Von Dattenberg nodded his acceptance.
“There are more boats on the Ciudad de Cádiz,” von Dattenberg said, turning to Cranz. “Could you make do with two?”
The Ciudad de Cádiz?
Oh, the new supply ship.
“I’ve been making do with none,” Cranz said charmingly. “If you could spare me two, Herr Kapitänleutnant, I really would be grateful.”
Von Dattenberg raised his voice.
“Everybody into one boat, we’re leaving two here!”
A seaman replied, “Ja, Kapitän.”
“And you’d better show someone how to deflate them,” von Dattenberg said.
The sailor replied by taking a wicked-looking knife from his boot and waving it menacingly.
“No, you idiot,” von Dattenberg said, laughing. “Open the valves.”
“I can do that, Willi,” Boltitz said. “I think it would be a good idea for you to put to sea.”
Von Dattenberg popped to attention. “Jawohl, Herr Fregattenkapitän. By your leave, sir?”
“Resume your conn, Kapitänleutnant.”
“Jawohl, Herr Fregattenkapitän.”
Von Dattenberg then saluted, clicked his heels, and took a step backward.
He turned to von Wachtstein.
“Hansel, if you remember to take a bath every day and stop trying to screw every female over the age of thirteen, maybe they’ll give you a real airplane again.”
“Go fuck yourself, Willi,” von Wachtstein said smiling, and wrapped his arms around him again.
Von Dattenberg looked at Cranz and Schmidt, nodded his head, said, “Herr Schmidt, Herr Standartenführer,” then trotted to where his sailors were about to launch the rubber boat back into the sea.
“Smooth seas!” Cranz called a moment later.
“I’ll help you deflate the rafts,” von Wachtstein said to Boltitz.
There was a flicker of surprise in Boltitz’s eyes, but he said nothing.
They went to the rafts. Boltitz got in and began unlashing the cover of the exhaust valve.
Von Wachtstein leaned in, as if to see what he was doing.
“Karl, if you’ve got a pistol, give it to me,” he said softly. “And don’t let anyone see.”
Boltitz looked at him long enough to see that he was serious, then said, “Get in here and give me a hand, please.”
Von Wachtstein climbed into the rubber boat.
Below the gunwale, out of the view of others, Boltitz handed him a Luger P-08. Von Wachtstein stuffed it in the below-knee pocket of his flight suit, then shoved a scarf into the pocket so the outline of the pistol wouldn’t be seen.
“Why?” Boltitz asked.