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  Dirk van den Boom

  Arrival

  Copyright © 2016 by Atlantis Verlag Guido Latz,

  Bergstraße 34, 52222 Stolberg (Germany)

  Cover © Timo Kümmel

  Editor: Rob Bignell

  eBook Production: André Piotrowski

  ISBN 978-3-86402-406-1

  www.atlantis-verlag.de

  1

  “Nice to see you go.”

  The words couldn’t be misunderstood. The coldness in Karl’s voice emphasized their meaning. Rheinberg decided not to return this kind of farewell. When he left the house and walked to the sidewalk, he felt their eyes burning on his back.

  The eyes of Helga, his sister, with the mixture of sadness and defiance that had already accompanied him all day since yesterday. The eyes of her husband Karl, clearly filled with hatred and contempt.

  That had been apparent yesterday as well, in spite of the thin shell of courtesy covering their interaction. Karl received his brother-in-law in his small brick house in Yard Street. The shell had cracked quickly, the cracks had widened, and in the afternoon after a lunch of bland and overcooked potatoes and fish, it had finally broken. Karl had resumed his monologues and, as always, warmed quickly to the topic.

  The system of exploitation, he repeated again and again, and capitalism. Feudalism of the mind and the corruption of monarchy. Freedom for those and retaliation for this, and then of course his greatest enemy: the favorites of the Emperor, the naval officers. Karl knew what he was talking about, or at least he pretended so. For six years he worked as a shipyard worker in Wilhelmshaven, and in this city there were only yards building for the imperial fleet. Since the Second Navy Law has been in force, they created constantly in day and night shifts the weapon that His Almighty Majesty ordered to be built. Karl earned every penny of his life with work as part of the system of exploitation, for which he seemed to feel only hate. When he brought out his pamphlets, publications of the social democratic presses, with waving flags and pictures of their leaders and heroes, especially Marx and Engels and Lassalle and whoever else, Lieutenant Commander Jan Rheinberg had enough.

  Helga had noticed it right away. She was his sister, and at the same time the black sheep of the family, had ran away from home when barely 18 and then married a revolutionary, a simple worker, unworthy in every respect. Her father had never contacted her again, which was not surprising for the old, inflexible, rigid school principal and retired cavalry officer. Only mother sent her letters every now and then, often with money, because she lacked it all the time. Even during the first eight years of Jan’s career, when his parents had to subsidize his upkeep and put thousands into his training, before he was finally promoted to First Lieutenant and by that had achieved some financial independence, the letters came – just as had those pleas of his mother that he should visit Helga.

  So he visited her at least once a year, and since his transfer to Wilhelmshaven six months ago, about once a month, to the highest displeasure of her husband. Jan himself felt no joy during these visits, but he did his duty – just as he had always done, even when his father had declared to him that he would give his only son to the naval academy, as people like him were sought after in the ever-expanding corps of officers. The “Seeoffizierskorps,” His Most High Majesty’s most precious favorites, and thus a safe career for a hard-working young man who had just passed a high school exam with highest honors and actually preferred …

  But it only mattered what his father wanted.

  Jan had done his duty. And as left the house of his revolutionary in-law on that chilly October Sunday morning, he remembered the bitter cold in his voice as he had answered Karl during the previous evening. His words had been honor and commitment, patriotism and loyalty, and the meaning of the Most High authority without which a political system would break down into exactly the anarchy and arbitrariness that Karl and his followers surely strived for. He had lost control, was actually not such a fanatical supporter of the monarchy – or, to be more precise, of the current monarch. Nevertheless, Lieutenant Commander Rheinberg had a good, strong voice, which had come to maturity in Muerwik, as an instructor, a post he had held up until six months ago. A hated and beloved work, hated because of its monotony and poorer pay; loved because he taught, and education was important to him. Every night he read texts in Latin: Cicero, Sallust, Ambrosius. Latin he had actually preferred to …

  What mattered now lay before him. In four hours, he had to report to the light cruiser Saarbrücken, one of the oldest ships of the Imperial Fleet, but only after visiting the White Castle and picking up his commander’s written instructions. The trip would go to the West Africa station, and the anticipation in Rheinberg outweighed the frustration that had accumulated during the last day and the silent, bitter morning in the house of his sister.

  He shouldn’t have been so loud. Karl normally distributed his cheap, damaging propaganda only in the pub and his home, but very wisely not at the shipyard, and its content was supposed to roll off him like spray water on his rain jacket. But the cold anger that always rose suddenly in him when he came upon stupidity was difficult to manage. He and Karl didn’t understand each other; their worlds were totally different, only held together by the bridge of his sister.

  They had both been adamant, stubborn and ungracious. It had to end in dispute. It always did.

  The weather was wet. Jan pulled up the collar of his uniform jacket. The very existence of this uniform in his house was an insult to him, Karl had emphasized that morning. Then Rheinberg had decided not to wait until noon and left right away. The officers’ mess was undoubtedly a friendlier place, and apart from that there was more than enough to do to bring the Saarbrücken back into service before it embarked on its great journey.

