of Lindemann’s officers.” Rohrbach made a rude noise. “Didn’t like his looks. Brooding type. Nasty young man, I’d say.”
Johan nodded. “Sombre character. Shaggy eyebrows.”
After they’d parted, the Newt took the cliff road to the Polana. It was past ten when he got there and there were people about. The lounge was unpleasantly hot, so he went out on to the veranda. It was a dark night with a waning moon, the southern sky shimmering with stars. Over the water across the bay the light at Ponta Garapao flashed every five seconds.
Below him the terraced garden led to the edge of the cliff. Somewhere a dance band was playing. The Newt thought of his wife in London and felt lonely.
From the shadows behind him came a woman’s voice: “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Chapter Five
It was an oppressive morning and the Hagenfels ’s crew sniffed the wind coming up from Matola and smelt the mudflats and crude oil and knew that a hot day was coming. In the officers’ dining saloon, Kapitän Lindemann sat at the head of the table, his grey streaked hair moist with perspiration. His eyes, set wide apart in a weather-beaten face, had the uncomplicated directness of the seaman. To his right was Siegfried Kuhn, the chief engineer; small, bespectacled, alert, his thoughts were in Deugswald, the village outside Frankfurt where his wife and child had been billeted by the authorities. It was no longer possible to receive letters and his only news of her was in the form of messages from the German Consulate which came at long intervals.
On Lindemann’s left was the second officer, Günther Moewe, a sullen, sallow man of medium build. Next to him was a big man with the flattened nose and receding eyes of a boxer. This was Heinrich Schäffer, the second engineer. These were all the officers in the skeleton crew left on board while the ship sheltered in Lourenço Marques enjoying the sanctuary of a neutral port and safe from enemy interference as long as she remained there and observed the regulations laid down by the port authorities.
In addition to these officers she had on board a bosun, a carpenter, six sailors, three mechanicians, three greasers, a cook and an officers’ steward. Müller, the steward, waited on the officers, did their cabins and looked after them generally, and though the busiest man on board he never complained. Young and cheerful, he knew that life in Lourenço Marques was a lot easier than in a U-boat which would have been his lot had the Hagenfels got back to Germany.
At breakfast the tension between Lindemann and his second officer was much in the air. Moewe disapproved of the Captain, who was not a member of the National Socialist Party, and who was unenthusiastic about Hitler. Not that he’d ever said anything against the Führer, but he’d never said anything for him. In Moewe’s opinion the Captain drank too much, went to too many parties ashore, and too often brought women on board. Where was the dedication to the cause, the fervour, the zeal, so proper to a German patriot?
The Captain disliked Moewe for his lack of humour and fanatical Nazism. Lindemann knew he was not important in the Nazi hierarchy—a section leader in the Hitler Jugend before the war—but Moewe took himself seriously. He’d been at the Nürnberg Rally in 1938, a member of the guard of honour inspected by the Führer. The great man had stopped and asked him his name. Moewe stammered a reply and Hitler had given him an enigmatic stare before moving on. This was epochal for Moewe and ever since he’d preached National Socialism with messianic fervour. He was a good ship’s officer and a useful navigator, but intellectually a lightweight .
The officers were waiting for Lindemann to leave the table, but he showed no sign of moving. Instead he said to the steward: “Müller! You can go now. Close the pantry door.”
Müller disappeared. Lindemann turned to the expectant faces of his officers, and said: “There is
Johan nodded. “Sombre character. Shaggy eyebrows.”
After they’d parted, the Newt took the cliff road to the Polana. It was past ten when he got there and there were people about. The lounge was unpleasantly hot, so he went out on to the veranda. It was a dark night with a waning moon, the southern sky shimmering with stars. Over the water across the bay the light at Ponta Garapao flashed every five seconds.
Below him the terraced garden led to the edge of the cliff. Somewhere a dance band was playing. The Newt thought of his wife in London and felt lonely.
From the shadows behind him came a woman’s voice: “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Chapter Five
It was an oppressive morning and the Hagenfels ’s crew sniffed the wind coming up from Matola and smelt the mudflats and crude oil and knew that a hot day was coming. In the officers’ dining saloon, Kapitän Lindemann sat at the head of the table, his grey streaked hair moist with perspiration. His eyes, set wide apart in a weather-beaten face, had the uncomplicated directness of the seaman. To his right was Siegfried Kuhn, the chief engineer; small, bespectacled, alert, his thoughts were in Deugswald, the village outside Frankfurt where his wife and child had been billeted by the authorities. It was no longer possible to receive letters and his only news of her was in the form of messages from the German Consulate which came at long intervals.
On Lindemann’s left was the second officer, Günther Moewe, a sullen, sallow man of medium build. Next to him was a big man with the flattened nose and receding eyes of a boxer. This was Heinrich Schäffer, the second engineer. These were all the officers in the skeleton crew left on board while the ship sheltered in Lourenço Marques enjoying the sanctuary of a neutral port and safe from enemy interference as long as she remained there and observed the regulations laid down by the port authorities.
In addition to these officers she had on board a bosun, a carpenter, six sailors, three mechanicians, three greasers, a cook and an officers’ steward. Müller, the steward, waited on the officers, did their cabins and looked after them generally, and though the busiest man on board he never complained. Young and cheerful, he knew that life in Lourenço Marques was a lot easier than in a U-boat which would have been his lot had the Hagenfels got back to Germany.
At breakfast the tension between Lindemann and his second officer was much in the air. Moewe disapproved of the Captain, who was not a member of the National Socialist Party, and who was unenthusiastic about Hitler. Not that he’d ever said anything against the Führer, but he’d never said anything for him. In Moewe’s opinion the Captain drank too much, went to too many parties ashore, and too often brought women on board. Where was the dedication to the cause, the fervour, the zeal, so proper to a German patriot?
The Captain disliked Moewe for his lack of humour and fanatical Nazism. Lindemann knew he was not important in the Nazi hierarchy—a section leader in the Hitler Jugend before the war—but Moewe took himself seriously. He’d been at the Nürnberg Rally in 1938, a member of the guard of honour inspected by the Führer. The great man had stopped and asked him his name. Moewe stammered a reply and Hitler had given him an enigmatic stare before moving on. This was epochal for Moewe and ever since he’d preached National Socialism with messianic fervour. He was a good ship’s officer and a useful navigator, but intellectually a lightweight .
The officers were waiting for Lindemann to leave the table, but he showed no sign of moving. Instead he said to the steward: “Müller! You can go now. Close the pantry door.”
Müller disappeared. Lindemann turned to the expectant faces of his officers, and said: “There is
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