"Alarm! Alaaarm! Dive! Dive! Dive!"
The klaxon blasted through the boat, setting off a tumult of cursing, frantic, hurtling men. Water roared into the submarine's ballast tanks and the vessel began to nose downward. Hatches slammed and valves were cranked. Anything unsecured began to tip onto the floor.
"My laboratory!" Greta caught her coffee mug as it began sliding off the edge of the tiny mess table and plunged into the torrent of sailors hurrying to their battle stations, shoulders cuffing her side as she struggled to the midships ladder.
"Dive! Hurry, dammit! Dive, dive!" Captain Freiwald came sliding down the conning tower ladder and banged onto the control room deck with his binoculars swinging and his cap knocked sideways.
"What is it?" shouted Lieutenant Erich Kluge, the first officer.
"Airplanes. Carrier patrol, probably." Freiwald looked up toward the tower that the sea was now enveloping as if he could see the sky. "Damn! We're already south of the equator! How did they pick us up?"
Greta noticed Kluge's accusing look as she rushed past. The first officer had pointedly avoided her since she'd displaced him in his cabin and now clearly viewed her as bad luck. Resigned, she descended the ladder in a half fall and, once at the bottom, seized the lab's hatch and banged it down after herself as she'd been instructed, turning the wheel. Locked in. She dropped to the steel flooring. A box was sliding with the tilt of the deck and she put out her foot to stop it. The klaxon switched off.
"Battle stations report!" the intercom squawked. One by one the submarine's compartments complied.
"Laboratory secure!" she shouted at her turn, her voice breaking from the tension.
Then she sat on the box, heart pounding, one hand on the ladder to brace herself against the slope of the diving boat. She could hear the nervous rustling of the rabbits.
"Hi."
She jumped. He was sitting in the shadows at the rear of the compartment, half hidden by boxes.
"Owen! You're not supposed to be down here!" Her tone was delighted.
"By my reckoning I'm not supposed to be on this boat at all, yet I can't seem to get off it. The attack seemed a good opportunity to let people forget about me for a moment. So I decided to drop in."
She shoved off the ladder to grasp him. "Thank God!" They hugged fiercely. "I've been so lonely…" She buried her face in his chest.
"I know," he said, meaning it.
They kissed for the first time since the air raid in Berlin. For a blessed instant they could forget where they were.
The tilt of the boat continued to steepen. There was a thud from the first depth charge, and the hull lurched. "They're going to get closer," he warned. "Hold on!"
She nodded grimly, grasping a pipe, and watched his lips move as he counted the seconds. There was a second detonation, a throbbing boom this time, that jerked the submarine as if it had been rammed. She felt the shock punch her body and was thrown violently sideways, hitting the curved bulkhead hard enough to have the wind knocked out of her.
"Jesus…" Hart groaned. He too had been tossed. "They're right on top of us."
Another explosion rang the plunging submarine like a gong, rolling it sideways. A cabinet popped open and vomited a spray of supplies. The lights blinked and went out.
"Owen?" It was a pained gasp. The tilt of the deck was increasing.
"Greta, are you all right?"
"I think so, just stunned…"
The boat bucked again, shuddering, and then again. They could hear shouts from the sailors on the decks above. Yet these explosions were slightly less violent than before. Less close.
She found him in the dark and clutched at his clothing, crawling up his length so they could hold each other again.
"We've got to stop meeting like this," he whispered, more lightly than he felt.
They waited in the dark as time ticked by with agonizing slowness. They could hear a gush of water but didn't know what it meant. The hull creaked.
"We're going deep," she observed.
Two more blows, more distant now. The airplanes were depth-charging blind. The slope of the deck kept increasing and the ruins of Greta's laboratory cabinet slithered along the floor. The laboratory rabbits were scrabbling at their wire mesh. There seemed no end to the dive. "Owen, are we going down?"
He couldn't answer. The sailors above had fallen silent and the steel in the hull was groaning. There was a sharp report somewhere in the submarine, like the bang of a gun, and then another.
"What's that?"
"Something giving way, I think. Bolts, valves. How deep is the ocean here?" he asked worriedly.
She hugged him harder. "I don't know. Three kilometers?"
