The newly constructed Type IXC was the subject of Himmler’s visit. Its increased range and superior surface speed made it the perfect candidate for what he had in mind. He proudly led an entourage toward the submarine pen where the newest Type IXC awaited his inspection.
Himmler marveled at the massive base. The huge concrete structures housed the Reich’s most impressive submarines, which stretched hundreds of feet long. In addition to the behemoths that awaited their deployment, offices, medical facilities, mess halls and storage buildings were interspersed throughout the pen. It was a giant drab gray concrete facility that, like Hitler’s Wolf’s Lair, was designed to protect its inhabitants, human and sub alike, from Allied aircraft raids.
Several young U-boat commanders awaited Himmler’s arrival. At just the precise moment, they snapped a salute to the Reichsführer and shouted in unison, “Heil Hitler!” Himmler returned the salute and ordered them to be at ease. Himmler spoke with each of them and then asked questions about the progress of the two Type IXs under construction.
“As you know, the last of the 9th U-boat Flotilla will be leaving Brest in early September. Bunker Bruno will assume maintenance and retrofitting of its remaining fleet. Are you prepared to place these existing submarines into service?”
“Yes, Reichsführer!” replied one particularly energetic young man. “In point of fact, we have one of their vessels in pen number five now. It is being modified to fit your exact specifications.”
Himmler sized up the young man. He was the epitome of the Hitler youth raised during the thirties. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Fit and tall in stature. With his chiseled jaw and serious demeanor, he was exactly the type of young man Himmler wanted in the SS.
“Which one?” asked Himmler as he stared around the base at the massive concrete pens. Three U-boats were backed into their spaces, surrounded by the sparks of welding equipment and workers.
“Reichsführer, if I may?” asked the young commander, handing Himmler his field glasses to get a better look. “In pen five, you will clearly see der lachende Schwertfisch. Her designation is U-1226.” The laughing swordfish was the unit symbol of the 9th Flotilla and remained on this particular U-boat.
Himmler smiled. In that moment, he knew he’d found the right U-boat and the right commander.
Chapter Seventeen
Aboard the Victory Casino Cruise Ship
One Hundred Miles East of Brownsville, Texas
Gulf of Mexico
Cam propelled herself out of the water first and onto the transom. She scampered to all fours like a cat, swiftly removing her suppressed Heckler & Koch MP7 from her shoulder, and immediately trained it on the deck above her. The cross between a machine gun and a carbine delivered plenty of stopping power with its .45-caliber rounds. Confident she hadn’t been seen, she unlatched the steel ladder bolted to the transom and swung it up and over the edge of the ship so Gunner could join her.
Gunner quickly crawled up the ladder and readied his weapon. Through his night-vision lens, he studied Cam’s body language. She was tensed, ready to spring on any target that revealed itself.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I will be,” she replied dryly. “Move.”
“Moving.”
Gunner made his way up the steep stairwell leading to the aft deck. Cam followed. Once Cam was on the deck, she dropped to a knee and panned the area for hostiles. Gunner saw the glowing cherry of a cigarette on the starboard side amidst overturned deck chairs and tables. He gestured to Cam, who nodded.
She moved toward the pirate, who was sitting back on a chair, sniffing the clothing of the woman he’d just killed. Through the night vision, his knife and an automatic weapon could be seen on the table behind him. His lack of awareness was the opening Cam needed.
Like a tiger approaching its prey, she eased in behind him. She’d shouldered her MP7 and gripped her fixed-blade knife.
“Alive, Cam.” Gunner felt compelled to remind his partner. They had this pirate isolated, and they could extract intel from him before killing him. He knew Cam had smoke coming out of her ears, so he needed to restrain her somewhat.
She slipped in behind him, taking advantage of his distracted state, and delivered a crushing blow to the man’s neck with the steel grip of her knife. Lightning fast, her hand whipped back and forth, striking the man’s temples until he collapsed in a heap on the deck.
Gunner’s eyes grew wide. His partner was very good at neutralizing hostiles. He imagined her pulse rate was racing, so he gave her some room. He opted to watch her six while she went to work on the first of many pirates to eliminate.
She pinned the man to the deck and stuck her face just inches from his. Then, with her right hand shaking slightly from the death grip she had on her knife, she pointed the sharp end of the blade at his eyeball. She threatened him with the knife and demanded answers.
“Cuantos piratas?” How many pirates?
Gunner glanced back at the pirate’s expression. His eyes were wide with fear, but he wasn’t talking. Cam inched the blade closer.
“Respóndeme, cabrón!” she hissed. Answer me, bastard!
The man still hesitated, so Cam urged him along. She shifted the sharp tip of her knife ever so slightly away from his right eyeball and pierced the skin of his eyebrow just above the eye socket. The man groaned in pain as blood started to pour into his eye.
He attempted to free his arms, which Cam had pinned down with her legs. This simply made her angrier, so she repeated the puncture above the left eye, except with a little more force.
She repeated her demand. “Cuantos piratas?”
“Doce! Doce plus Abduwali!” he finally responded.
Gunner’s head snapped around. Twelve, just as Bear suspected, but one was undoubtedly the leader. He spoke into the