  This simple thought noticeably improved Jan’s mood. He even dispensed with the tram and went the distance on foot. He had to clear his head, and nothing worked better than a Sunday’s walk. He touched the crackling paper in his uniform pocket with his right hand, the letter from his father, sent three days before his death, in which he told his son formally and without flourish that he had heard the news of his promotion and appointment as second-in-command with pride and appreciation. Then he said he hoped that Jan would continue to serve the Emperor faithfully, thereby continuing the honorable tradition of his ancestors.

  Jan’s response didn’t reach him in time.

  He shooed the brooding thoughts away. He could neither make the unexpected death of his father undone, yet the existence of annoying Karl Jansen, and he went to visit him only for his mother’s and finally the sake of his sister, who apparently loved this man. Commander Rheinberg’s sacrifices were considerable, because his superiors had reported the improper connection of his sister to the highest levels, and twice he had been forced to wait for a promotion longer than others. Ultimately, however, his zeal and his unwavering devotion to duty paid off, and he was finally promoted to a leading position on one of the fleet’s largest ships.

  As Jan thought about it, he found himself humming happily. Whe
n he reached Adalbert Square, with its exact rows of trees and the shimmering construction of the naval station at its end, which was commonly called just the “White Castle,” he almost regained something like a good mood. He considered the fit of his uniform before passing the guards and was placed into a waiting room after a short presentation and explanation of his visit’s purpose. He had to wait a long time yet wasn’t bothered. The room was plain, but the chair comfortable and a boy brought him coffee and pastries after his behest. Usually collecting orders wasn’t always handled so formal, but this was the last great journey of the Saarbrücken, and after their return she would seal her fate as an accommodation ship. Marine officers and engineers of other units strangely had always just some important task in port to do, long enough to take a last look at the sleek, powerful ship that seemed to come from another time. The old warhorse BREMEN-class ship had been the pinnacle of German engineering when it was built in 1902, and although 12 years later her sister shipshad been more or less all replaced by modern turbine cruisers, Rheinberg still was proud of the old lady.

  Captain von Krautz was still in the hospital with the flu. Station Chief Admiral von Herringen himself would pass the necessary orders to Rheinberg in his capacity as Executive Officer, and this was an honor for the sick commander, who had been in charge of the ship for the last seven years.

  Rheinberg felt no excitement and no fear. He saw himself where he belonged, and he would prove himself. This course would lead him to his own command of a cruiser in due time. And his chance to prove himself was imminent, there was no doubt. The war, for which the Emperor in his wisdom had prepared his fleet so carefully, would soon arrive, as everyone who possessed sufficient intelligence knew. Rheinberg had no shortage of intelligence, and he expected the future with anticipation. War meant battle, and victory above all. That there would be victory was certain.

  “Commander!”

  The voice of the adjutant interrupted his thoughts. A few moments later, Rheinberg found himself in the presence of an old admiral. Von Herringen was a tall figure with powerful, white whiskers. He had taken office just about a year before, and Rheinberg had the feeling that he would not hold it for long. The man was close to retirement age, and if there would actually be a war, then it took an officer who was as adept in civil affairs as in military matters. No one had any illusions about what war would mean for the city and region of Wilhelmshaven. The city most certainly would be declared a fortress, and that automatically would make the admiral also a civilian governor.

  “Sit down, Commander!”

  Rheinberg accepted the invitation. Von Herringen settled behind his wide desk and nodded at a sheaf of papers, which lay on the front edge of the tabletop.

  “Take this, it’s the marching orders. They are sealed so that only Captain von Krautz can open them, as soon as he is discharged from the hospital. How is he doing?”

  “Admiral, the captain is already quite lively. He has weathered the influenza very well and will take up his duties by tomorrow.”

  “That’s good, that’s good. You will find your ship to be pretty tight on the way.”

  “Admiral?”

  Von Herringen pointed again to the paper bundle. “There have been some additions in the last minute. You know that international tensions are rising. Should it come to war, it will affect our colonies as well as the fatherland. The governor of Cameroon has requested additional troops. He will not get what he would have liked, but he will have at least one full army company. You will have to put them on the Saarbrücken.”

  “That will be very tight indeed, Admiral!” Rheinberg said. A full company, or about four platoons of 40 men each, with all the equipment … an organizational nightmare.

  “I know. There are also ammunition, additional guns, and 25,000 Goldmark to deliver to the governor. You will need to lash a large stash of cargo on deck so that there will be room for the soldiers below deck. Many of them will not feel too well, especially when it gets rough. The company commander, a Captain … Becker … seems to have been at sea quite a few times and might comfort our passengers. He will report with his men Monday afternoon, so you should be ready to receive them.”

  “Yes, Admiral. We’ll figure this out.”

