Stealing Trinity Read Online Free PDF

It was part of the reason he was up here to begin with -- to escape the crew, who were not enamored with the stranger who wore civilian clothes. Nine days ago they had plucked Braun out of a raft just off the Baltic coast, an orphan rescued from a war that was going badly in every quarter. From there, U-801 had followed the balance of her orders and churned west.
    She was a Type IX, a long-range variant, and each day her course remained steady, the longitude increasing. Aside from the boat's captain, no one knew the precise destination, but it mattered little. Everyone understood that they were getting dangerously close to the well-guarded shores of America -- carrying no torpedoes, little food, and perhaps not enough fuel to make the return leg. The risks were enormous, and with the war nearing its end, the hardened crew of U-801 wanted only to go home.
    Footsteps clanged up the metal ladder from the control room below, and Braun turned to see the captain appear. He was a young man, only thirty Braun had discovered, though the war and weather had given him ten years more. He sported a scraggly beard, as did most of the crew, and his teeth were a sailors, yellow and rotted from years of rough coffee and neglect. He sauntered ahead against the breeze and took up a post next to Braun at the forward rail.
    "So, Wermacht, we are nearly there."
    Braun had never volunteered a name, and the captain had never asked -- probably guessing he'd not get the truth. He simply addressed Braun as "Wehrmacht," an unclassifiable specimen of the German war machine. And it always came in a pointedly derisive cadence.
    "One more day beneath the surface," the captain continued, "and we will be rid of you."
    Braun responded, "And I will be rid of you."
    The captain grinned. "The seas, they have improved. Better than the first night."
    The man was goading him. During daylight hours, the boat was forced to run submerged, to avoid being spotted by ships or patrol planes. But at night she surfaced to vent and charge the batteries, and also because, there, her speed was eight knots better. On the first night of the voyage a weather front had moved in, rocking the boat mercilessly. Braun, having not been to sea in years, had retired to his tiny room, and the crew clearly found amusement in his mal de mer. The next day Braun had recovered, and it had not been an issue since, but the captain still prodded.
    "Have you taken any messages tonight?" Braun asked.
    The captains humor faded. "No. Our request for refueling on the return leg -- it has not been answered. This is very unusual."
    A rogue wave slapped audibly against the boat, and both men ducked their heads as salt spray flew over the rail.
    "I expected them to deny it. But not even a reply."
    "Are you sure the radios are working properly?" Braun asked. He knew the boat was tired. Her hull was pockmarked with dents, as if the ship s provisions were regularly dropped aboard from a great height. And the crew seemed to spend most of their time on repairs, often makeshift jerry-rigs to skirt around the shortage of spare parts. Every time they surfaced, a bucket-line detail emptied out the bilge. The engine fuel was being filtered through old underwear.
    "Our radios are fine. We are just beginning to capture the broken signal of a Canadian radio station. No, it is not our gear."
    "The end -- it can only be a matter of days now," Braun said pensively.
    "Yes. Which leads me to the question -- should we continue?"
    Braun himself had given the question much thought. He was to be dropped in a raft three miles off the coast of Long Island, with clothes, identity documents, and ten thousand American dollars that would allow him to immediately blend in. If the war should end before they arrived -- or if it had already ended -- what were his options? U-801 would return to Germany for surrender. The crew would be vetted, and some would undoubtedly point their fingers at the man who claimed to be a military officer,