the unconscious form of Commander Mark Bowman being carried along with it.

Chapter 11

North Sea, off the coast of Belgium  
Friday 11 September 1914

"Schnell," Siegfried called to the two sailors, "quickly, bring me something metallic."

Bang! Bang! Bang! The sound came again from inside the torpedo room.

One of the Mechanikers reached up to a tool cabinet mounted on the bulkhead and opened the door. He reached inside and withdrew a large chrome wrench. It was nearly as long as his forearm and was so thick he could barely wrap his hand around the handle.

"Excellent!" called Siegfried, "bring it here!"

The torpedoman waded far enough down the compartment to hand Siegfried the wrench, before returning to help his comrade with the stricken Petty Officer.

"Go now," Siegfried ordered the torpedomen, "take the Unteroffizier to sick bay for treatment."

Siegfried hefted the wrench in his hand, then carefully selected a spot on the watertight door. He drew back his arm and swung the wrench into the metal door.

The noise from the wrench strike echoed around the compartment, and Siegfried's arm tingled from the vibration. He drew back his arm again before striking the door a second time, and then a third.

As the echo died away, Siegfried heard the pattern repeated from inside the torpedo room. Leutnant Traube was still alive and able to respond!

Suddenly, a crackling sound came from the intercom speaker mounted on the roof of the compartment.

"Kapitänleutnant? This is the XO. We have repaired the intercom. Can you hear me?"

"Ja," Siegfried replied, pressing the intercom button next to the watertight door, "what is our status?"

"We are stationary in the water, maintaining position 20 metres below the surface. Our attitude is 15 degrees nose down.

"Repairs are underway for damaged systems, and we have 60 percent power in the electric engine. Helm reports the boat is sluggish, but controllable, although the Steuermann is fighting to bring the nose back up."

"The torpedo room is flooded," Siegfried reported, explaining why the nose of the boat was not rising the way it normally would.

"Leutnant Traube?" the XO asked through the intercom, the crackling of the speaker helping to hide the sadness in his voice.

"Alive," Siegfried reported, "but trapped in the torpedo room."

There was a long pause, as Oberleutnant Schmidt processed the situation.

"I see." he eventually replied, "Your orders, Sir?"

Siegfried hesitated, uncertain about his next move. In his mind, he was balancing the life of a single member of his crew against the safety of his boat, weighing up the risks and calculating the best course of action to take.

After a few more seconds of deliberation, he finally made his decision. Siegfried reached for the intercom button to give the XO his orders.

oOo

"Mark? Mark? Can you hear me?"

Mark had always hoped that, when he died, he'd get to see his beloved wife Margaret as he passed from this world. Now, it seemed he'd been right, and she was calling to him. That was the only thing that made sense.

Mark remembered seeing the depth charges rolling down the chute, with him being carried along with them as he passed into unconsciousness. He knew he was falling towards the ocean, so he must be drowning, and Margaret was reaching out to him as he died.

"Mark, I need you to open your eyes," Margaret said.

Her voice didn't quite sound right, but Mark thought it was probably because he was under water. He wanted to see her, one last time, so he tried his best to obey her voice and open his eyes.

As his eyes flickered open, he saw that everything seemed very bright and very white. He was having trouble focusing, and the person leaning over him was blurred and indistinct.

"Strange," he thought idly, "Margaret's hair isn't blonde."

He tried to ask her about it, and he could feel his lips moving slightly, but no sound seemed to come out.

"Don't try to talk, Mark," Margaret said, "you've been through quite a trauma and now it's time to rest."

Mark tried to nod, but his muscles didn't seem to want to obey the instructions his mind was sending.

And then his world went black again.

oOo

When Siegfried had finished outlining his plan over the intercom, the response from the XO was immediate.

"Understood, Kapitänleutnant," Hans Schmidt's voice crackled through the speaker, "we will execute the manoeuvre on your command."

This was an incredibly risky action to take. Siegfried was going to place his submarine and his crew in jeopardy to try to save the life of one man. But he couldn't leave Gerhard Traube to drown, and judging by how quickly Hans Schmidt had agreed to his plan, neither could the XO.

Siegfried began tapping out a message to the weapons officer, using the wrench to strike the watertight door. He hoped he remembered his classes in Morse code properly. More importantly, he hoped Gerhard knew how to interpret the dots and dashes.

"Will lower nose, then open door," Siegfried tapped out in code, "be ready."

It was a gamble to leave the message so short, but Siegfried didn't want to confuse the officer with a lengthy explanation transmitted by Morse code.

It was also a gamble to lower the nose of U-13 by another 25 degrees, but if he didn't, the water would rush into the compartment when he opened the door. He just hoped there was enough power in the engine to recover from the manoeuvre.

Leutnant Traube began tapping his reply on the watertight door.

"R - E - A - D - Y," Siegfried translated, saying each letter aloud, "Ready."

Siegfried reached for the control panel next to the watertight door and entered the first six digits of his command override code. Then, he pressed the intercom button.

"Go ahead, Oberleutnant," he ordered, before reaching out with his left hand to grab the railing that ran along the edge of the door.

"All hands, brace, brace, brace!" came the order from the XO over the tannoy.

With a groaning sound, the nose of U-13 started to dip even further downwards, as if the submarine was pivoting on an invisible bar stuck through her middle. The water in the compartment sloshed forward, pooling against the bulkhead as the floor became steeper and steeper.

Siegfried found himself being pulled into the bulkhead by the force of gravity. He braced his feet against the wall and reached out with his right hand to enter the final digit of his command code.

