The Hunt for Seawolf 4

By Dietmar Arthur Wehr

An audiobook version of this story is available. You'll find a link to it on the author's website.

In the dying days of the war in Europe, Nazi scientists manage to put an atomic bomb into orbit. Only a miracle prevented them from bringing it back down on New York. Thirteen years later, with the bomb still in orbit, the Black Sun, a secret neo-Nazi organization with considerable financial and technological resources at their command, builds the Seawolf 4, a super-sub capable of traveling under the Arctic icecap, where it will transmit the order for the satellite bomb to descend on the USSR while at the same time launching a A-bomb armed cruise missile at an American city in the hopes of starting World War III. The only hope of stopping them are the new US nuclear subs, Nautilus and Skate. Can one of them find the Seawolf 4 in time? Tom Clancy and Clive Cussler fans will enjoy this tension-filled thriller that combines real world events in the 40's and 50's with a dash of science fiction. This novel is fiction but you'll be astonished by how much of it is true when you read the Author's comments at the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dietmar Arthur Wehr
• Release date: Mar 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386306603

Dietmar Arthur Wehr

Dietmar started writing SF novels when he was 58 after a career in corporate financial analysis. He got tired of waiting for David Weber to write another Honor Harrington series book so he decided to write some military SF of his own. He lives near Niagara Falls, Canada. In his spare time, he dabbles in steampunk cosplay, pursues his interests in science, history and free energy. He can be contacted via his website.

Book preview

Glossary of Terms:

Cavitate – refers to bubbles of steam that are generated when a propeller churns through water at high speed. The collapse of the steam bubbles creates sound waves.

Polynyas – Areas of Arctic icecap that are temporarily free of ice.

Chapter One:

Rugen island off the Baltic coast of Germany, 8-October-1944

Colonel Luigi Romersa looked through the periscope at the launch site, which was approximately half a kilometer from the observation bunker. Final preparations for the test were underway.

What to you think of the SS’s newest toy? asked Dr. Wernher Von Braun.

Romersa looked at Von Braun. His command of German was better than most Italian officers, but he wasn’t sure if he understood Von Braun correctly. Do you mean the rocket or the device?

Von Braun smiled and shook his head. "Not the rocket, no. It’s basically the same design we’ve been using against the British. My newest toy is a rocket that will reach America, and it’s almost ready. No, what I meant was the device. General Kammler can’t stop raving about it. It will win the war, he says. Perhaps it will, but if it’s even half as powerful as he claims, God help us all."

Romersa nodded his agreement. An atomic bomb was a frightening prospect. Still, it was now obvious to any military officer that the war was lost if continued by ordinary means. Did the Allies not realize that calling for unconditional surrender would merely stiffen resistance and motivate the Axis powers to go to desperate lengths to avoid that fate?

Is the General here? I didn’t see him when I came in.

No, he’s...elsewhere, said Von Braun enigmatically.

Romersa nodded in the direction of the launching pad. So why is the SS testing an atom bomb on top of a rocket?

Because the explosive potential of the device is not known with any degree of certainty. The estimates range from a low of several hundred tonnes of chemical explosives up to as high as a hundred thousand tonnes. An explosion that big on the ground would devastate this whole island. By exploding it in the air, we minimize the danger of an unexpectedly large blast. We thought about dropping it from a bomber, but that would put the plane in jeopardy; so, the plan is to send it high enough that when the A-4 reaches the top of its parabolic trajectory, it will be at the very edge of space.

Romersa’s confusion over what the A-4 referred to vanished when he remembered that Von Braun and his team called the rocket the A-4. It was Hitler who named it the V-2.

Will the explosion be visible from the ground? asked Romersa.

By telescope or binoculars, certainly. By the naked eye, possibly. Von Braun leaned closer, and when he spoke, it was in a low voice. I personally hope the Tommies and the Americans see it too. Maybe it’ll motivate them to be more reasonable.

Let’s hope so. How much longer until the V-2, ah, the A-4 launches?

Von Braun checked the clock on the wall. Less than two minutes now. Excuse me while I check with my technical people.

