Read Online An Honorable German by Charles L. McCain - Free Book Online Page B

battalion at Verdun—a yearlong siege that was meant to destroy the French but ended up destroying
     the Germans. In one of those terrible battles, Johann Brekendorf had carried a horribly wounded Ernst von Woller through an
     artillery barrage to the battalion aid station. Yet when he laid his commander on the ground outside the aid post, Ernst was
     dead. Instead it was Johann, bleeding from dozens of small shrapnel wounds, whom the medics had bandaged and carried to the
     hospital train. For this, Johann had been awarded the Prussian Military Cross, the highest award for bravery an enlisted man
     could receive in the Prussian army. While he did not possess the decoration his father had, Max felt he had proved his bravery
     to his father and to himself.
    By the time Max returned to the bridge,
Spee
had been out of the storm for some hours. The wind and rain had gone, but heavy swells remained and continued to rock the
     ship. Max’s wrists ached as he stood at his post, gripping the handrail for balance. The rest of his body ached, too. When
     he had changed his uniform before coming on duty, the mirror showed black-and-blue flesh in many places. He had refused the
     surgeon’s offer of aspirin. That was foolish. Now he would have to go back for it, and going back would make him feel sheepish.
    An hour after daybreak, they sighted
Altmark
, squat in the water like any tanker, her crew sporting white American sailor caps, the Stars and Stripes flying from her
     stern and painted on her sides. “A real Yankee Doodle,” Langsdorff said, “full of good Texas oil.” The two ships closed in
     to exchange the recognition signals and formally establish each other’s identity. Naval etiquette satisfied, they stood off;
     the heavy swell made it impossible for
Altmark
to trail out her fuel hoses or for either ship to launch boats.
    “Take station on me,” Langsdorff signaled.
    The ships steamed in a wide circle all day—a bothersome delay but one welcomed by the crew of
Graf Spee
. A warm, bright sun shone upon the ship and most off-duty sailors rigged their hammocks on deck and had their first good
     sleep in days. Others put on their swimming trunks and sprawled over the teakwood deck, using their towels as pillows, and
     took the sun. Even Captain Langsdorff indulged in sun worship, although in uniform. His steward set up two deck chairs by
     the aft torpedo tubes where Captain Langsdorff and one of his prisoners, Captain Dove of
Africa Shell
, took the sun and had one of their many private talks. Curiously, they had become friends of a sort and often talked for
     hours.
    Max found it hard to understand. Did they just avoid the obvious? Perhaps the captain enjoyed Dove’s bold personality. If
     the meek shall inherit the earth, then Captain Dove was certainly not going to get anything.
    When he had first come aboard, Captain Dove insisted that his ship had been in the territorial waters of neutral Portuguese
     Mozambique and that Langsdorff violated international law by seizing his ship. Langsdorff insisted that Dove was still in
     international waters and thus liable to be sunk. Then occurred what Max had thought of as the “Battle of the Charts” because
     each man produced his own nautical chart and they dueled for two hours, their weapons being dividers and compasses and finally
     cigars and scotch. They never did agree about the exact position of their ships at the time
Graf Spee
took
Africa Shell
as a prize of war. The battle ended when Langsdorff suggested Dove write up a document of protest, which both Dove and Langsdorff
     later signed, although Captain Langsdorff’s signature simply affirmed that he had officially received the protest, not that
     he agreed.
    But that had been three weeks ago, and now, safely out of the storm, Max, too, welcomed the short break from the ship’s routine
     that gave him extra time to rest. He slept like a dead man between his watches, despite
Spee
’s constant rocking, and