Without warning, the speed of the turn increased dramatically, and Siegfried's hand was sent flying into the control panel. His fingers buckled, causing him to press several buttons at the same time. The control panel gave an ominous beeping sound. The override code had reset.

Cursing, Siegfried, tried to enter the code again, but his fingers were bruised from smashing into the panel. Every button press was agonising, and his barely responsive fingers kept hitting the wrong key. Every time he made a mistake, he had to press 'clear' and start the sequence again.

Eventually, he was able to enter all seven digits in order, and the watertight door began to slide open. Slowly at first, then gaining speed, the opening between the door and the bulkhead became wider and wider.

Siegfried peered into the gap, straight into the eyes of a very wet and frightened Leutnant Gerhard Traube.

"Danke, Kapitänleutnant," Gerhard stuttered through chattering teeth.

The opening was getting wider, and soon Siegfried would be able to pull the Leutnant up through the gap and out of the torpedo room. He just needed a few seconds more, and the space would be wide enough.

The door began to vibrate, and a terrible screeching sound of metal on metal filled the compartment. Siegfried glanced at the door and realised with despair what must have happened.

The water pressure and the depth charge explosion must have buckled the bulkhead. Now, the recess where the watertight door should slide was twisted out of shape, and the door could no longer open all the way.

Siegfried reached over and slapped the emergency stop button. Instantly, the vibration and the screeching stopped. Siegfried looked through the slim gap between the door and the bulkhead.

"The door is jammed, Leutnant," he said, looking Gerhard in the eyes, "it will not open any further. You must squeeze through this gap."

Leutnant Traube looked sceptically at the narrow space.

"I'm not sure I can fit, Sir," he replied.

Siegfried ignored the comment and reached through the gap with both hands, grabbing Leutnant Traube by the collar on his coveralls. Bracing one foot against the bulkhead and the other on the watertight door, Siegfried leaned back and began to pull Gerhard up through the gap.

First his head, then his shoulders came through the gap, followed by his chest. When his belly came level with the bulkhead though, Gerhard became stuck.

Siegfried changed his grip on the young officer's uniform and tried again. Leutnant Traube didn't budge.

"Breathe in, Leutnant!" Siegfried ordered, changing his grip again.

Gerhard Traube sucked in his belly, as Siegfried heaved with all his might. Like a cork from a champagne bottle, the Leutnant shot out of the gap, tumbling onto the sloping deck of the compartment. Siegfried, suddenly freed from the resistance of the Leutnant's weight, went rolling across the deck as well.

For a moment, Siegfried lay on the sloping deck, panting and aching in every part of his body. Then, slowly, he got up and limped to the control panel.

After setting the watertight door to close again, he pressed the intercom button.

"Oberleutnant," he called to the XO, "the weapons officer is out of the torpedo room and the watertight door is closing. Return the boat to straight and level."

"Straight and level, aye-aye Sir," came the reply, "or as close to it as we can manage."

"Understood, XO."

Siegfried turned to Leutnant Traube.

"Report to sick bay, Leutnant. I want the medic to check you over before you return to duty."

"Aye-aye, Kapitänleutnant. And Sir," Gerhard paused, before continuing, "danke, Sir. I owe you my life."

Siegfried simply nodded in response, suddenly feeling too exhausted to speak.

Chapter 12

North Sea, off the coast of France  
Saturday 12 September 1914

Mark's eyes fluttered open, to reveal a smooth white ceiling. He was lying on his back, and the narrow bed beneath him felt hard and unforgiving. He turned his head slightly, groaning softly with the pain the movement caused. He could see a couple of white cabinets, with frosted glass panels set into the doors. Beside him was a bright chrome tray, with a white cloth covering whatever the tray was holding.

He turned his head back to look at the ceiling, blinking his eyes in the brightness of the room. Mark tried to sit up, but the effort seemed to be beyond his abilities at the moment.

"Oh, you're awake."

Mark heard the voice coming from the foot of the bed and tried to lift his head to see the woman who was speaking.

"No, no," the voice said, "don't try to get up."

As the voice moved around the bed, Mark decided to just wait for her to get to him. In reality, though, he simply didn't have the strength to lift his head, let alone get up.

The voice, Mark realised, as she came into his field of vision, belonged to the ship's surgeon, Doctor Emily Byrne.

Doctor Byrne wasn't overly tall, but she wore her long blonde hair in a tight bun on top of her head, making her seem larger than her actual height. From Mark's position lying on the bed, she seemed to tower over him.

Her air of control in the infirmary added to the perception that she was not to be trifled with, and her pince-nez glasses, complete with short black cord connecting the frame to the button on her shirt pocket, completed the look of authority.

The doctor actually held the military rank of Commander, although her rank insignia was sewn onto a scarlet background, creating the appearance of red stripes between the bands of gold braid. The scarlet background denoted her as a medical officer, instead of a command officer like Mark, whose gold braid was sewn onto a black background. They were peers by rank, but as the Chief Medical Officer on board the _Helios_ , she actually had authority over everyone, including him and the Captain, when it came to medical matters.

"What happened?" Mark croaked, when the doctor got to the top of his bed.

"You have two hairline fractures in your right ankle, and a torn ligament in your right knee. While painful, these injuries will heal with time and some rest. I'll be putting your ankle in a cast and fitting a brace to your knee. You'll need bed rest for two or three weeks, then you'll be using a cane for about six more weeks until the damage has healed."

"No," he groaned, "what happened to the ship?"

