“I like it. I like it a lot,” bellowed Skorzeny a short time later. “And the führer will love it. The best bits anyway.”

It seemed to Brasch as if the man never spoke at less than half a bellow. It must have driven the Seaplane crew to distraction. “What about you, Herr Oberführer?” the SS man boomed. “It should give those pansies in London something to cry about, don’t you think?”

Hoth’s sour face hadn’t changed since he’d stalked into the room an hour earlier. Uncomfortable in the presence of the mud races, he was affronted by the idea of subhumans like these Indonesians possessing such advanced weaponry. The sooner they were off these ships and into a shallow grave, the better.

“I am not a naval expert,” he said, making it sound like some form of perversion, “but I will report to Admiral Raeder, and we shall see. The technical ministries will no doubt be interested. There is some potential here, if we can neutralize the threat of the other ships, the aircraft carrier and her escorts.”

“Ha!” cried Skorzeny. “We’ll give those dogs a flogging they’ll never forget!”

He took Sub-Lieutenant Damiri in a fierce but playful headlock. “Our holy warrior here shall see to them,” he boomed. “You’re a credit to your race, Damiri, a credit.”

The Indonesian grinned uncertainly and attempted to wriggle out of the giant Nazi’s grip.

Oberführer Hoth regarded Damiri with the sort of expression you might reserve for a dog that has just lost control of its bowels on your new carpet.

“As for this, I do not see why the admiral’s communiqué could not have been written on paper.” He held aloft a data slate that carried an encoded personal message for the führer, sent by Yamamoto and Prime Minister Tojo.

Brasch answered on behalf of the Japanese.

“The slate contains briefing material that the führer needs to see with all dispatch. It cannot be presented on paper. It consists of many sound and motion picture files. I would recommend highly that you do not delay in getting it to Wolfschanze, Herr Oberführer. I suspect it would not be worth your life.”

“It has apparently cost Steckel his,” said Hoth in a flat, almost accusing tone.

“Then I’d guard it carefully,” replied Brasch.

There was no threat implicit in Brasch’s voice. He spoke as if he was delivering the weather forecast on an unremarkable day. The SS brigadier colored vividly at being addressed so dismissively, but the total lack of emotion in Brasch’s demeanor gave him pause.

“I shall see he gets it, Herr Major,” he hissed. “And if he is not happy with the contents, I shall make certain he knows of your eagerness for him to see it.”