Petersen had signed the agreement as a condition of his repatriation after being captured by the British. The oath was a formality because the British thought he was too old to be fit for service. At the age of sixty-seven, he knew his career was washed up no matter the outcome of the war. He was a Leigerkapitän, the “sleeping captain,” of the Gustloff. But he took some comfort in the knowledge that the younger man had been withdrawn from active operations after he botched the sinking of the British ship Nelson.

“Nonetheless, Captain, under your supervision the Gustloff has never left the dock,” he said. “A floating classroom and barracks anchored in one place is a far cry from a ship at sea. I have the highest regard for the submarine service, but you cannot argue that I am the only one qualified to take the vessel to sea.”

Petersen had commanded the liner once, on a peacetime voyage, and would never have been allowed to take the helm of the Gustloff under ordinary circumstances. Zahn bristled at the thought of being under the command of a civilian. German submariners considered themselves an elite group.

“Still, I am the ranking military officer aboard. Perhaps you have noticed that we have antiaircraft guns mounted on the deck,” Zahn retorted. “This vessel is technically a warship.”

The captain replied with an indulgent smile. “An odd sort of warship. Perhaps you have noticed that we are carrying thousands of refugees, a mission more fitting of the merchant marine transport.”

“You neglected to mention the fifteen hundred submariners who must be evacuated so they can defend the Reich.”

“I would be glad to acquiesce to your wishes if you show me written orders to do so.” Petersen knew perfectly well that in the confusion surrounding the evacuation, no orders existed.

Zahn's complexion turned the color of a cooked beet. His opposition went beyond personal animosity. Zahn had serious doubts about Petersen's ability to run the ship with the inexperienced polyglot crew at his command. He wanted to call the captain a burned-out fool, but his stern discipline again took hold. He turned to the other officers, who had been witnessing the uncomfortable confrontation.

“This will be no 'Strength Through Joy' cruise,” Zahn said. “All of us, navy and merchant marine officers, have a difficult task and bear heavy responsibility. Our duty is to do everything possible to make things easier for the refugees, and I expect the crew to go out of their way to be helpful.”

He clicked his heels and saluted Petersen, then strode from the wardroom followed by his faithful Alsatian.

THE GUARD at the top of the gangway had glanced at the tall man's document and handed it to an officer supervising the boarding of the wounded.

The officer took his time reading the letter. Finally, he said, “Herr Koch thinks highly of you.”