"Oh, right, what?" the doctor looked genuinely puzzled, as if she couldn't understand why a patient would be asking her about anything other than her diagnosis and course of treatment. Mark did his best to fix her with a stare, but he was so medicated he doubted whether he'd been able to convey his desperate need to know what had happened to the _Helios_.

"We're still afloat, and making for Dover," Doctor Byrne said dismissively, "but if you want to know more than that you'll have to ask the captain."

Her expression softened as she looked at Mark, lying uncomfortably on the infirmary bed, his face contorted by a mixture of pain and anxiety.

"You're extremely lucky, Mark," Emily said kindly, putting a hand on his shoulder, "from what I've been told you did, your injuries could have been far worse.

"In fact, if it wasn't for Leading Seaman McDougall grabbing you and pulling you off the chute before you tumbled into the ocean, you wouldn't be lying here right now."

Mark looked at her quizzically, unsure what she was saying.

"I don't remember what happened after I got the depth charges released down the chute," he said simply, "it's all a blank from then until I woke up here a few minutes ago."

Doctor Byrne nodded, continuing to pat Mark's shoulder.

"That's not really surprising Mark," she replied, "you went through quite a traumatic experience yesterday. But don't worry about it now. The Captain said he'd talk to you about it when he next comes to the infirmary."

"Yesterday?" Mark stammered, "I've been unconscious since yesterday?"

"No, Mark," Emily said gently, "you were only unconscious for a few minutes. You've been sedated since then."

Mark watched as the doctor injected him with another dose of sedative, and his world faded to black once more.

oOo

North Sea, off the coast of The Netherlands  
Saturday 12 September 1914

U-13 had spent almost 24 agonising hours playing possum in the North Sea, staying as silent as possible while the battleship patrolled above her.

Siegfried had ordered the crew to finalise their repairs with the minimum amount of noise possible, so as not to give away their position.

"We have less than an hour's air remaining, Sir," Oberleutnant Schmidt reported in a hoarse whisper, "after which we'll have to surface."

Siegfried nodded, considering the problem from every angle.

If they stayed where they were, the battleship would spot them within a few minutes of being forced to surface. Without the forward torpedo room to defend them, they would be an easy target for the deck guns of the British ship.

If he tried to slip away, to put some distance between them and the battleship before he surfaced his boat, he was likely to give away their position when the engines engaged. This would be an invitation for the battleship to drop even more depth charges on them.

Siegfried subconsciously stroked his chin as he examined the options, completely unaware of the stubble on his face. No matter which option he picked, U-13 and her crew would still be in extreme danger.

"Kapitänleutnant!" Marta Reichen called softly from the sonar station, "the enemy battleship is moving away!"

Siegfried made his way quietly to the Unteroffizier's station.

"Are you sure it's not just part of the patrol pattern?"

"Nein, Sir, I've been listening to their pattern for hours. They are very predictable. This is a very different movement, away from us, at speed."

"How far away are they now?"

"5,000 metres."

"How long until they are out of range of your equipment, Unteroffizier?"

"At this speed, another 25 minutes, Sir."

Siegfried looked at Hans Schmidt, who nodded his agreement with the unspoken plan.

"Very well," Siegfried ordered, "we'll maintain position and current operational silence for 30 minutes. If the warship goes out of range, and no other enemy vessels are detected, we'll surface and make a run for Norderney."

Siegfried considered going to periscope depth, to get one last look at the retreating battleship. Then, he realised it was just his vanity considering that course of action.

"This round goes to you, Herr Kapitän," Siegfried thought, projecting his frustration at the retreating battleship, "but perhaps we'll meet again before this war is over."

Epilogue

War Office, London, England  
Monday 2 November 1914

"Come!" barked the First Lord of the Admiralty in response to the knock on his door.

The aide bustled quickly into the office. He knew his master despised anything that wasted time. Once inside the room, he came straight to the point.

"The Ottomans have declared war on the British Empire, Sir."

"As I knew they would," Winston replied, his gravelly voice carrying a note of vindication and triumph.

Winston Churchill had been predicting this turn of events for weeks. He had predicted the aggression of Germany and had begun to make preparations for war well before the declaration. With the same clarity, he had seen a vision of the Ottoman Empire trying to court both sides, in the hope of somehow staying neutral.

"Mark my words," he had said to his colleagues in the War Cabinet, "The Ottomans cannot say they are neutral when we have offered them our protection, and a place in the glorious British Empire, and they have rejected such a magnificent offer!

"The Ottomans will declare for Germany!" he had thundered, "The only question is when!"

Privately, Winston was surprised they had waited this long. The war had started at the end of July, but the Ottoman Empire had not declared war until the end of October.

Still, he was ready for them. He took great pride in his skills at being prepared for all possible eventualities.

Churchill stood up from his desk and moved to the large map on the wall in his office. He knew the location of each fleet he was responsible for, although he wasn't aware of the individual ships. He had admirals under the control of the Lord Fisher, the First Sea Lord, to manage the details. Winston was focussed on the overall strategy.

He reached up with one finger and tapped the map.

"Constantinople!" he called firmly to the Aide, tapping the capital of the Ottoman Empire on the map, "That's the key.

"We must force the Dardanelles," he continued, tracing the curve of the waterway that led from the Aegean Sea, through The Narrows and into the Sea of Marmara, "and take Constantinople!

"We cannot use our main battle fleet," he mused, "the German High Seas Fleet is well equipped, with well-trained men and women. We need our new Dreadnought-class warships to fight the Germans."

