"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.
"Jürgen 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 Jürgen 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 Jürgen 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 Jürgen."
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. Jürgen 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, Jürgen?"
He turned back to the ladder. "Save Germany."
Hart woke slowly. He was woozy, his body sore. When he turned there was a rattle and he blearily opened his eyes. He had a manacle on his wrist, surprisingly heavy. A chain led to a stanchion supporting his bunk. The submarine was rolling, he dimly noted, its diesels drumming a steady rumble that pounded in his head. They were on the surface and moving fast.
"Well, hell." He tugged feebly on the chain, slowly remembering what had happened. It was a wonder Drexler hadn't killed him. Apparently, he really was needed.
"Wake up. You need to eat." The pilot opened his eyes again. It was a sailor who bunked near him. Jacob, his name was, holding a mug of soup. "You should stay away from women. They're bad luck."
Hart sat up painfully and sipped. The broth seemed like it was flowing directly into his veins. "My luck is due to change."
"Not on this mission, I suspect."
Hart sipped again. "We're past the destroyers? Running on the surface?"
Jacob nodded. "For now. But we had to release some fuel to make them think they scored a hit and we're rapidly burning what's left."
"I want to get out of this coffin."
"So does every man in the U-boat arm. Don't expect any sympathy from me."
Hart drained the cup.
"Good," Jacob said. "Now you go see the captain."
"I don't want to see the captain."
"That doesn't matter. He wants to see you."
The pilot lifted his manacled arm.
The sailor took out a key to unlock the chain. "The captain said to release you. If the colonel objects, he can take it up with Freiwald."
Groaning, Hart swung out of his bunk and followed Jacob to the control room. "Up there," the engineer pointed. Hart looked questioningly at the ladder. "The captain's on the conning tower. Here, take this coat and hat."
The tower well was shockingly cold after the long confinement in the submarine— cold enough to almost take his breath away. Then he inhaled deeply, sucking in clean air, and felt light-headed, almost intoxicated. It was glorious.
"Shut the damn hatch."
The pilot stood next to the captain. It was night. The U-boat was racing furiously through the swells, rocking with an easy gait as water foamed in a glittering rapid down the narrow foredeck. Hart hadn't realized how far south they'd come. The Germans were in a realm of lunar light so intense that icebergs glowed like the white mountains of the moon. The Milky Way was as palpable as a silk ribbon, stars and moon so reflective in the sea that there was an illusion they were sailing into the sky, or sailing upside down. They'd entered the Southern Ocean and he could pick out the Southern Cross. Antarctica lay somewhere ahead.
Hart pulled up his hood. Freiwald was leaning forward on the conning tower bulkhead to watch for ice while a sailor kept watch from the antiaircraft gun mount behind, too far to hear what the pair said. Out here it seemed as if they were the only people on the planet.
"We've made good time, Captain."
"These boats are incredibly swift underwater. And incredibly strong. We've just broken a depth record: that's why you're alive right now. If we had enough of them we could control the Atlantic." He shook his head. "But we don't. We in the navy knew this war was madness in 1939. Dönitz told us to be prepared to fight for seven years. We'll be lucky if we last that long."