"Deep enough."
More explosions, but distant enough that they just echoed through the hull, making it quake. The submarine hull squealed.
"It sounds like a whale," she whispered.
Then the tilt began to lessen. It was as if Freiwald was hauling on the reins of a horse, bringing its head up. The leveling was agonizingly slow, but it was happening. The boat creaked like a complaining hinge. They were sweating, waiting for it.
Finally the keel was even.
"I think we've stopped sinking." He whispered as if a noise would point them down again. They sagged in relief.
"Now what?"
"We hide."
Suddenly blue emergency lighting came on. The glow was eerie. The chaos was not as bad as it had sounded while things broke in the dark, but the floor was littered with debris. They examined each other. "Your arm is cut," he said, pointing. She nodded numbly. He tore a scrap of clean rag and bound it and they began boxing what they could.
"It's stuffy. Can we open that hatch?"
He shook his head. "Not until we're safe. The air will get worse before it gets better." He used a folder to shovel up shattered laboratory glassware, then found a storage tarp to lay on the deck and protect them from remnants. The submarine, on battery power, was quiet now, the crew trying not to make a sound. The Germans were trying to creep away.
Having secured what they could, Owen and Greta sat companionably side by side. There was nothing to do but wait.
"Do you think they've given up?"
"No. They'll be orbiting overhead, waiting for us to surface. And calling for destroyers with sonar. They won't give up easily."
"How long?"
"Hours, I suspect. Hours and hours."
She leaned against him. "Good."
They were quiet for a while, slowly recovering their equanimity in the calm, then their conversation started up again, drifting lightly from topic to topic. They'd almost succeeded in blocking out the seriousness of their situation when, suddenly, they heard a ghostly far-off echo:
Ping.
"Uh-oh."
Ping.
"What's that?"
"My navy. We're still being hunted."
They listened, her head on his chest. She could hear the thud of his heart.
Ping… ping… ping.
"They're getting closer." He pushed her upright. "Grab the ladder again. Brace yourself."
She pulled away reluctantly. "If they hit us, will it be quick?"
"Yes." In truth, he didn't know.
Ping, ping, ping, ping… They could hear the screws of the destroyer.
The submarine trembled slightly. Freiwald was trying to accelerate and turn away.
Wham! A wrenching concussion as powerful as the first one, and then another, and then a third. The light went out again and Greta gave a short sob, involuntarily, as the U-boat heeled. Their bodies lurched sideways, feet kicking, hanging on with their arms.
"Owennn…" she moaned.
The deck began tilting again.
"God. He's trying to go deeper."
Ping, ping, ping, ping…
"Hang on!"
Twin thuds, shaking the submarine to its core. The power of the explosions throbbed through their bodies and Hart felt he was clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from rattling. There were more bangs and they could hear oaths on the deck above and a roaring hiss of water. The U-4501 was groaning, the depth squeezing it in on itself.
She crawled to him in the dark. "I'm going to hang on to you," she whispered.
Ping… ping… ping…
"We're pulling away from them, I think…"
Wham! The boat shook, not quite as hard this time.
"Maybe it would be best just to end it like this," she whispered. "In each other's arms. Easier."
"No. We're going to beat him." He did not mean the destroyer.
More explosions, farther away this time. Sluggishly, as if waterlogged, the deck once more leveled.
"I wonder how deep we are now." He could sense the sea pressing like a vise. Tons of dark water. It was oppressive.
Slowly the depth-charging receded. The gush of water and the cries slowed, then stopped. The boat was quiet again, a crypt.
He sank his face in her hair. She sighed, reaching up to stroke his head.
"Jurgen told me he's going to let us go."
"Oh really?"
"I asked him if he was going to leave us in Antarctica, abandon us. The question embarrassed him. He said if we do what he wants he'll put us off the submarine in a raft, near a foreign port."
"And you believe that?"
"I don't know what to believe. He seems unpredictable. I think he still loves me in a way. But I no longer know him."
"Greta, he can't let us go."
"Why not, if he gets what he wants?"
"Because he thinks he's going to win the war with a secret we know. Because we're sitting in Germany's newest submarine. Because he needs your expertise to manufacture what he's after. I'm an American Intelligence officer, Greta. Do you think he's going to collect this drug for a plague and then put us ashore to talk about it? The only way he'll put me in a raft is if I'm already dead."