Winston paused for a moment, considering the possibilities. He knew that the Ottomans had forts with powerful guns strategically placed along the Dardanelles, and there were credible reports that mines had been laid in The Narrows.

"We'll use our older battleships for the Dardanelles campaign," he decided, "and keep the Dreadnoughts to teach the Germans a lesson."

He turned to the Aide.

"Send word to the First Sea Lord that I want him here within the hour. We have plans to make!"

Winston paused for a moment.

"What's the newest of the pre-Dreadnought battleships we have available?"

_"HMS Helios_ , Sir," the Aide replied, after checking his clipboard.

"Very good! Tell Lord Fisher that I want the _Helios_ as the flagship for the campaign."

oOo

Island of Norderney, North Sea, off the coast of Germany  
Friday 6 November 1914

Siegfried held the communique in his hand, reading it for the third time. He was having trouble believing what he was seeing.

The Ottoman Empire had declared war on the British, and the British had responded by declaring war on them. Now, he and his crew were going to be sent to the Mediterranean Sea to patrol for British ships that might try to attack the Ottomans.

Siegfried hated that they were being removed from the main fight here in Europe. But he was realistic enough to not be surprised at being sidelined and sent to what he saw as the backwater of the Dardanelles.

His first patrol had not exactly been filled with glory. His submarine had been crippled, and he had limped back into Norderney with the nose of U-13 a mangled wreck. For the last six weeks, the submarine had been in dry dock being repaired, and the engineers told him the boat wouldn't be ready to put back to sea until early January 1915.

By the time they were operational again, U-13 would have been out of the fighting for almost three months, depriving Germany of a vital asset in a time of war. Siegfried was fairly certain that if he had lost a crew member, as well as having his submarine crippled, he would have been summoned to Berlin to face a court-martial.

He sighed. There was no point complaining. The Admirals issued their orders, and it was his responsibility to obey.

Siegfried went to find Oberleutnant Schmidt. It was time to tell the XO about their next assignment.

###

Thank you for reading my book.

If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave a review at Goodreads or your favourite retailer.

Thanks!

Stephen Archer

Other titles by Stephen Archer

The Billy Bowman Adventures

The Sun Never Sets (Book 1)

Land of Hope and Glory (Book 2)

A Wing and a Prayer (Book 3)

The White Cliffs of Dover (Book 4)

God Save the Queen (Book 5)

Mark Bowman, RN series

Dawn Patrol (Novella)

The Dardanelles (Book 1)

ANZAC Cove (Book 2)

Author's Note: At the time of this publication, not all of these books are in print. Please check the author's website or social media accounts, or contact the author via email for updated information.

History and the Billy Bowman Adventures

Like all of the books in the Billy Bowman series, this novella is based around real historical events. There is, of course, some licence taken as this is a very different world to our own, but wherever possible, actual events have been used as the basis for the story.

In the case of this Mark Bowman adventure, U-13 was a World War I era German submarine, which disappeared on her maiden voyage in 1914 and was never heard from again. There was no actual British battleship called _HMS Helios_ , but the pre-dreadnought class of ships did patrol in the North Sea, until many of them were sent to the Mediterranean to fight in the Dardanelles campaign.

Language

For authenticity, some German language has been used in this book. The meaning of the German phrases can be drawn from the context, and where possible, an English translation has been used in a nearby sentence. For those unfamiliar with the German Navy ranks (and perhaps even the British ones), the list below contains the roles and ranks used in this book.

Sailors and non-commissioned officers

Helmsman - Steuermann

Torpedoman - Mechaniker

Petty Officer - Unteroffizier

Officers

Midshipman - Seekadett

Second Lieutenant - Leutnant (zur see)

Lieutenant - Oberleutnant (zur see)

Lieutenant Commander - Kapitänleutnant

Commander - KorvettenKapitän

Captain - Kapitän (zur see)

Acknowledgements

No book is a solitary effort. While the author sits down somewhere to write, there are numerous people behind the scenes who help and support the journey from idea to written word. My undying thanks go to my family and friends, who supported the creation of this book.

In particular, I'd like to thank Bec, who smiled indulgently at the recurring phrase "I'm just going to write for an hour before dinner", as well as Caitlin, Ryen and Harry, for their unconditional love.

I owe a huge debt to Sean Guy, who freely gave of his time, his advice and his own experience as a published author. I'm also indebted to Nicole Brown, for her enthusiastic reading (even from a hospital bed) and her feedback on some of the earliest drafts.

To all the early readers - Sav, Cat, Johanna, Alyssa, Cath, Debbie, Caitlin and Lotus - I thank you for your time and support for my stories.

I'd also like to give a shout-out to Melissa's Take Away in the Vic Hotel arcade in Darwin, for their delicious food and friendly service during my lunchtime writing sessions!

Cover images by _DarkWorkX_ and _OpenClipart-Vectors_ , from www.pixabay.com. Image details available from the author's website

About Stephen Archer

Stephen has been a storyteller for as long as he can remember. A colleague once quipped that he only speaks in anecdotes. Which reminded him of a story! Which he immediately told to everyone within earshot!

Inspired by his love of history, Stephen creates tales of adventure and heroism, set in a fantasy world that's familiar, but at the same time shockingly different to our own.

After growing up in Queensland, Stephen worked as a high school teacher, before joining the Royal Australian Air Force. Since then, he has worked as a university lecturer and a government trainer. He is also a screenwriter and filmmaker in his spare time.

