SS-Brigadeführer Hoffmann came onto the bridge.
Without asking permission, of course.
“Presumably everything is in order?” Hoffmann said.
“Yes, Herr Brigadeführer, it is. Would you prefer to transfer to the boat before or after we move the cargo?”
“Before.”
“Very well.”
“I wanted a final word with you, von Dattenberg.”
Is the sonofabitch actually going to say “thank you”?
“Yes, sir?”
“I think you should wait twenty-four hours before you scuttle your ship.”
It’s a boat, a U-boat.
“The protocol, Herr Brigadeführer, calls for the immediate scuttling of U-boat 405 once I am satisfied that you have made it safely ashore.”
“I don’t give a damn about the protocol, von Dattenberg. I’m telling you I want you to be twenty-four hours’ sailing time away from here before you scuttle it.”
Scuttle her.
“Whatever you wish, of course, Herr Brigadeführer.”
Fuck you, Herr Brigadeführer.
Von Dattenberg looked down to the deck again.
“They are ready to move the cargo at your order, Herr Brigadeführer, and the ladder should be in place by the time you get below.”
Hoffmann offered his hand. After von Dattenberg shook it, Hoffmann then shot his arm out in the Nazi salute.
“Heil Hitler!”
Do you really believe that, you asshole? Der Führer is dead.
“Heil Hitler,” von Dattenberg parroted as he casually returned the salute.
Hoffmann returned to the hatch and dropped through it.
Von Dattenberg picked up a megaphone.
“Commence cargo transfer,” he ordered. “Men first, then crates.”
—
Fregattenkapitän von Dattenberg waited until he could no longer make out faces aboard the Chris-Craft before issuing his next orders.
“Secure from off-loading procedures,” he said. “And then take us to sea.”
—
“This is the kapitän,” he said to the microphone, his voice filling the submarine. “We have just completed our orders to land our passengers and cargo safely and secretly in Argentina. Accordingly, we no longer are under the orders of Reichsführer-SS Himmler, and are now going to comply with our last order from the Kriegsmarine.