It was highly irregular, but then so was theft. Like Kaltman, he was devoted to the treasures in his care and the chance that they might fall into the wrong hands was unacceptable.

“I fully understand, Sir. I will make certain the prefixed items are kept to one side so they can be easily and quickly loaded under your personal supervision.” It was not lost on Kaltman that Otto was prepared to do everything asked of him, yet remain blameless if things were to go wrong. Smart lad.

***

The following afternoon, two lorries arrived after the genuine convoy had left for Siegen, in the middle of Germany. Kaltman checked the loading of the genuine cargo with meticulous efficiency. The last item loaded was a large travel trunk, containing his personal belongings.

He very carefully read through the false orders, as though reminding himself of the detail. He was actually making certain he had overlooked nothing. If he discovered an error now, he might just as well blow his brains out here on the forecourt, and save everyone a lot of trouble.

Thoughtfully he hauled himself up into the cab of the lead truck to commence the long journey across France. Only he knew it would take him to U-159, moored at Lorient. A route in the opposite direction to Siegen.

Timing was crucial, in Franz Kaltman’s plan.

He felt confident there would be no reason for the SS to stop the original convoy and spot check the cargo. The consignment would probably be placed unchecked in the mine, when it arrived in 3 days’ time.

He had allowed 48 hours to get to Lorient plus 6 hours for eventualities and unloading. This gave him an 18-hour safety margin.

However, the fake orders for Kapitänleutnant Helmut Witte on the U-159 had only just entered the system. Kaltman guessed it would take at least 48 hours for a copy of the orders to pass through to administration, for verification. The instant the orders were found to be false, the Gestapo would be informed and would race to arrest him. There were 6 crucial hours in which he could be discovered and arrested. Very bad odds, however you sliced it.

The journey was the worst of his life. The relentless loud drone from the racing engine and grinding transmission made his ears ring and his head throb with pain. Incessant bucking and jolting of the truck jarred every joint in his spine and caused every tensed muscle in his body to scream for mercy. Were the drivers deliberately hitting every bump to keep themselves awake?

The three drivers per truck each took 8-hour shifts, grabbing sleep as best they could in the back of a vehicle. Kaltman had to remain alert and the luxury of sleep was denied him.

Exhausted from the non-stop journey to Lorient and gripped with anxiety, Franz dreaded what might be awaiting him at the dock. He knew that at this very moment, a routine check on the orders might well be under way. As the two trucks trundled along the dockside to the submarine, Franz sat bolt upright looking for the slightest hint of trouble.

As the trucks drew to a halt alongside U-159 with a nerve shredding screech of dry, dusty brakes, Franz summoned his senses. Slowly lowering himself from the vehicle like a frail 99-year-old, he regained his outward composure. Casually he dressed down his creased uniform, using the act to glance around and evaluate his situation.

The strong breeze from the sea sent a shiver through him.