Romersa returned to the periscope. The people at the launching site were in the process of getting in vehicles to move back. The two minutes went quickly. He held his breath as the rocket engines fired, and then seconds later the rocket started climbing into the sky. He was unable to adjust the periscope’s angle fast enough to keep up with the rocket. He soon gave up and walked over to the radar station where Von Braun was now standing. Everything seemed to be going well until the rocket reached the ten-kilometer altitude.

It’s veering off course, Doctor! said the radar operator.

Shit! hissed Von Braun, What direction?

South-east!

Romersa saw Von Braun’s face turn pale. Why is that a problem? he asked.

The damn rocket is heading in the direction of Berlin! Is it still gaining altitude? he asked the technician.

Yes, sir, but the rate is slowing, and the horizontal speed is climbing.

Its trajectory is flattening out. That means it’ll start descending soon. We have to destroy it! Von Braun turned to look at one of his technicians.

Gerd! Send the destruct signal, now!

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Von Braun turned and ran for the bunker door. Romersa was right behind him. They reached the outside just in time to hear a loud boom. Von Braun pointed to a bright light in the distance that quickly faded away.

Thank God the destruct mechanism worked. Can you imagine the catastrophe if that missile had detonated when it hit the ground? he asked. Romersa said nothing. "There’s going to be hell to pay over this. You may as well head back to wherever you’re staying, Colonel. I have to stay here to check with the staff and gather the records, and then I’ll be heading for Berlin. Shit! That asshole, Kammler, will blame us scientists for this, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that his goddamned atomic bomb messed up the rocket’s guidance system, maybe from the radiation or something. Good bye, Colonel."

Von Braun had his hand out, and Romersa shook it. Good bye to you too, Doctor Von Braun. Perhaps we’ll meet again.

Yes, perhaps. Von Braun turned and re-entered the bunker.

It was early evening by the time Romersa arrived at the Italian embassy in Berlin. He wanted to send a report to his superiors right away, and then he would think about where to have dinner. There was only one Italian restaurant in all of Berlin and their food was not that good. Still, it was better than German cuisine. He’d already become tired of that.

As he entered the main lobby, he noticed a group of embassy personnel gathered around the Reception Desk. They all seemed to be talking to each other at the same time. How typically Italian, he thought.

What’s the big problem? he shouted as he came up to them.

The phones don’t work! yelled a man Romersa didn’t recognize.

None of the Embassy’s phones are working? asked Romersa.

No, and not just us! The whole city’s phone system is kaput!

Romersa grinned at the use of the German word. He had to admit that it had a satisfying sound to it, but clearly the man must be mistaken.

Come on, now. How can every phone in Berlin be kaput? Have you called the telephone company?

NO! We can’t call because the PHONES aren’t working! Do all you military people have shit for brains?

Romersa felt a little silly about his question, but he didn’t appreciate being insulted like that. He made a mental note to talk to this man’s superior, but first things first.

Is the teleprinter line to Rome still working? Nobody knew for sure. Some said yes, others said no. Romersa cursed them under his breath and headed for the communications room.

GERMAN CHANCELLORY, Berlin, 12-October, 1944

Von Braun waited in the corridor outside Hitler’s office. General Kammler was still inside, and he’d told Von Braun to wait for him. One of Von Braun’s associates walked over.

How did it go, Herr Doctor?

Von Braun looked around to make sure no one else could hear what he was about to say. That maniac, Kammler, has convinced The Leader to authorize the deployment of his damn bomb on our A-10!

The associate’s face grew pale, and he quickly looked around too. Calling an SS general a maniac could easily get his boss sent to a concentration camp. It was well known that the SS had informers everywhere. Shh! Not so loud, Herr Doctor! Did you tell the Leader that the A-10 still hasn’t been tested yet?

Yes, I told him. His response was that we had better make sure the first flight is a success because that’s the flight that will carry the device. When we get back, I want an immediate meeting of all department heads. I don’t care what time that might turn out to be.

The associate was about to say something when the door opened, and Kammler strode out with a self-satisfied expression on his face. Ah, you’re still here. Good. How soon do you think the A-10 will be ready?

That depends, said Von Braun. "If the rocket is intended to make a sub-orbital flight that comes down in America, then it might be ready in six to eight weeks. If the intention is to put the, ah, device into orbit as you’ve apparently convinced The Leader we should do, then we need more time to make the necessary modifications and test components. For that mission, I would guess—and notice that I said guess—we’d need another five, no, six months on top of the six to eight weeks."

