Oh that's a codename with some very interesting implications. That smells like an assassination plot/betrayal from the inside. Of course the real fun would be if he tries to assassinate Attlee or for the real kicks and giggles Truman.
Feel the Bearn - A Timeline of France's Only Carrier in WWII and Beyond
- Thread starter Seafort
- Start date
Oh that's a codename with some very interesting implications. That smells like an assassination plot/betrayal from the inside. Of course the real fun would be if he tries to assassinate Attlee or for the real kicks and giggles Truman.
In TTL Winston is most likely regretting not arranging an accident for dear Charles the Legend (in his own mind at least)
While IMO this timeline borders on ASB CtL had an inflated ego, an inflated opinion of France's position post war and the ability to pretty much piss off anybody and everybody.
While IMO this timeline borders on ASB CtL had an inflated ego, an inflated opinion of France's position post war and the ability to pretty much piss off anybody and everybody.
There have been two major departure points that have created this timeline. One is clear - FDR authorized the rebuild of the Bearn after being asked by De Gaulle and then Giraud. As a result France has a strong naval asset in the Levant right at a time when they almost came to blows with the UK, but in OTL backed off because they lacked the means to resist.
The other departure point has yet to be revealed, and will hopefully provide more clarity as to why things are happening the way that they are.
The next update will be significant.
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DeGalle had a reputation for being difficult shall we say. I could see him being an ass about Syria. Even if France had a Naval Aviation Asset in the Med at this time I have a very hard time seeing it used in such a way as to provoke the UK the way they did.
Secondly why would the Red Army be massing Armored divisions in their zone of occupation that fast and ready to jump off when they did. This whole thing stinks of Soviet duplicity in that it will allow Stalin to stride in as a peacemaker once the Western Allies are at each other's throats. One clue to this is the mentioned fishing trawler.
Third, I really do not see HST caving to allowing the Red Army units transit. Plus if the fecal matter strikes the air distribution device these Red Army units will be operating without resupply.
Fourth, DeGalle annexing the portions of Germany conquered by France. WTF. DeGalle and France by the time this is done will be left swinging in the wind. France at this time has to literally go hat in hand to the US simply to sustain herself
Oh I think Stalin will be delighted by the latter. Why? Because keeping that zone under control will be terrible, and it gives permanent incentives to have Soviet assistance in a Western European country. From Stalin's perspective, France's homegrown Communist leadership could easily be fully in power quite on their own merits given DeGaulle's actions.
The Cold War sub war would be a lot more interesting if Brest was a big Soviet sub base by treaty, for example. Stalin now very likely has direct access to the Atlantic by treaty.
Chapter 4 - Imperator
June 11th, 1945 1:55PM EST
"Torpedo!", screamed a French sailor on watch. A crew mate ripped a microphone off its mounting. "Bridge! We have torpedoes incoming!"
In the scarred island of the Bearn, Jauques Cousteau and the rest of the bridge crew was jolted out of evening's monotony by the frantic message coming through the speaker.
"Direction?", asked Cousteau.
A nearby officer picked up a microphone and asked the same.
"Incoming off the port bow. A full spread sir!"
"Sir!" cried another crewman, "Confirmed by the Marblehead. We have four torpedoes inbound!"
"Evasive maneuvers!" said Cousteau. "Cast off our tow line! All engines, full reverse. Helm, hard starboard!"
The bridge crew began barking out his directives. Cousteau felt the ship shudder as the screws went into reverse at maximum velocity. The engines had been used at no more than 35 percent capacity, and he had no illusions on what the crippled carrier was now capable of. He ventured a view to the port, past the shattered remnants of the bridge windows. They were in a light rainstorm and visibility was poor. Whatever was coming could not be seen and --
There were two almost instantaneous crashes, followed by a mammoth explosion amidships. Cousteau and the bridge crew were thrown from their feet as the carrier whipped back and forth mightily. Seconds later another blast rocked the ship as a geyser of water erupted near the stern.
June 11th, 1945 1:57PM EST
The meeting had adjourned. The members of the Provisional Government waited until Charles De Gaulle stood, then they themselves arose. There was strain in De Gaulle's face. The events of the last two weeks had worn down even the towering leader of the Free French. He straightened his uniform, but before he could move he was approached by Gaston Pawlewski. The Cabinet Director greeted De Gaulle warmly.
"Well done sir," he said with a smile. "I think that we have made significant progress."