Stephen and his wife, Bec, live in Darwin, in the beautiful and rugged Northern Territory of Australia. They love to travel but are not so keen on being woken at 5am every day by their demanding cats.

Read Stephen's interview at Smashwords:

<https://www.smashwords.com/interview/StephenArcher>

Connect with me

View my website: <http://stephenarcherauthor.com/>

Friend me on Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/Stephen-Archer-Author-101349358119896>

Follow me on Twitter: <https://twitter.com/@SArcher_Author>

Favourite me at Smashwords: <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/StephenArcher>

Excerpt from "The Sun Never Sets", Book 1 of the Billy Bowman Adventures

Available 9 March 2020 at your favourite e-book store and as a limited edition paperback from The Bookshop in Darwin or www.stephenarcherauthor.com

To reserve your copy, visit <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/StephenArcher>

Prologue

Caloundra, Colony of Queensland, Australia  
June 1940

This was Billy's favourite time of the day.

The winter sun had set three hours ago, and the night had quickly closed in around their small home. The flickering light from the lamps was enough to cast a comfortable glow around the room, but it was the fire in the hearth that warded off the winter chill.

The cicadas were quiet now, and Billy could hear the ocean waves crashing on the beach - the faint, rhythmic sound of the surge and retreat of the waves carried on the gentle breeze that wafted up from the sea.

Dinner in the Bowman house had, as always, been a simple affair, with his parents insisting that the entire family spend each mealtime seated at the table. His mother, Mary, was an able cook, and although Billy's father didn't bring in a lot of money from his sales job for the Buderim Ginger Factory, the family always had enough to eat.

Now, Billy had helped with the clean-up after the meal, cleaned his teeth and was settled into bed, waiting impatiently for his father to come and read to him before putting out the lantern.

Yes, Billy loved the time his father spent reading to him in the evenings when he was home. Patrick Bowman needed to do quite a bit of travel for his job, across Queensland and even to the other Colonies sometimes, but on his return, he always made time to read to Billy.

Even though Billy was 10 and more than able to read himself, his father always created such a sense of realism and emotion from the words that Billy felt he was actually there in the story,

Of course, 'story' wasn't really the right word for it. The only book that Billy had was the only book that was approved by the Government - _The History of the British Empire_.

_The History_ was factual and accurate in every way (it must be, for that was printed clearly, in large bold text on the back cover of every copy). It told how the Empire was held together by the benevolent and mighty will of the Royal Family, and how the peace that the Bowman family enjoyed, even in their far-flung colony, had been forged by the power of the Sovereigns of old and maintained by the King of today.

Billy knew much of the book by heart, as did all of his friends at school, his parents, their friends and their neighbours.

"So, what would you like to hear tonight, William?"

His father always asked what Billy wanted to hear, even though he was supposed to work through a set schedule of readings each year.

His father also always called him William, even though everyone else called him Billy. "It's a royal name" his father said simply, as if that was reason enough.

"Can we read about the rebellion, please?"

"Again? I read that to you last week."

"I know, but I like that story most of all!"

"Well, I suppose it is a turning point for our history. Without that, I'm sure we'd live in a very different world." His father shuddered slightly, as if the very thought of such a thing was unnatural and abhorrent.

Billy's father took _The History_ from the shelf above the bed, and opened the volume carefully, almost reverently.

With barely a pause, he turned to the chapter titled 'The American Rebellion'. A black and white picture of one of the leaders of the rebellion was printed in an upper corner of the page, with the caption 'George Washington, convicted traitor'.

"By mid-1760," Patrick Bowman read, "the colonies His Majesty, King George III, had established in the Americas were doing well, producing ample products to maintain themselves, with a large surplus of important goods for export back to England.

"The colonies were trading between themselves, and prosperity was the norm for any colonist willing to work hard for King and Country.

"However, as the 1760s drew to a close, a number of dissidents and agitators began to emerge. Their cry was that, since they worked hard to produce the goods, then they were entitled to sell those goods to whomever they wanted and to keep the profits for themselves.

"Several of the Governors of the Colonies - men who had forgotten their allegiance to the Crown (perhaps because they were born in America, instead of being true Englishmen) - began to give credence to these dissidents. Some of the Governors even wrote to the King to implore His Majesty to let them keep the money for themselves.

"Of course, such notions of individual profiteering have no place in our vibrant and benevolent Empire. And so the King, in spite of his overwhelming sense of decency and respect for all citizens, had no choice but to remind the Governors and the colonists that they were part of the Empire and must always do what was best for the Empire.

"And, His Majesty continued, it had come to his Royal attention that given their apparent affluence, the American colonies were not actually contributing a just and reasonable amount to the Empire. Hence, a Proclamation of an increase in both goods provided and taxes levied accompanied the reply from His Majesty to the letters sent by the Governors.

"Unfortunately, the Governors and the dissidents tried to resist the Royal Proclamation. At first, there were only a small number of objections, but over the following years, the colonists began to refuse to pay their lawful taxes and instead channelled that money into increasingly violent acts against the forces of His Majesty.

"Raids, bombings and destruction of property all increased during the 1770s, with the colonists becoming more and more unruly and disobedient to the Crown.

"Finally, in 1776, the colonists issued a declaration, stating they would be independent of England and no longer part of the Empire. This was, in reality, a declaration of war against the Empire that had founded the colonies, supported them in their lean early years, and required nothing more from them now than loyalty and a return on that initial investment.

"After a series of battles, the poorly organised and virtually untrained colonists were defeated by the magnificent army of His Majesty, King George.

