By the time de Banderano and von Dattenberg had made their way from the bridge to the just-above-the-waterline Seventh Deck, enormous watertight doors in the Ciudad de Cádiz’s hull had been slid upward and a huge cushion—lashed-together truck tires—was being lowered into place.
Lines were tossed aboard by sailors on the submarine, and hawsers then fed to the submarine from the ship. The U-409 was pulled carefully against the cushion.
A gangway was slid from the deck of the ship onto the submarine. Two men walked toward it as it was lashed into place. One was dressed, as was von Dattenberg, in a sweater and trousers topped off by an equally battered hat. Despite his neatly trimmed full beard, the captain of the U-409 looked very young.
The man with him was in a black SS uniform, its insignia identifying him as an SS-brigadeführer. He was pale-faced, and the uniform was mussed.
And probably dirty, von Dattenberg thought.
The captain of the U-409 walked up the gangway, stopped, raised his arm in a salute, and said, “Permission to board, Kapitän?”
The SS-brigadeführer pushed past him onto the ship.
De Banderano returned the salute. “Granted. Welcome.”
The SS-brigadeführer threw his arm straight out in the Nazi salute and barked, “Heil, Hitler!”
Von Dattenberg returned the salute more than a little sloppily.
De Banderano just looked at him.
“Take me to the kapitän, please.”
“I’m the master of the Ciudad de Cádiz.”
“Kapitän, I am SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg. I have your orders.”
“You have my orders?” de Banderano said as if surprised.
Von Deitzberg handed him an envelope. As de Banderano
tore it open, the submarine captain walked to them, gave a military salute—as opposed to the Nazi salute—and said, “Kapitänleutnant Wertz, Kapitän. I have the honor to command U-409.”
De Banderano returned that salute and offered his hand.
“Von Dattenberg, U-405,” von Dattenberg said.
“Aside from this gentleman,” de Banderano said, nodding at von Deitzberg, “what have you got for us?”
“One more SS officer, an obersturmführer; ten SS of other ranks; and one wooden crate.”
“I was thinking more of mail,” de Banderano said.
“And a packet of mail.”
“Why don’t you send for that?” de Banderano said. “And then we’ll see about feeding you and getting you a bath and some clean clothing.”
“The crate, the special shipment, and my men are more important than the mail,” von Deitzberg said. “Get them on here first.”
“After you’ve gotten the mail, Capitán, you can bring aboard everything else that comes aboard,” de Banderano said calmly.
He handed the orders von Deitzberg had given him to von Dattenberg.
“I didn’t give you permission to show him those orders!” von Deitzberg flared.
“There’s one thing you should understand, Señor von Deitzberg. I am the master of this vessel. I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything, and no one tells me what to do.”
Von Deitzberg colored, but he didn’t say anything.