The Passenger by F. R. Tallis Read Free Book Online Page A

‘Attention! Attention! This is Viktor Ferdinand, the chief, speaking.’ The men responded with a communal cheer. Viktor Ferdinand purported to be a high-ranking, old guard ‘brown shirt,’ but nobody believed that. It was assumed that he was a bilingual Englishman who spoke extremely good German. He delivered his lines with the panache of a skilled actor. Ferdinand began by vilifying the upper echelons of the Party, and then pouring scorn over certain members of the SS. He accused them of dandyism, effeminacy, and cowardice. Some fictitious military blunders were reported, and Göring was accused of rank incompetence. Curiously, Ferdinand never ridiculed the Führer. Given the Messianic psychology of the German people, or at least their perceived Messianic psychology, the British may have thought that to criticize a demigod was unwise. Everyone was eagerly anticipating the final part of the program, which was typically dedicated to a salacious exposés. Some of the crew had started to laugh merely thinking about what was to come.
    â€˜So,’ said Ferdinand, delaying his revelation, toying with his audience. ‘So . . . let us now turn our attention to the mayor of Bremen, a dear friend of Himmler and a great supporter of the Party, a man who has taken a keen interest in youth projects and has donated a considerable sum of money to the war widows’ foundation. What sort of a man is he, this fine, upstanding pillar of the community, this distinguished humanitarian and champion of high culture: this servant of the people, frequently photographed with school children, urging them, like a kind uncle, to aspire to the elevated ideals that he holds so dear—purity, duty, and valor? Ah yes, purity, purity.’ It was easy to imagine an accompanying sneer. ‘Allow me to enlighten you.’ There was another dramatic pause. ‘For many years now the mayor has been a problematicfigure for his Party associates on account of his irregular appetites. Be that as it may, his political sponsors have been unstinting in their efforts to conceal his disgraceful predilections. But there is only so much you can do for a man like the mayor of Bremen, a man who has become so inflated with his own self-importance that he no longer feels obliged to exercise discretion. Our sources have revealed that only last week, the good mayor presided over an orgy in the Town Hall, in which he and his guests were excited by the obscene spectacle of five Polish fisherwomen defecating.’
    Every compartment in the boat filled with laughter and a hail of swiftly interjected quips.
    â€˜Not content with such gross depravity,’ Ferdinand’s delivery was portentous, ‘the mayor then invited several of his female guests to urinate over his manhood, and he subsequently demonstrated that his taste for expensive French wines is complemented by a weakness for an altogether less refined vintage.’
    Again the crew was quick to respond. Sounds just like the Casino Bar—Perhaps we should invite him—But only if he promises to bring those Poles .
    Before long the crew was laughing so much that the broadcast could no longer be heard. Only occasional words—‘degeneracy’, ‘baseness’, ‘hypocrisy’—floated above the shrieks and guffaws. Sailors were wiping away tears, slapping thighs, and falling out of bunks. In due course, Ferdinand made his final appeal. ‘Comrades, don’t let this go on! Report it to Minister Dr. Lammers in Berlin. He will be most interested to hear from you!’
    Berger climbed through the bulkhead hatchway and halted outside the radio room where Lorenz was seated. ‘That was a good one, wasn’t it?’ His cheeks were glowing.
    â€˜One of the best,’ said Ziegler.
    â€˜Where does he broadcast from?’ asked Berger.
    â€˜We’re supposed to believe that he operates a mobile transmitter on the European