Empire and Honor (Honor Bound 7)

“Let’s have it,” Frade said.

“Despite what I said before—I’ve had a little time to rethink it—I would suggest you proceed on the premise that U-234 did make it here and to the landfall Cronley has come up with.”

“What made you change your mind?” Frade asked.

“I was following the scenario that U-234 was trying to go to Japan. There is another credible scenario—two others. I suggest that Kapitän Schneider, who had as much experience coming here and unloading cargo and personnel as I do, knew before sailing from Narvik that he couldn’t make Japan and decided on his own to come here directly. Or that the Kriegsmarine, knowing that the SS order to go to Japan was impossible to obey, quietly told Schneider he was to ignore it, or perhaps just that he was authorized, once under way, to decide that for himself.”

“You think he made it here, in other words?” Martín asked.

“Either here or to South Africa,” von Dattenberg said. “What I’m suggesting, General, is that it would be worth the effort to see if he did come here.”

“Put yourself in this guy’s shoes, Willi,” Frade said. “What’s his name?”

“Schneider, Alois Schneider.”

“Put yourself in Schneider’s shoes. You’re commanding U-234 and decide there’s no way you can make it to Japan. Then what?”

“Then I would come here.”

“And then what? Just unload everything in the middle of nowhere?”

“I see where you’re going,” von Dattenberg said. “He would have to have help from shore. He would be running very low on fuel and rations. He was probably—almost certainly—under orders to scuttle the boat, as was I.

“My orders were to scuttle U-405 ‘on the high seas no closer than twenty-four hours full surface speed sailing time from discharge point,’ and his probably were the same. And Alois would be no more willing—less willing—to load his crew onto rubber boats on the high seas that close to the Antarctic than I was to scuttle U-405 under similar, if less hazardous, conditions.”

“What you’re saying,” Martín asked, “is that if he did make this landfall and discharged his cargo—(a) that he could not do so without assistance from the shore, and (b) that if he scuttled his submarine, it would be close enough to shore so that his crew could make it safely to shore?”

“There’s no question he’d have to have people onshore,” Frade said. “He just couldn’t put his crew ashore in the middle of nowhere.”

“What are you thinking, Cletus?” Martín asked.

“The Tenth Mountain Regiment. Argentina’s own SS Regiment.”

“Sí,” Martín agreed.

“May I ask what that is?” Jimmy asked.

Martín held up his index finger in a be patient gesture.

“They have the equipment to operate in snow and ice,” Martín said.

“And experience in surreptitiously unloading submarines,” Frade picked up, then asked, “Who replaced el Coronel Schmidt?”

“After you shot him, you mean?” Martín answered. “El Coronel Edmundo Wattersly. But after Wattersly had the regiment under control, President Farrell brought him back to Buenos Aires.”

“Who took his place?”

“President Farrell sent me to San Martín de los Andes to make sure he could rely on the regiment in the future,” Martín said.

“That Wattersly had cleaned it up, you mean?” Frade asked.

Martín nodded. “And he had. And I told the president he had, and he brought Wattersly back to Buenos Aires.”

“And gave the regiment to who?”

“El Coronel Juan Torrez, Don Cletus,” Major Habanzo furnished. “A good man. Who cleaned up the regiment further.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Frade said.