Kammler shook his head emphatically. No. Absolutely unacceptable. I know you scientists. I’m supervising lots of them now, you know. When you’re asked how long it will take to do some task, you always give yourselves plenty of time. You say eight months. I think with sufficient motivation you and your team can have it ready in four.

Now it was Von Braun’s turn to shake his head emphatically. Motivation is not the problem, General. My team and I do not wish to see our families fall into the hands of the goddamned Soviets. I’ve heard how they treat Russians accused of being collaborators. What do you think they’ll do to German women if we can’t stop them. No, motivation is not lacking, but we only have so many hours in the day, along with shortages of equipment and materials as a result of American bombers destroying factories as fast as we can rebuild them. Four months is not humanly possible. We may be able to do it in six months instead of eight.

Six months, eh? That’s mid-April, right? Von Braun nodded. I’ll hold you to that deadline, Herr Doctor. I have female family members too, and I’ll do whatever I must to keep them out of the hands of those sub-human Russians. You remember that, Herr Doctor. Without waiting for a reply, Kammler turned and walked away.

Can we do it, Herr Doctor? asked the associate.

Von Braun sighed. Can we build it in six months, yes. Can we build it in six months well enough to accomplish Kammler’s mad scheme without it exploding on the way up? That I don’t know. Let’s go. We have a lot of work to do.

MID-ATLANTIC, ESCORT Carrier CVE Croatan, 15-April-1945

Commander Richard Tory entered the tiny Combat Information Center and looked for the Admiral commanding the task force. As he approached the admiral, he heard one of the personnel give a verbal report.

Stanton reports unidentified submarine spotted on the surface by searchlight. The sub has dived, and Stanton is moving to attack, Admiral.

I’m surprised they can see anything in this fog, said the Admiral. He saw Tory approach and didn’t bother to hide his disapproval of Naval Intelligence officers being assigned to his task force. You heard? asked the Admiral.

Tory nodded. One of your destroyers has found a sub. It has to be German. None of our subs or British subs are anywhere nearby, and we know from decoded messages that Doenitz ordered at least two of his Group Seawolf subs to this area.

Frost has joined the attack, said the enlisted man who was listening to a set of earphones and had reported a minute earlier.

Normally two destroyers should be enough to finish off a sub, but with this lousy weather and fog, that sub just might slip away, said the Admiral.

Tory said nothing. He knew that the Admiral was aware of the intel that Group Seawolf might be trying to launch V-1 buzz bombs at New York, but that was classified information, and the other personnel in the room were not supposed to know anything about it. Both he and the Admiral remained quiet as they listened to the reports coming in from Stanton and Frost. It was six minutes later when another report almost made Tory’s heart stop beating.

Stanton reports she’s been torpedoed!

Tory heard the Admiral curse. Within seconds there was a follow-up report.

Stanton now says no torpedo but an underwater explosion so loud they thought they’d been hit.

Tory and the Admiral exchanged puzzled looks. Tory knew just enough about anti-submarine warfare to understand that enemy submarines didn’t explode with anything like that much energy. What would be far more typical would be for one of Stanton’s Hedgehog mortar shells to punch a hole in a sub’s hull if it made contact, and then the sub would sink from taking on too much water, unless it managed to surface first in order to surrender and get the crew off.

Has anything like that ever happened before, Admiral? asked Tory.

No, I’ve never heard of something like that happening, not even from other task forces.

Tory checked his watch. It was now a few minutes past midnight. Over the next fifteen minutes, all reports from both Stanton and Frost were negative. Tory was starting to get drowsy and wondered if he dared return to his quarters. He didn’t want to give the Admiral an excuse to criticize him in the After-Action report.

Frost reports a possible sub sonar contact, Admiral, said the crewman. Frost is engaging their hedgehogs, he said a few seconds later. Tory and the Admiral waited in silence. Repeat that? said the crewman into his headphones microphone. Okay, got it. Admiral, Frost reports hydrophones have detected an explosion and sounds of a sub breaking up.