  That was easier said than done. But it was hardly for Rheinberg to discuss these details with von Herringen. Why they didn’t send a steamer together with the Saarbrücken, he could not explain. 25,000 Goldmark. He had to be extra cautious.

  “I’m sure you will,” said the stationmaster. “You will take coal in Portugal; the authorities there will be informed of your itinerary. If war breaks out, you will not stop in Morocco, as all the coasts up until Togoland will be hostile. So don’t dare full cruising speed and save coal. If you arrive a day later, that’s not so bad. I don’t want the Saarbrücken to fall into enemy’s hands on her last big journey.”

  Now Rheinberg couldn’t control himself. Von Herringen had sounded so determined and sure. “Admiral, can we really expect a declaration of war soon?”

  Von Herringen allowed himself a thin smile. “Who am I to foresee the highest counsel from Berlin? But what I hear is encouraging. I’m sure that soon some questions will be clarified inquite unambiguous ways. You need to prepare yourself. It’s all in the instructions.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “One more thing. No, two things. For one, you get a new chief engineer, Marine Chief Engineer Dahms, a short-term replacement. He will report tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Admiral. And the second?”

  Von Herringen sighed. He looked out of the window for a moment, lost in thought. The drizzle had been replaced by a chill. The fall began to show its unpleasant side. There would be heavy sea. Rheinberg deplored the infantry already.

  “The reports of social democratic agitation in the file and the ranks of the non-commissioned officers are piling up. I don’t know how many stokers and mates have connections among the socialists; they often don’t profess openly. We are still united by the bond of love for the emperor, especially here in the fleet. But I just need to ask you especially to keep your eyes open.”

  This “you especially” Rheinberg could understand in two different ways – as an appeal to his genuine responsibility as an executive officer directly in charge of the discipline in his crew, or as an indication toward his in-law, about whose existence von Herringen knew with absolute certainty. Rheinberg decided not to discuss it. In any case, he had gotten the message.

  Luckily he could confine himself to a simple “Yes, Admiral!” an appropriate response in any situation.

  For a few minutes the conversation turned to chit-chat, then Rheinberg was allowed to leave. When the young officer left the White Castle, the rain had eased. The cold air that blew from the Jade Bay smelled like a storm. Nothing that couldn’t be tackled by a good light cruiser but nothing any experienced sailor longed for. An overloaded vessel, as the Saarbrücken would become, could use calmer waters.

  Rheinberg glanced at the clock. Three hours still remained until he had to return to the ship, but on the other hand there was obviously more to do than expected. His boy had put his luggage on board a long time ago. Rheinberg started thinking about a rotating schedule for his and other’s cabins in order to optimally use the capacity of the Saarbrücken. During the walk to the fitting port, he quickly came to the conclusion that he himself would share his humble cabin with the captain of the embarked infantry, and that meant that he had to be put up for vigils as the infantryman should enjoy his sleep in the night. It was an act of politeness – Rheinberg was sure that Becker would have accepted any other arrangement without complaint – but it was helpful that Rheinberg loved vigils, because during that time the ship was really his.

  When he reached the Saarbrücken, she was under steam. That meant all cargo had been loaded and that the engineer tested the engine, as well as checked the electric circuits. Rheinberg knew that the deputy chief in the engine room, Engineer Dortheim, has returned to his duty som
e days ago. He decided to take him aside and ask him about his new boss, who would arrive tomorrow. Officers like himself, the Marine Engineers knew each other well, although of lower prestige and status. For a long time, this was a cause of friction, and some of Rheinberg’s comrades were not too reluctant to emphasize the difference through all sorts of snide remarks. Rheinberg had never held this belief and was always looking for a good relationship, even though he would stand as a simple lieutenant above even a veteran engineer in the ship’s hierarchy. The biggest distinction of rank became clear in the permission to marry: While naval officers received their permission to enter into a marriage directly by His Majesty, the dispensation for Marine Engineers was issued by command posts. There was no clearer sign of the social separation between the two groups, and the engineers had long urged that for them an imperial dispensation should be required as well. As it had been rumored, the Emperor was inclined to grant this, but the Admiralty, led by Fleet Admiral Tirpitz, still strongly opposed it.

  Rheinberg didn’t concern himself with such matters. He served as first officer, being responsible for the functioning of the crew, and there was nothing more important for a technically complex entity like a light cruiser as a good team in the engine room, especially well-trained officers who had to be sure that the ship’s command treated them decently. And that exactly was Rheinberg’s intention.

  His opinion might have been shaped by the fact that he himself had been frequently a victim of teasing and derogatory remarks. He was a commoner, and although no officer corps was as bourgeois as that of the Navy, the fifth consisting of noble sons still enjoyed special consideration. He had not had it as bad as those comrades who had not even had an old cavalry officer as a father. His roommate, Valentin, with whom he had served as a midshipman, had been a merchant’s son. No one was punished with more contempt than a Koofmich. Valentin had left the Navy one year after his promotion to lieutenant.

  Rheinberg couldn’t blame him.