"The rebel leaders, the men who had signed the declaration, were rounded up to a man, given a fair trial to defend themselves and their actions, before being found guilty of High Treason and sentenced to death.

"During the course of the rebellion, it became clear that the American colonies were being supported in their aggression against the Empire by the government of France. After the rebels were defeated, His Majesty determined that the French must never again be allowed to threaten the peace of the British Empire.

"The Government of France was therefore given a simple choice: the unconditional surrender of France and all her colonies to become a dominion of the British Empire, or face utter and total destruction. France chose to join the Empire.

"With the strength of the King, not only were the American colonies brought back to stability and prosperity, but the wayward French were also given the protection of His Majesty."

And with that, Billy's father finished the reading, as he always did, with a heartfelt 'God Save the King.'
Chapter 1

Caloundra, Colony of Queensland, Australia  
Monday 7 September 1942

Billy woke early, with the first rays of the sun peeking through the curtains of his bedroom. Within moments, he'd thrown off the covers and was racing out of his room, down the hall, through the living room and into the kitchen.

His mother was busy at the stove, alternating between stoking the fire and shuffling the food in the skillet. Billy could smell the eggs and bacon from the hallway, but the scent didn't register until he got to the kitchen and saw his mother labouring over the pan.

"Morning dear," his mother called over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off the skillet, "Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."

"Bacon and eggs?" Billy queried, "on a Monday?"

"Well, it is a special day, dear. I wanted to make sure you had a nice breakfast on your first day at secondary school."

Billy blushed a little, and was glad his mother had her back to him and didn't notice. It wasn't that Billy had forgotten he was starting in First Form today. Far from it, he'd been looking forward to this day for months.

No, Billy felt the wonderful tug of love and appreciation for his mother that came from her getting up so early to get him breakfast. He was humbled by her sacrifice, and once again reminded himself of his vow to follow her example and be selfless in everything he did.

"Always take care of others," she would say, "it makes the Empire strong. Good things will always come to us when the Empire is strong."

Down the hall, Billy could hear his father moving about. In a few moments, he would arrive in the kitchen, and the day could properly begin.

Billy took his seat at the small table in the kitchen alcove. He loved this spot, nestled into the bay window that looked out over the side garden. His mother had put a lot of time and effort into the garden, and even though the space was just a few feet across, Billy couldn't see the fence for all of the plants and ornaments that seemed to fill every available nook and cranny in the yard.

The weather had begun to warm as winter fell behind them, and the spring sun had brought many of the plants to their first bloom of the season. From the slightly open window next to Billy's seat, the fragrance of hibiscus and mint, damp soil and jasmine wafted into the kitchen, mixing in an almost raucous way with the smells coming from the pan on the stove.

As Billy's father entered the room, the kettle on the stove began to whistle. In a deft and well-practiced move, Billy's mother whisked the kettle off the stove top and poured the boiling water into the teapot on the bench next to her.

"Morning family," Billy's father called out cheerily, bustling into the room and taking his place at the head of the small table, "How goes it this fine morning?"

Billy's mother came over to the table, placing the teapot on the trivet at the same time she pecked her husband on the cheek.

"It's a wonderful day, dear."

"Is that bacon I can smell?"

"Aye. Special breakfast for our boy today."

"Fair enough, although I don't mind saying that I'd be very happy if there was enough left over for his Old Man to have a serving."

Billy's mother smiled indulgently at his gentle questioning. After all these years of marriage, Patrick Bowman knew full well that his wife would have cooked more than enough bacon for him and Billy to share. And Mary Bowman knew that this was his way of thanking her for looking after him and Billy.

Billy smiled at them both. He was old enough now to be well aware of the interactions between the adults in his life. He'd once overheard his mother say that Billy was far more attuned to the mood of those around him than most children of his age. At the time, Billy wasn't completely sure what his mother meant, but as he grew older it became more and more clear to him that he could sense how people were feeling.

This empathy for others had made Billy very popular in his primary school. His classmates soon discovered that Billy was a good listener and would be a friend that could be relied upon. Billy didn't have enemies, although some of the less mature students were jealous of his popularity. Rather, Billy had friends who didn't always like him. It was rare for Billy to have a cross word to say about anyone, and he stayed away from those would try to boost their own confidence and social position by gossiping or belittling others.

By now, the bacon and eggs were ready, and, for the first time, Billy was served first, ahead of his father. Billy looked at his father for a reaction to this breach of protocol, but Patrick was smiling indulgently at his son.

"Go ahead," Patrick said warmly, "today is the start of your journey into manhood."

He winked at Billy.

"My father did the same thing for me when I started First Form, so let's call it a tradition, eh."

Billy nodded solemnly, out of respect for his father, but at the same time he was ecstatic about being called a man and being given precedence at the meal table. Billy carefully cut a piece of bacon and some egg, savouring the smell as he slowly raised the fork of food to his mouth.

His father continued to smile at Billy for a moment longer, before turning his attention to his own plate of food. After a few minutes, his mother joined them at the table.

For the next few minutes, the family enjoyed their breakfast in companionable silence, before Patrick Bowman again spoke to Billy.

"So," his father continued, as if the silence had never happened, "are you looking forward to extending your education, William?"

"Absolutely!" Billy replied enthusiastically, "I can't wait to get started."

Billy's father chuckled, then grew serious for a moment.

"You know, it's not too late to join the Royal Navy. Your grandfather joined when he was twelve and spent a good portion of his life at sea, fighting for the Crown and defending the Realm."