"Progress?", replied De Gaulle stiffly.
"The British have evacuated from France. They heeded your warning. More importantly, so did the Americans."
De Gaulle nodded to the members of the Cabinet milling about. And at the damaged building itself.
"Progress is measured not in minutes, Gaston. It is throughout the life of our nation."
He put his hands on the chair before him.
"France has had many periods of progress in her lifetime. But that is in the past. And when I see this..."
His voice trailed off as he surveyed the room. Gaston followed his gaze and began to understand. It was not only the physical damage to the building, nor the missing Cabinet members who had perished. France had emerged from the horror of subjugation, only to find their nascent recovery under attack.
De Gaulle put words to what they were both thinking. "There is much progress to make," he said.
The General stiffened and headed out of the room, followed by Pawlewski.
June 11th, 1945 1:59PM EST
The Bearn was cast in smoke as twilight approached. Hundreds of tons of seawater were cascading into the two large holes in her port. The carrier had taken on a 7 degree list.
On the bridge sailors ran frantically while Jacques Cousteau directed damage control efforts. The USS Marblehead had gone into zigzag manuevers of her own, seeking to avoid fire from whoever had attacked them. And Cousteau had not allowed himself a second to ponder who that could be as he felt the ship continuing to tilt further to the port.
"Submarine!", came a cry from the speaker. "Ten degrees port!"
Everyone whipped left. It was not just a submarine that had surfaced. It was a German U-boat, distinctive in its color and appearance. However as much as she was a German vessel, she looked markedly different from the pictures and drawings of other U-boats that Cousteau had studied during the War. Her conning tower and hull were much more streamlined than anything he had ever seen. He was incredulous as the boat approached. To have survived the ordeal in the Mediterranean to only now be attacked by a collection of die-hard fanatics was --
His thoughts were interrupted as the U-boat opened fire with both C/30 anti-aircraft guns. The Bearn was strafed from bow to stern, men falling over and fires erupting along the port side. The sailors in the bridge ducked as shrapnel sprayed into the superstructure. For several seconds the gunfire continued unabated, and then finally ceased.
Cousteau carefully stood and got an even better look at the U-boat. He indeed had never seen anything like her before, and the way it was leisurely sailing past them was almost arrogant. It was as if they had nothing to fear, even though the Marblehead was in the distance and fast approaching.
The U-boat suddenly opened fire again, this time aiming its 0.79in gunfire at the Bearn's island. Bullets shredded the bridge. Cousteau was hit and sent flying backward, out of the island, and down into the darkening water far below.
June 11th, 1945 2:02PM EST
Willie Gallacher exited the Oxford Street Corner House feeling as good as he had in days. The MP had achieved considerable fame in the wake of his denouncement of Churchill five days earlier. Some of it was positive, the rest negative. But as a politician that was to be expected. What he had not considered was that his own party might seriously consider his suspension from Parliament. A few had even called for his expulsion, forming common cause with members of the Conservatives.
But that was for another day. He waited in front of the restaurant as his taxi approached.
The taxi stopped before him. Willie opened the door and was shot five times, collapsing on the street. The taxi door slammed shut and the car raced off as bystanders screamed.
June 11th, 1945 2:05PM EST
Hundreds of Parisian onlookers were waiting in front of the Parliament building. De Gaulle was a national hero, and parents brought their children to catch a glimpse of the French general. He was well known for occasionally stepping out and mingling with the crowd.
But not today. The crowd cheered nonetheless as the tall French general exited the building along with Gaston Pawlewski. They waved to the crowd and entered a waiting staff car.
Moments later there was a screeching sound as a panzerfaust raced overhead and hit alongside the staff car. It erupted into flame and flew into the air, somersaulting before landing on its side. Screams erupted as they crowd fled in all directions, the sounds of their terror masking the single gunshot that then rang out.
June 11th, 1945 2:10PM EST
Clement Attlee opened the hotel room door and stepped inside the top floor suite at Claridge. Standing in the shadows was Percy Sillitoe. His back was to the Labour MP as he looked out the window and down upon London.
"I told you it would be soon," said the Chief Constable of Kent.
Attlee closed the door. "Do you have it?", he asked quietly.
Sillitoe nodded, almost imperceptibly.
"And what will you do with it?", he asked in a quiet voice.
"What I must," replied Attlee.