They were silent for a while. "Is he evil, Owen? Is Germany evil?"
He smiled wryly. "I think we're supposed to call it moral confusion. Besides, you told me he's simply dedicated."
"No." She shook her head. "He wants to destroy what he can't possess. That's wrong."
They lay waiting, listening. The sonar had grown more distant. Like confused dogs, the destroyers and airplanes were circling.
Somewhat feebly, the blue emergency light flicked on again.
Hart let go of the ladder and slid down on the tarp, holding Greta. "He'll be angry I sneaked down here, you know."
"Don't worry," she said, kissing him. "He can't get too vindictive just yet. He needs us."
"Yes, but I wonder how much. Those soldiers of his would find the cave entrance eventually. And someone- Schmidt maybe- can find and collect the goo."
The image made Greta laugh. "Somehow I don't see Dr. Schmidt as a swashbuckling spelunker."
But her lightheartedness was cut short.
Ping.
"Damn."
They waited.
Ping… The interval was longer. The sonar had lost them again.
"I'm hot," she finally complained, suddenly restless. "Sweaty." Without ventilation, the temperature in the submarine was rising. "I feel like I'm buried. Like I'm dying, buried alive."
"Me too."
She sat up, shaking her head. "No, I can feel you. You're alive. You're hard. Down there." She pointed.
"Greta!"
"It's hot and we're in danger and I want to take my clothes off. Take them off before I die. Please take them off me, Owen. I want to make you harder."
He swallowed and glanced at the hatch. "If we surface…"
"That's what makes it exciting." She hauled off her sweater. "I'm tired of dying. I've been dying for six years." She unfastened her bra and tossed it aside. Then she bent, her breasts brushing him, and worked at his buttons. "I've been dying and losing my life and now I have this one moment and no longer care about the next one, or what anyone thinks. So hurry. Hurry! Before the destroyers come back. I'm very sweaty, and very wet."
"Jesus." He yanked at his clothing and then hers, frantic with desire and uncertain what to pull off first. It didn't seem to matter as they kissed and tugged. Soon she pushed him onto his back and was astride him, her eyes dilated, her mouth partly opened.
"I want you more than anything in the world," she whispered.
And then she enveloped him like liquid fire, arching her own back, his hands on her nipples, their bodies slick with sweat and heat, their breath short and gasping in the increasing closeness of the chamber as she rocked up and down. Before he could control himself he exploded inside her, Greta giving a stifled cry as he bucked.
Then she leaned over him to let him suck a breast, her whisper hot and urgent in his ear. "I hope the destroyer keeps hunting. Because we're not done, you know."
Ping.
They were spent.
The couple lay breathing shallowly, half unconscious and drifting in troubled dreams from the lack of oxygen. After their lovemaking the destroyers had come again, hammering on the boat with remorseless fury. They'd hung grimly to the ladder and to each other, jaws clenched as the explosions wrenched them again and again and again. The light died once more. Then a pipe had burst with a spray of water like cold needles and Owen had hauled himself up to grope in the dark for the shaken valve to shut it off.
"Leak secured!" Greta had gasped to the intercom in reply to Freiwald's anxious question. The hatch remained shut.
They slumped, their lungs starved, waiting for another pass from the warships above. It didn't come. Time crawled. The eerie blue light came on again, like the glow from an Antarctic ice cave.
She sighed. "Now would be a time to end it, after we've made love."
"No." He stirred. "Greta, listen. We do have one chance. It's a desperate one, probably a crazy one, but it's the one reason I agreed we should come along. Before I escaped from the island last time I found something I could use to try to escape. The chance is too slim for you to attempt it but if I'm gone again Jurgen will probably let you live. Go back with him on the submarine to Germany. If I make it, I'll find you there."
"No! I'm not leaving you again!"
He touched her cheek, the side of her face. "Listen. He's going to kill me-kill me- once I show him the way back into that volcano. Unless I can escape. This is my best chance. Your best chance is to stay put and try to keep Jurgen and the others from hunting me down."
She looked doubtful. "What is it?"