"I thought about it very hard," Billy said equally seriously, "and I'm very proud of what Grandfather did for all of us, especially in the Great War."

Billy's father nodded, appreciating the sentiment, but also encouraging Billy to continue his explanation.

"A good number of my chums joined straight after school finished."

Billy grew a little sad at the thought of all the friends he wouldn't see again for years, if at all. Then his face took on a more determined look.

"But I did well enough in school to be offered a place at the secondary college, and not everyone gets that chance."

What Billy didn't say, although everyone in the room knew it, was that not everyone from their social class - the middle class - was given the opportunity to advance their education beyond the primary school years.

Everyone in the Empire, male and female, regardless of their social standing, was guaranteed education until the end of the primary years. The Empire ensured every citizen could read, write, do basic arithmetic and understand the key parts of _The History_.

But once that schooling was completed, many in the lower and middle classes would need to work to help support their families. Others simply did not have the grades to advance to secondary education. Those without the means to support themselves, or the skills to study, would be gainfully employed in the factories, or would serve in the lower ranks of the Navy.

This was the way of things in the Empire, and everyone recognised that it was for the good of every citizen that each person accept their place and their role in society.

Billy's face took on a determined look, before he continued his explanation to his parents.

"I have been given a wonderful opportunity, and I intend to make the most of it. I want to do well at school and seek my Commission when I graduate."

"Well done, my boy, well done!" Billy's father enthused, a twinkle of pride in his eyes.

"You'll make a fine officer, I'll wager. You might even become a Captain of your own ship one day, like your Grandfather."

For the second time that morning, Billy blushed.

oOo

After breakfast, Billy helped his mother clear the table and stack the dishes in the steam-driven automated washer, while his father retired to the living room to smoke his pipe and read the paper.

With the chores completed, Billy and Mary joined Patrick in the living room, to await the Anthem. All three Bowman family members settled in their chairs, looking up at the large portrait of King George VI that hung in a gilt frame above the fireplace.

Every home in the Empire had the same portrait. It was provided to every house and building by the government, installed as part of the construction process and only replaced if damaged by some accident or in the event of a change of Monarch. This particular portrait had been in homes for the last six years, since King George VI had taken over from his older brother, after King Edward VIII had died suddenly after less than a year on the throne.

On the stroke of 8 o'clock, the speaker above the portrait clicked on, and a recording of the chime from Big Ben, the Westminster Quarter, was played through every home in the colony.

Habitually, Patrick Bowman removed his pocket watch from his waistcoat, and flicked it open to check its accuracy against the sounding of the Quarter. Satisfied, he returned the watch to his fob pocket, taking care to ensure the thin silver chain didn't get caught on any of the buttons of his waistcoat.

With this ritual complete, he rose from his easy chair, standing ramrod straight and ready for the anthem to begin.

"All men and women of the Empire owe a duty of loyalty and respect to the Crown," he had taught Billy from the age of four.

"We must always remember that we owe our peaceful way of life to the hard work our Sovereigns have done, now and in the past.

"This is why the entire colony stops, at 8 o'clock each morning and at 8 o'clock each night, to honour our King as his anthem is played."

Once Patrick had stood up, Billy and Mary joined him, standing tall and silent, respectful and obedient to the Throne.

As the last note of the Westminster Quarter died away, the speaker began to play the soaring tune of the Anthem, performed by a magnificent orchestra.

All across the Colony of Queensland, the voices of every man, woman and child began to sing the Anthem to their King.

"God save our gracious King, Long live our noble King,

God save the King!

Send him victorious, Happy and glorious,

Long to reign over us,

God save the King!

"Thy choicest gifts in store, On him be pleased to pour,

Long may he reign!

May he defend our laws, And ever give us cause,

To sing with heart and voice,

God save the King!"

As the last notes of the Anthem died away, Billy heard the faint click as the speaker above the portrait switched off.

"Right, everyone," Billy's father announced, "time for work!"

And with that, he kissed his wife on the cheek and patted Billy affectionately on the head, before picking up his umbrella and briefcase, popping on his hat and heading out the front door.

"Time for you to get ready for school," Billy's mother told him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"You only have about 20 minutes until you need to leave."

Billy didn't need to be told twice. He raced down the hall to his bedroom, to begin getting dressed.
Chapter 2

Near Grodekovo, Siberia, Russia  
Monday 7 September 1942

"It is warmer today, Comrade Volkov," the Trooper opined.

Volkov didn't bother to reply. He had very little time for small talk. He was here to complete a mission, and that was the only thing that concerned him. The apparently desperate need of the Troopers to fill the silence with their inane chatter was at best a distraction. At worst, it had the potential to compromise his mission.

Not for the first time this week, Volkov considered whether ridding himself of the Troopers might increase his chances of successfully completing the mission. Also not for the first time, he reminded himself that despite their inability to remain silent, they would become a necessary part of the operation if he needed to cross the border into China.

This was not a typical mission for Volkov, but he knew his duty and would perform his role with professionalism and skill.

He had been recruited into the Soviet Security Division when he was 12 years old and had quickly established himself as highly capable and diligent. There were few forms of training in which he didn't excel.

The one area of his training that was not of such a high standard was his teamwork. His preference was to work alone, and when he was given latitude to complete his mission without interference, he was without peer. However, when required to work with a squad, even when he was their leader, he would struggle to complete the mission.

His dedication and skill made him a formidable operative. But his disdain for teamwork was seen as a liability.

"You must learn to include others," his Instructors had informed him, over and over again, "It is not sufficient to be a lone wolf. You must learn to work with the pack."