Sillitoe gestured at the large briefcase on the table beside him. "Promise me, Mr. Attlee. Promise me that you will not sit on this. That you will do what you must to stop him."
Attlee stepped towards him. "History judges the individual on success, not on attempts. Mark my words Percy, if what you have told me is true I will make certain that the Prime Minister falls."
"Good," said Sillitoe as he turned to face him. He extended his hand. "Then we are in agreement."
"We are," replied Attlee. "First, I want to hear it for myself."
"Of course," replied Sillitoe. He slid the briefcase over. "The recordings are in here."
Attlee stood over the briefcase and flipped its three latches. It was at that moment that the Constable noticed something amiss. He had brought the case with him from Kent, had kept it in his taxi as he was driven to the hotel. Only now, back in the light did he see it. One of the three latches on the briefcase was broken. At least, it had been when he had left Kent. Illuminated by the hotel lamp, he could see that all three latches were perfectly fine.
"Wait --"
Clement Attlee opened the briefcase, and the hotel room flashed to white.
June 11th, 1945 2:11PM EST
Winston Churchill sat in his office alone, listening to the sounds of Gilbert and Sullivan's of “A Wandering Minstrel I." It had always been one of his favorites, and tonight even moreso. He sipped his glass of brandy for several minutes, then put out his cigar.
Several minutes later he was in his Humber Pullmans, being driven home. The sun had almost set, casting the streets of London in gloom despite the well-lit store fronts and restaurants. Winston watched the cavalcade of lights, of prosperity. The fruits of a war that had been hard fought and won.
Suddenly the car jerked to a halt. He leaned forward.
"What is it?," Winston asked.
"Traffic, Mr Prime Minister," replied the soldier who was chauffeuring him. "Let me see if we can --"
Machine gun fire suddenly sprayed the vehicle.
"Sir, get down!" cried the driver. They were surrounded. Gunmen were firing machine guns at them from all directions. The Humber was bullet-proof, but the noise of the rounds impacting the car was cacophonous. The windows began to splinter, then finally shatter. The driver ducked down, reaching for his sidearm and awaiting the next blow.
It never came. Sirens wailed in the distance. Some seemed to be coming in their direction, others oddly were headed away.
After a minute had passed the driver reached back and gave Churchill a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Sir, I - I think that they've gone. Please stay here until I'm sure the area is secure".
"Nonsense," replied the Prime Minister as he sat up, wiping shattered glass from his coat. "Everyone has his day. If today is mine I prefer to meet it upon my feet."
Within minutes the area had been secured by the police, and then a growing presence of soldiers. And then finally was Anthony Eden, who rushed forward to see Winston standing by the shattered Humber, staring at the London skyline. Awash in lights, it seemed aglow.
"Winston, are you okay?," he asked, out of breath.
"Okay?", replied Winston. "I feel splendid! Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result!”
An Army captain approached. "Mr. Prime Minister, we need to get you to safety!"
"I feel perfectly safe, Captain. Perhaps a little ringing in my ears but --"
"There's been another attack!" said the Captain urgently.
"What?," said Eden. "Where?"
"At the Claridge. There was a bombing there just minutes ago!"
Winston turned and looked back at the London skyline. The glow was brighter now, and it was not just the lights of the capital. He could see the fire still raging at the top of the hotel. The lights combined cast an orange pall upon his face.
His mind wandered. The British people had fought long and struggled mightily under his leadership. To let it slip away now had been, unthinkable. This therefore, he thought, was for them.
"Torpedo!", screamed a French sailor on watch. A crew mate ripped a microphone off its mounting. "Bridge! We have torpedoes incoming!"
In the scarred island of the Bearn, Jauques Cousteau and the rest of the bridge crew was jolted out of evening's monotony by the frantic message coming through the speaker.
"Direction?", asked Cousteau.
A nearby officer picked up a microphone and asked the same.
"Incoming off the port bow. A full spread sir!"
"Sir!" cried another crewman, "Confirmed by the Marblehead. We have four torpedoes inbound!"
"Evasive maneuvers!" said Cousteau. "Cast off our tow line! All engines, full reverse. Helm, hard starboard!"