"When I crawled out of the cave I found a cove…"
He whispered to her for some time. She lay there, deep in thought. "But how will you get that chance?"
"I don't know."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "I suspect it will be up to me to make it."
He could say nothing to that. Eventually, they slept.
The roar and shudder of the boat woke them. Hart looked at his watch. Sixteen hours. The ballast tanks were finally being blown and the submarine slowly rising. It was like being lifted from molasses. They groped hurriedly for their clothes, hauling them on.
"You stay behind for a moment," Greta said. "Try to sneak back in the excitement. Perhaps no one will notice where you were."
"I want him to know where I was. Exactly where I was. So there's no confusion."
"No. You have to survive, Owen. Survive until your chance. Don't lose your head."
They could hear a rising excitement from the decks above and when the schnorkel broke the surface a cheer rang out. The diesel engines rumbled into life and a cool breath of air came from the vent like a spring in a desert.
"So it's not over after all." She sounded almost sad. "We must go on."
"For a while. Someday this is going to be over and we're going to be together. Someday we're going to have time."
"Yes. Someday. Just remember to stay away from Jurgen."
She hugged him and moved toward the hatch. The handle was turning. She hoped to go up before anyone spotted Owen.
But when the hatch clanged open she had to jerk her head back from the fall of a pair of boots. Drexler thumped to the deck, looking concerned. "Greta, are you all right? I was worried about you!" Then he froze.
It was the damned American.
Greta had backed to stand with Hart. Fresher air was pouring in through the hatch and the couple took deep, shuddering breaths, holding each other in support. Jurgen himself looked haggard, his face lined with sleeplessness and his shirt soaked with sweat. He stared at the pilot in disbelief.
"I told you to stay away from her!" he said hoarsely.
"Yes, you did."
"God damn you!" Drexler's movement was swift. He yanked Greta away, shoving her against the bulkhead, and then whirled at his rival.
The pilot's fist struck him square in the face and the Nazi flew backward, slamming into the ladder with a grunt. He toppled, stunned, onto the deck. Hart clutched his fist, wincing. "Get up, you son of a bitch."
"Owen, don't! They'll kill you!"
There was a riot of shouts above and more booted bodies fell from the hatchway, filling the crowded laboratory. It was the storm troopers, Drexler's goons. Hart hauled his fist back to strike again but Hans lashed out expertly with a leg and the pilot went down with a bang, the wind whooshing out of him. Greta screamed and sprang, scratching, and was cuffed aside. As Hart boosted himself off the deck a boot caught him in the midsection and he dropped like a bag of sand. Another struck his head. He blacked out.
Greta was sobbing. Bristle-Head loomed over her, waiting.
"Leave her alone." It was Drexler, the words slurred by a bleeding mouth. He stood up stiffly, humiliated. His body shook as he strove to contain his emotion.
He pointed to Hart. "I want him chained this time. Until we get to the island." The SS men nodded.
Then he pointed to Greta. "And her I want alone. Down here. With me."
They dragged the unconscious American up through the hatch and it clanged shut. She stood stiffly, trembling. Drexler turned his face a moment to spit some blood, then licked his lips as he stared at her. His chest rose and fell, his eyes wounded.
"You did it with him, didn't you?" The tone was of utter disbelief. "Did it with him right here on the goddamned boat. Right in front of seventy men. My God."
She closed her eyes, a tear sliding down. "Please don't hurt him. Hurt me, but not him."
"Hurt you?" His voice filled with wonder. "Hurt you? My God, what could I possibly do to you that would remotely approach what you've done to me? You've destroyed me. You've obliterated any scrap of pride I had left. You've buried me with shame. You've made me a laughingstock. Hurt you? What a joke!"
"I told you!" she shouted, her eyes bright and wet. "I told you and you wouldn't listen! I told you I loved him and not you! So you put the three of us together on this damned submarine like a crazy man, babbling about working together- what did you think was going to happen?"
He looked defeated. "A last measure of… civility."
Tears were running freely down both cheeks. "Don't you see? It's too late for that."
He nodded dully. "Indeed."
She waited but he made no move. "So what are you going to do, Jurgen?"
He turned back to the ladder. "Save Germany."