The Admiral grinned. Sounds like they got that fucker,

Tory was just about to respond when he heard a low rumble and felt the ship vibrate alarmingly. What the hell?

Check with the Captain, ordered the Admiral. Find out if we’ve been hit by a torpedo.

Yessir! Captain, this is CIC. The Admiral wants to know if the ship’s been hit by a torpedo. There was a pause. I’ll pass that along, Captain. Admiral, the Captain says no reports of damage, and he’s unable to explain the vibration. Ah, Admiral? Frost reports very loud underwater explosion. They say it was so loud, some rivets popped loose.

Tory looked at the Admiral, who gestured with his head for Tory to follow him as he headed out into the corridor. After waiting until they had the corridor to themselves, the Admiral leaned in closer and spoke in a low voice.

This carrier is twelve goddamn miles away from Frost, and that explosion shook this ship like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Do you know anything that could explain it?

No, sir! said Tory, and he meant it. He was at a loss too.

The Admiral looked at him with a skeptical expression. I wish I could believe you, but my experience with you NavInt cowboys has been that you don’t always tell the truth. I just want to remind you that I’m cleared for Top Secret material. If there’s something you’re not telling me, tell me now and I’ll chock it up to a momentary lapse in memory.

"I do not know of anything that would or could explain those explosions, Admiral. You know as much about our intel on those subs as I do. Even if they were carrying a V-1 buzz bomb, that wouldn’t explain the magnitude of those explosions."

The Admiral sighed. Okay. I’ll proceed on the assumption that you’re being truthful, but if I ever find out you’ve just lied to me, I’ll go straight to the President and demand that you be busted back to lieutenant j.g.! You got that?

Loud and clear, Admiral. Tory watched as the Admiral returned to the CIC. He decided to stay in the corridor for a bit and have a smoke. He wasn’t sure that a one-star admiral could get an audience with the President, but he knew that some flag officers had enough friends in high places that they might be able to do just that. Not that he was worried. He really didn’t know what could have caused those explosions. By the time he had finished his cigarette, he figured the Admiral had probably calmed down, and he re-entered CIC. At least he wasn’t drowsy anymore.

Chapter Two

SS Complex S-IV, Upper Austria, 26-April-1945

Von Braun’s ears were still ringing from the vibration generated by the A-10 launch when Kammler slapped him on the back to congratulate him.

WE DID IT, HERR DOCTOR! THE WAR WILL BE OVER IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS! I MUST PHONE THE LEADER! He rushed off so quickly that Von Braun wasn’t able to tell him that notifying The Leader of a successful launch was premature. Yes, the A-10, or V-3 as The Leader called it, had successfully launched from the hidden complex inside the mountain, but it was not yet in orbit. Didn’t the fool understand that?

Von Braun stepped over to the radar station. The technician looked up at him and nodded. It’s still climbing and on course as far as I can tell, Herr Doctor.

Von Braun checked his watch. The first stage was about to use up all its fuel. He looked over at Debus, who was intently watching the main control panel.

First stage engines have shut down on schedule, said Debus. After a two-second pause, he said, Second stage engine is firing.

Radar is now showing two blips, Herr Doctor. It appears the first stage separated as planned, said the radar technician. Second stage velocity is approaching eighty percent.

Von Braun held his breath. One hundred percent was the desired orbital velocity. Ninety-percent would put the satellite into a low orbit that would quickly decay. Not that it mattered if the atomic payload was detonated in the next 24 hours as planned, but it would be nice from a professional engineering point of view if the rocket performed as expected.

Velocity is now eighty-five percent...ninety-percent...ninety-four percent...velocity is now ninety-seven percent... There was a longer pause now, so long, in fact, that Von Braun began to think something had gone wrong. One hundred point two percent!

Engine shutdown right on schedule! said Debus with obvious delight. Everyone in the control room applauded and cheered. Von Braun shook Debus’ hand, then shook hands with everyone else. He was smiling on the outside in order not to spoil their sense of accomplishment. They had worked to the limit of human endurance to get the A-10 ready on time. But on the inside, he was sick at heart. When the atomic bomb was dropped on New York, that wonderful technical achievement would be used to kill thousands of American civilians, perhaps even tens of thousands.