The bridge crew began barking out his directives. Cousteau felt the ship shudder as the screws went into reverse at maximum velocity. The engines had been used at no more than 35 percent capacity, and he had no illusions on what the crippled carrier was now capable of. He ventured a view to the port, past the shattered remnants of the bridge windows. They were in a light rainstorm and visibility was poor. Whatever was coming could not be seen and --
There were two almost instantaneous crashes, followed by a mammoth explosion amidships. Cousteau and the bridge crew were thrown from their feet as the carrier whipped back and forth mightily. Seconds later another blast rocked the ship as a geyser of water erupted near the stern.
June 11th, 1945 1:57PM EST
The meeting had adjourned. The members of the Provisional Government waited until Charles De Gaulle stood, then they themselves arose. There was strain in De Gaulle's face. The events of the last two weeks had worn down even the towering leader of the Free French. He straightened his uniform, but before he could move he was approached by Gaston Pawlewski. The Cabinet Director greeted De Gaulle warmly.
"Well done sir," he said with a smile. "I think that we have made significant progress."
"Progress?", replied De Gaulle stiffly.
"The British have evacuated from France. They heeded your warning. More importantly, so did the Americans."
De Gaulle nodded to the members of the Cabinet milling about. And at the damaged building itself.
"Progress is measured not in minutes, Gaston. It is throughout the life of our nation."
He put his hands on the chair before him.
"France has had many periods of progress in her lifetime. But that is in the past. And when I see this..."
His voice trailed off as he surveyed the room. Gaston followed his gaze and began to understand. It was not only the physical damage to the building, nor the missing Cabinet members who had perished. France had emerged from the horror of subjugation, only to find their nascent recovery under attack.
De Gaulle put words to what they were both thinking. "There is much progress to make," he said.
The General stiffened and headed out of the room, followed by Pawlewski.
June 11th, 1945 1:59PM EST
The Bearn was cast in smoke as twilight approached. Hundreds of tons of seawater were cascading into the two large holes in her port. The carrier had taken on a 7 degree list.
On the bridge sailors ran frantically while Jacques Cousteau directed damage control efforts. The USS Marblehead had gone into zigzag manuevers of her own, seeking to avoid fire from whoever had attacked them. And Cousteau had not allowed himself a second to ponder who that could be as he felt the ship continuing to tilt further to the port.
"Submarine!", came a cry from the speaker. "Ten degrees port!"
Everyone whipped left. It was not just a submarine that had surfaced. It was a German U-boat, distinctive in its color and appearance. However as much as she was a German vessel, she looked markedly different from the pictures and drawings of other U-boats that Cousteau had studied during the War. Her conning tower and hull were much more streamlined than anything he had ever seen. He was incredulous as the boat approached. To have survived the ordeal in the Mediterranean to only now be attacked by a collection of die-hard fanatics was --
His thoughts were interrupted as the U-boat opened fire with both C/30 anti-aircraft guns. The Bearn was strafed from bow to stern, men falling over and fires erupting along the port side. The sailors in the bridge ducked as shrapnel sprayed into the superstructure. For several seconds the gunfire continued unabated, and then finally ceased.
Cousteau carefully stood and got an even better look at the U-boat. He indeed had never seen anything like her before, and the way it was leisurely sailing past them was almost arrogant. It was as if they had nothing to fear, even though the Marblehead was in the distance and fast approaching.
The U-boat suddenly opened fire again, this time aiming its 0.79in gunfire at the Bearn's island. Bullets shredded the bridge. Cousteau was hit and sent flying backward, out of the island, and down into the darkening water far below.
June 11th, 1945 2:02PM EST
Willie Gallacher exited the Oxford Street Corner House feeling as good as he had in days. The MP had achieved considerable fame in the wake of his denouncement of Churchill five days earlier. Some of it was positive, the rest negative. But as a politician that was to be expected. What he had not considered was that his own party might seriously consider his suspension from Parliament. A few had even called for his expulsion, forming common cause with members of the Conservatives.
But that was for another day. He waited in front of the restaurant as his taxi approached.
The taxi stopped before him. Willie opened the door and was shot five times, collapsing on the street. The taxi door slammed shut and the car raced off as bystanders screamed.
June 11th, 1945 2:05PM EST
Hundreds of Parisian onlookers were waiting in front of the Parliament building. De Gaulle was a national hero, and parents brought their children to catch a glimpse of the French general. He was well known for occasionally stepping out and mingling with the crowd.
But not today. The crowd cheered nonetheless as the tall French general exited the building along with Gaston Pawlewski. They waved to the crowd and entered a waiting staff car.
