“Capitán von Dattenberg,” de Banderano said. “Why don’t you take Capitán Wertz to your cabin, get him a bath and some clean clothing, and order him breakfast.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“And then, when the crate and the SS personnel who are so important to him are safely aboard, we’ll see about getting this fellow a bath and something to eat.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” von Dattenberg said, and turned to Wertz. “If you’ll come with me, Kapitän?”
Kapitänleutnant Wertz waited until von Dattenberg had closed his cabin door before he announced, “I think I like this Spanish kapitän.”
“He’s a good man.”
“And he’s not impressed with SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg.”
“He doesn’t seem to be.”
“Everybody at Saint-Nazaire was. I wanted to throw up.”
“Why am I getting the idea you don’t like the brigadeführer?”
“The only nice thing I can say about that SS bastard is that he got seasick the moment we hit the deep water outside Saint-Nazaire, and stayed that way whenever we were on the surface—and we were on the surface most of the way.”
Von Dattenberg smiled but said nothing.
Wertz warmed to his subject as he began pulling off his clothing.
“He showed up at the pens like royalty. And all of our never-leave-the-port superiors fell all over each other trying to kiss his ass. He has four fucking suitcases, big ones.”
“Where did you stow them?”
“We took off four torpedoes to make room for them. And the crap those storm troopers had with them.”
“Well, there are torpedoes aboard the Cádiz. This is a floating warehouse.”
Von Dattenberg, as Wertz went on, realized that the cork was out of the bottle: “When I showed the SS sonofabitch my cabin, and graciously, in the tradition of the naval service, showed him the fold-down bunk and told him I would sleep there, and that he could use my bunk, he said, ‘I really think you should find some other accommodation.’ ”
“Jesus!”
“So I moved in with my Number One, and we played hot sheets all across the Atlantic.”
“Well, he is an SS-brigadeführer.”
“Who showered at least twice a day, usually throwing up in the stall—which was sort of funny—and then complained about how long it took my men to clean up after him. He used up more fresh water taking showers than my crew got to drink.”
Kapitänleutnant Wertz was now down to his shorts, which were once white but now gray and oil-stained.
“If he hadn’t been seasick all the time, I’d have thrown the sonofabitch over the side—or shot him out of a tube and reported he had died gloriously for the Führer.”
“Take it easy, Wertz,” von Dattenberg said seriously. “You don’t want anyone hearing you talk like that.”
Now there was concern on Wertz’s face.
“Except another U-boat skipper, of course,” von Dattenberg added to ease his mind. “And now that you’ve told me the brigadeführer suffers terribly from mal de mer, I’ll do my best to stay on the surface until we’re nearly where we’re going with him.”
“Where are you going?”
“They didn’t tell you?”
“No, and sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”