Once the cheering had died down, Debus came over to him with a sympathetic look. I know you’d rather the A-10 carried a scientific satellite, but what choice do we have now? If the Russians overrun the whole country, Germany might cease to exist altogether. If this operation works and the Allies can be convinced to accept our conditional surrender, we’ll end up being heroes.

Von Braun shook his head. No, not heroes, Kurt. Now we’re all sons of bitches.

Before Debus could respond, they saw Kammler walking quickly back with a pronounced swagger. The Leader is pleased with me and with you, Herr Doctor! I have his permission to order Party officials in Munich to go around door to door telling the population that an atom bomb will be used tomorrow! What time tomorrow will we transmit the signal for the bomb to fall on New York?

Von Braun and Debus exchanged a quick look. Well, General, as you know, we need at least twelve hours of radar observation to determine the precise orbit of the, ah, device, and then the electronic calculating machine needs to be programmed to calculate the precise time when the device will be in the correct position and orbit to slow down enough to fall on New York. The calculations can’t be rushed. If we’re off by even so much as a decimal point, the bomb will miss the target. I’ll make sure you’re informed of when the signal has to be transmitted.

Yes, said Kammler, his ecstatic grin having now taken on a more feral quality, make sure you do notify me. I intend to be there when the signal is sent.

As they watched Kammler leave, Debus leaned closer to Von Braun so that no one else would hear him. What if we deliberately miss New York? If the bomb hits in an open field a few miles away, the Americans will still notice its potential danger, and the number of lives lost will be minimized.

Von Braun looked around to make sure no one had heard Debus. We’d be taking a big risk, Kurt. The Leader doesn’t tolerate failure well. You know that Kammler would blame us, and if the Allies don’t react the way we hope or wait too long, the German people will pay the price for our restraint. Are you willing to risk that, Kurt?

My God, Werner, I hadn’t thought of the possible repercussions. I hate the idea of smashing a city. Have you seen what the Tommies did to Dresden? The city was full of refugees seeking a safe place when the British bombers dropped their firebombs. Men, women and children were burned alive. Kammler’s fucking bomb will be just as deadly, and I don’t want to be associated with that kind of atrocity. But if a demonstration with minimal fatalities doesn’t work, then we’re all truly lost.

Yes, so what’s your answer, Kurt. I can’t finagle the calculations by myself. I’ll need your help if it’s to be done.

Yes, I’ll help.

Good! Then let’s see if we can save our country without wrecking the whole world.

It was just a half hour after dawn the next morning when Von Braun and Debus arrived at the transmitter site—or what was left of it. The local firemen were still pouring water on the smoldering ruins, and Von Braun could still feel heat radiating from the structure. All the wood was gone, but the metal used in the transmitter and other equipment was still there, and some of it was still red hot.

My God, Wernher, how did the Allies know about the transmitter? asked Debus.

Von Braun shook his head. They didn’t. This whole area was bombed last night by Churchill’s butchers. You know as well as I do that there’s no such thing as precision bombing by night. They targeted Munich and just got lucky, and therefore so did we. Without the signal to activate the retro rockets, the bomb will stay in orbit for decades. That transmitter was specially built for just this task. With some of the component factories wrecked, rebuilding it now will take months, and Germany doesn’t have months. Patton’s Third Army is rushing in this direction, while the Russians are pushing on Berlin. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that the Americans know there’s a lot of valuable technology in the southern Reich, and they want to have both it and us. There’s nothing more you or I or the others in the group can do to change things. We have to start thinking about our families now, Kurt. The Americans will treat us better than the Russians, so let’s make sure the Americans find us first. You get the group and all the families together in the launch bunker, while I head west and try to contact the American Army. I’ll let them know where all of us are, and they’ll send troops to secure the bunker.

Okay, Wernher. By the way, where’s Kammler? I would have thought he’d be here looking at the wreckage.

Von Braun shook his head again. If I know the General as well as I think I do, he’s already making plans for his own survival. He doesn’t care about us anymore, the bastard!

BENEDIKTBEUREN, SOUTHERN Germany, 2-May-1945

Major Field was just about to order his tank platoon to move out of the small village they’d spent the night in when he saw a Navy jeep coming towards them from ahead.

What in the hell is a Navy jeep doing so far from the sea? he asked of nobody in particular.