Moments later there was a screeching sound as a panzerfaust raced overhead and hit alongside the staff car. It erupted into flame and flew into the air, somersaulting before landing on its side. Screams erupted as they crowd fled in all directions, the sounds of their terror masking the single gunshot that then rang out.
June 11th, 1945 2:10PM EST
Clement Attlee opened the hotel room door and stepped inside the top floor suite at Claridge. Standing in the shadows was Percy Sillitoe. His back was to the Labour MP as he looked out the window and down upon London.
"I told you it would be soon," said the Chief Constable of Kent.
Attlee closed the door. "Do you have it?", he asked quietly.
Sillitoe nodded, almost imperceptibly.
"And what will you do with it?", he asked in a quiet voice.
"What I must," replied Attlee.
Sillitoe gestured at the large briefcase on the table beside him. "Promise me, Mr. Attlee. Promise me that you will not sit on this. That you will do what you must to stop him."
Attlee stepped towards him. "History judges the individual on success, not on attempts. Mark my words Percy, if what you have told me is true I will make certain that the Prime Minister falls."
"Good," said Sillitoe as he turned to face him. He extended his hand. "Then we are in agreement."
"We are," replied Attlee. "First, I want to hear it for myself."
"Of course," replied Sillitoe. He slid the briefcase over. "The recordings are in here."
Attlee stood over the briefcase and flipped its three latches. It was at that moment that the Constable noticed something amiss. He had brought the case with him from Kent, had kept it in his taxi as he was driven to the hotel. Only now, back in the light did he see it. One of the three latches on the briefcase was broken. At least, it had been when he had left Kent. Illuminated by the hotel lamp, he could see that all three latches were perfectly fine.
"Wait --"
Clement Attlee opened the briefcase, and the hotel room flashed to white.
June 11th, 1945 2:11PM EST
Winston Churchill sat in his office alone, listening to the sounds of Gilbert and Sullivan's of “A Wandering Minstrel I." It had always been one of his favorites, and tonight even moreso. He sipped his glass of brandy for several minutes, then put out his cigar.
Several minutes later he was in his Humber Pullmans, being driven home. The sun had almost set, casting the streets of London in gloom despite the well-lit store fronts and restaurants. Winston watched the cavalcade of lights, of prosperity. The fruits of a war that had been hard fought and won.
Suddenly the car jerked to a halt. He leaned forward.
"What is it?," Winston asked.
"Traffic, Mr Prime Minister," replied the soldier who was chauffeuring him. "Let me see if we can --"
Machine gun fire suddenly sprayed the vehicle.
"Sir, get down!" cried the driver. They were surrounded. Gunmen were firing machine guns at them from all directions. The Humber was bullet-proof, but the noise of the rounds impacting the car was cacophonous. The windows began to splinter, then finally shatter. The driver ducked down, reaching for his sidearm and awaiting the next blow.
It never came. Sirens wailed in the distance. Some seemed to be coming in their direction, others oddly were headed away.
After a minute had passed the driver reached back and gave Churchill a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Sir, I - I think that they've gone. Please stay here until I'm sure the area is secure".
"Nonsense," replied the Prime Minister as he sat up, wiping shattered glass from his coat. "Everyone has his day. If today is mine I prefer to meet it upon my feet."
Within minutes the area had been secured by the police, and then a growing presence of soldiers. And then finally was Anthony Eden, who rushed forward to see Winston standing by the shattered Humber, staring at the London skyline. Awash in lights, it seemed aglow.
"Winston, are you okay?," he asked, out of breath.
"Okay?", replied Winston. "I feel splendid! Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result!”
An Army captain approached. "Mr. Prime Minister, we need to get you to safety!"
"I feel perfectly safe, Captain. Perhaps a little ringing in my ears but --"
"There's been another attack!" said the Captain urgently.
"What?," said Eden. "Where?"
"At the Claridge. There was a bombing there just minutes ago!"
Winston turned and looked back at the London skyline. The glow was brighter now, and it was not just the lights of the capital. He could see the fire still raging at the top of the hotel. The lights combined cast an orange pall upon his face.
His mind wandered. The British people had fought long and struggled mightily under his leadership. To let it slip away now had been, unthinkable. This therefore, he thought, was for them.
Particularly when there's an American light cruiser that will take exception to it's presence...some 6" shells should already be in the air.
nbcman
Donor
Doubt that it is US OSS. SOE most likely based on earlier posts by the Author. Although Mr. Churchill may wish that he was killed in his false flag Op when the truth on the other Ops gets out - and the truth will leak out with all of these Ops going on.