One of the Senior Instructors, though, saw this weakness as a new skill he could embrace.

"Other people are weak," she had told him, "compared to you. You have resilience, strength, tenacity. Other people are looking for someone who will guide them, as they cannot make their own decisions.

"Do not despise these people, do not avoid them. Embrace them, guide them, give them the leadership they so desperately crave. And in doing so, manipulate them into doing the things that are necessary for our survival and our country."

Upon graduation from training, he had been given the codename Volkov - 'The Wolf'. In the fifteen years since then, Volkov had become one of the most decorated officers of the Division.

Whenever a small group of sympathisers needed to be stirred into action, Moscow would send in Volkov. If an opportunity arose for planting the seeds of dissent and causing disruption to the insidious, overbearing, totalitarian British Empire, Volkov would plot and coordinate and manipulate to maximise the impact.

But this mission was different. This time, Moscow had sent him to the Sino-Russian border to observe a small village. Moscow had not told him what he was looking for, simply that he was to keep watch.

When receiving his orders, Volkov had briefly wondered if he was being punished for some unknown transgression against the State.

"Do not fret, Comrade Volkov," his Commanding Officer had informed him, as if sensing the doubt in his mind, "you have done nothing wrong. You are simply the only available agent at this time."

Now, a week later, Volkov turned his ice blue eyes to the Trooper, staring at him coldly.

His dispassionate stare was one of his most highly effective tools for changing the behaviours of the men and women around him, manipulating them into doing what he wanted done. His stare made people shiver involuntarily, and was one of the trademarks of The Wolf.

The Trooper was no different to the other weak willed and weak-minded people Volkov dealt with. His voice trailed off under the withering stare.

"Apologies, Comrade Volkov," the Trooper mumbled, before resuming his watch of the border town.

Volkov continued to stare for a moment longer, knowing that the Trooper would be feeling his gaze bore into the back of his head. Volkov also knew that the Trooper would share this moment with his fellow soldiers after his shift.

"I tell you, it was a narrow escape." he'd inform his comrades, "I was certain I was a dead man when I saw those eyes turn upon me."

Volkov rarely needed to resort to such extreme measures. The Senior Instructor had been correct. Once he honed his skill for manipulation, Volkov did not need to employ the violent methods of some of his fellow operatives.

He maintained his lethal skills, of course, as all operatives were required to do. His preference, though, was to engineer situations that met his goals, creating events by manipulating people to do the work for him.

Volkov was the first to admit, though, that his reputation as The Wolf - single-minded, dedicated, unstoppable, full of tightly controlled aggression - made this job much easier. He always liked it when Moscow gave a few days' notice to the area he was going to next. It meant they would be on edge when he arrived, and that made them much less likely to try to resist his orders.

"Maintain your watch," he ordered the Trooper, "and inform me immediately if anything changes in the village."

Volkov turned and stalked away to the Command Post.

oOo

Volkov sat in his small office, at the back of the Command Post. As always, the door to the office was open, so he could hear everything going on outside. His staff couldn't see him, of course, but they knew he was always listening.

"Fear," he mused, "is an excellent motivator."

Volkov ran a gloved finger over the scar on his face. It was wide, almost as wide as his index finger, and ran across the left-hand side of his face from his chin to his ear.

The scar was a relic from the Sino-Soviet conflict in 1929. Not far from where he was standing right now, he had gone into battle against a Chinese machine gun nest. He had graduated training just a year before, and when the order to attack was given, he had realised he probably would not live to see his seventeenth birthday.

Only a few paces into the attack, Volkov had been hit by two machine gun bullets in his thigh, causing him to fall. As he dropped to the ground, a third bullet had whipped across his face, tearing the flesh and leaving him with a bloody wound.

Volkov had been rescued some hours later by the medics, and he received excellent treatment for the wounds in his thigh. The doctors were not, however, interested in performing cosmetic surgery on the face of a sixteen year old boy, so the wound to his face was cleaned and dressed, but only roughly stitched.

The scar was a constant reminder to Volkov of the things that were truly important. His looks were not important, and the fight for freedom has a price that needs to be paid, sometimes in pain, sometimes in blood. He was a revolutionary, in a country that had revolted against their imperial masters.

What he could not understand, though, was why the people who craved freedom were often so unwilling to fight for it. Were they afraid? Did they think that someone else should be responsible for their freedom?

And what about the people who still suffered under the tyranny of the British Crown. Surely they could see that they were trapped in a life of servitude and obedience to their Empire? How could they not stand up against their Monarch, as his people had done in 1917, and demand their freedom?

Volkov's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. He momentarily chided himself for not remaining focussed on the task at hand, but he responded to the knock as if he was thinking of nothing other than the mission.

"Da," he said sternly.

Volkov liked how the Russian word 'Da' carried so much more authority that its English equivalent, 'Yes'.

"Comrade Colonel," the Private standing at the door began, before being silenced by a sharp look from Volkov.

The young soldier realised his error and froze. Volkov did not permit use of his military rank, even though he was one of the youngest officers in Russia to have risen to that high level. Volkov found his code name \- and the reputation that went with it - to be a far more effective tool than his military status.

"Comrade Volkov," the young man quickly corrected himself, "we have received an encoded message, recalling you to Moscow."

"Finally," Volkov thought, although his face betrayed no emotion, "Moscow has a more suitable mission for me."

"Da," was Volkov's only reply.

_The Sun Never Sets_ \- Book 1 of the Billy Bowman Adventures

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