Then he saw where he was relative to the ground, made the necessary corrections to his flight path, and softly set down the Storch.
[FIVE]
Near Necochea Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1705 23 July 1943
“I thought I made it clear that your role in this was to fly along the beach,” Standartenführer Cranz said when von Wachtstein walked up to him.
“Sir, I landed for several reasons, among them being that I thought the Herr Standartenführer would want confirmation from Herr Schmidt that we made rendezvous—”
“Quite right.”
“—and that we saw nothing out of the ordinary. And I thought Herr Schmidt wanted to be here—”
“Very well.”
“—and I wanted to top off my tanks, and I thought you might have further orders for me, Herr Standartenführer.”
“Only those that I gave you earlier: to maintain an alert observation and to return to the field the moment you see the rubber boats leave the submarine.”
Cranz made an impatient gesture for him to go on.
“Sir, if you flew with me, you would be much better able to see what’s going on than you can from here.”
Cranz considered that for a full fifteen seconds—which seemed longer—in the process looking at Schmidt and almost visibly deciding that he had survived the flight without permanent damage, then said, “Good thinking, von Wachtstein. What was it you said, ‘top off’ your tanks?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, do that immediately. We’re running out of time.”
At seventeen forty-five, von Wachtstein, flying five hundred meters offshore and two hundred meters off the surface of the sea, saw what he thought was the periscope of U-405 slicing through the water. He looked at the beach and saw the flashes of light Boltitz was sending with his signal lamp.
A minute or so later, U-405 surfaced, then slowly turned toward the beach.
Von Wachtstein saw that the battle ensign was again flying from the platform aft of the bridge.
Men began to appear on the deck forward of the conning tower, struggling to get something up and out from inside the submarine.
And then rubber boats took shape, apparently inflated with some sort of air tank. First one, then a second, then a third.
At the sub’s stern, there was the bubbling of water as the propellers were reversed. And then she stopped. Seamen put the rubber boats over the side.
Five men in black Schutzstaffel uniforms appeared on the deck. Two of them made their way carefully down the hull of the submarine, using a rope. Then a wooden crate appeared on the deck.
With great effort, the crate was very carefully lowered into the rubber boat. When it was in place, two men—both officers, one navy and one SS—followed it into the boat. The navy officer went to the stern of the rubber boat and jerked the starter rope of a small outboard motor. When the motor started, the boat turned away from the submarine and headed for the shore.
Von Wachtstein looked over his shoulder and saw that Cranz had a Zeiss 35mm camera to his eye.
“When would you like me to land, Herr Standartenführer?”
“I’ll let you know. I want to take some photos for the reichsprotektor. I’m sure he would like to see them.”
“Would you like me to fly a little lower, Herr Standartenführer?”