I think they were two separated attacks: Atlee was killed by the Soviets to prolong the war between France and the UK (since it was very likely that he was going to try to get rid of Churchill) and Churchill was attacked by French Special forces as a retaliation for the bombing of Paris.
I don't know why, but I also feel that it was an OSS attack. Truman may want his status quo, but he knows that ending the war is even more important. And if Churchill needs to die to achieve this, well, it must be done.
On the other hand I'm not sure about Atlee. It may be the Soviets or the SOE. Who knows.
PS: I started reading this just today until here, and it's great. Keep it up.
It was obviously the Swiss Naval Commandos who masterminded the entire thing. Noone would expect them. Alongside the Spanish Inquisition.
Chapter 4 - Imperator
June 11th, 1945 2:12PM EST
Korvettenkapitän Adalbert Schnee stepped away from the periscope. The boat was submerged, headed away from the foundering Bearn and the American light cruiser that was frantically searching for them. The fear that he might have had in another submersible was much diminished, as his vessel's speed and lack of noise were unmatched. All in all it had been a good attack, he thought. There had been three direct hits out of four torpedoes fired.
The submarine shuddered as depth charges began to explode, but Schnee was unconcerned. The cruiser could outrun him, but their anti-submarine tactics were predicated on the u-boats that they had encountered in the past. And that did not include this boat.
He turned with grim satisfaction to the British officer standing next to him.
"It is done. The carrier is finished," he said.
"Good," replied his British counterpart. He and several other British personnel had arrived in Bergen, Norway four days earlier. There had been a brief and uncomfortable meeting with them that afternoon, at which point Commander Adams had informed Schnee of what he was to do. After taking additional torpedoes aboard along with the British, they had departed that night instead of June 17th. And their destination was not Britain, as originally planned.
"And what of us?", asked Schnee. The worried looks of the German sailors around him added weight to his words.
"What of you? You are to proceed to the rendezvous point as planned," replied Adams. "After we depart, you will proceed to Lerwick and turn yourselves in."
The British commander looked around at the Germans with a firm gaze.
"What happened today never transpired," he finally said. "If any word is spoken of this, if any stories are to emerge, I will ensure that each and every one of you are transferred to the Soviet Union for debriefing on the Kriegsmarine's submarine advancements. Is that understood?"
The German sailors nodded fearfully back at him. Schnee stepped forward. "We will never speak a word of this," he said stiffly.
"Then proceed," replied Adams.
The U-2511 resumed its original course, headed towards the United Kingdom. Its mission had been completed.
Korvettenkapitän Adalbert Schnee stepped away from the periscope. The boat was submerged, headed away from the foundering Bearn and the American light cruiser that was frantically searching for them. The fear that he might have had in another submersible was much diminished, as his vessel's speed and lack of noise were unmatched. All in all it had been a good attack, he thought. There had been three direct hits out of four torpedoes fired.
The submarine shuddered as depth charges began to explode, but Schnee was unconcerned. The cruiser could outrun him, but their anti-submarine tactics were predicated on the u-boats that they had encountered in the past. And that did not include this boat.
He turned with grim satisfaction to the British officer standing next to him.
"It is done. The carrier is finished," he said.
"Good," replied his British counterpart. He and several other British personnel had arrived in Bergen, Norway four days earlier. There had been a brief and uncomfortable meeting with them that afternoon, at which point Commander Adams had informed Schnee of what he was to do. After taking additional torpedoes aboard along with the British, they had departed that night instead of June 17th. And their destination was not Britain, as originally planned.
"And what of us?", asked Schnee. The worried looks of the German sailors around him added weight to his words.
"What of you? You are to proceed to the rendezvous point as planned," replied Adams. "After we depart, you will proceed to Lerwick and turn yourselves in."
The British commander looked around at the Germans with a firm gaze.
"What happened today never transpired," he finally said. "If any word is spoken of this, if any stories are to emerge, I will ensure that each and every one of you are transferred to the Soviet Union for debriefing on the Kriegsmarine's submarine advancements. Is that understood?"
The German sailors nodded fearfully back at him. Schnee stepped forward. "We will never speak a word of this," he said stiffly.
"Then proceed," replied Adams.
The U-2511 resumed its original course, headed towards the United Kingdom. Its mission had been completed.