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nanuk_dainTitle: In An Ideal World, Things Would Have Been Different
Part: I - Hartenstein POV
Chapter: 02/?
Fandom: The Sinking of the Laconia
Pairing: Werner Hartenstein/Thomas Mortimer
Author: Nanuk Dain
e-mail: nanukdain@gmx.net
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: first time
Word count of chapter: approx. 3.510
Word count total: approx. 6.790
Disclaimer: Not mine, and never will be. I mean no disrespect to the real people, this is entirely based on the portrayal of the actors in the movie. And my crazy imagination XD
Comment: Next chapter, because I was done with it anyway and I know![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clonesgirl is looking forward to it ^^ Also, I needed a break from writing that paper for uni which I have been working on since 4.30 am this morning and which I will have to continue working on for the rest of the day. I'll call this my intellectual lunch break XD
I hope you enjoy this chapter ^_^ Make my dry and boring day brighter by leaving me a wee comment? *is hopeful*
The ususal: Some of the dialogue is taken from the movie, sometimes adapted to my storyline. /"Blabla"/ are things originally said in German.
Chapter 1
Summary: Sometimes you meet the right person at the very wrong time, Hartenstein thinks while he watches the MPs lead Mortimer away to their waiting vehicle.
*******
PART I - Hartenstein POV
CHAPTER 2
U-156, approximately 680 miles off the coast of West Africa
September 14th 1942
First thing the next morning Hartenstein orders his men to gather up all fishing equipment they have on board and improvise whatever else they can. Afterwards Weber, Fiedler and Mannesmann distribute the fishing rods among those on deck and in the lifeboats who want to help. It doesn't take long before there are men - and even a few women and children - sitting together while fishing. Hartenstein figures it's a good way to kill two birds with one stone: It'll give them something to do and at the same time any catch they make will improve their sparse diet.
It's around eleven in the morning that Mannesmann finds Hartenstein on the conning tower and reports that there are news from Command. Hartenstein makes his way down to the radio room and waits for Fiedler to rely the message. He's very relieved to learn that there are two U-boats coming to their aid. He's even more relieved to hear that they're are only a day out - they'll manage another day in the crowded space of U-156, then things will get better.
It's about time.
Later in the day they pick up to more survivors. There are two lifeboats and a few people who saved themselves on floating debris. The expression on their faces when they set foot on deck of the U-156 is something between astonishment, relief and uncertainty. Hartenstein watches from the conning tower and wonders how many more are out there, floating around on some piece of debris. Hilda Smith's word echo in his mind, that he's responsible, and he knows she's right. It doesn't change a thing, though, this is his job, and there's nothing more he can do for the survivors than what he's doing right now.
Down below he sees Mortimer fulfilling his self-imposed task of taking care of the new arrivals. With pencil and paper in hand he greets every single person, points them in the right direction to get food, water and clothes and notes down their name, nationality and age. Hartenstein smirks and keeps watching him until the last person is on board.
There isn't much to do while they're waiting for the U-507 and the Capellini to arrive, so following Mortimer's suggestion Hartenstein has Waldemar rally up any kind of games they have on board and watches Fiedler and Weber explaining the rules of those games the survivors don't know. He smiles when he sees groups slowly gathering here and there, on deck as well as in the sleeping compartments, all kinds of nationalities together. Cards seem the most popular, but the few board games they have brought also find the attention of the people on board.
When Hartenstein passes Mortimer in the galley in the afternoon, he touches his arm to get his attention and gives him a little smile. "The games were a good idea, Mr Mortimer."
"I've noticed the atmosphere is more relaxed." The Englishman replies and looks at the group sitting in the back of the room. There's some cheering when one of the Italians throws his last card on the tabletop with a triumphant grin. Mortimer turns back to Hartenstein and smirks almost teasingly. The sight gives Hartenstein goosebumps. "Maybe we should have a game at some point, Captain."
It takes Hartenstein a moment to find his voice. "We definitely should, Mr Mortimer."
"Do you play poker?" Mortimer asks, looking at him almost curiously. It's a new impression, one Hartenstein hasn't seen before.
"I do." Hartenstein replies and tries to ignore the - by now familiar - goosebumps spreading over his skin. Damn this man.
"Perfect." Mortimer doesn't look away once, and Hartenstein doesn't either. It's a bit like a duel, just without weapons. "I'll challenge you to a game, then, when we have a minute."
"I'll be happy to accept the challenge." Hartenstein smirks and raises an eyebrow, intend on rattling Mortimer a bit. It works surprisingly well. The Englishman swallows hard, but he quickly regains his composure. Only the slight red colour rising to his cheeks betrays that he's not as calm as he appears to be. Hartenstein opts to not torture the man any longer.
"I'll be waiting, Mr. Mortimer." He says very quietly and then walks past him to leave the room. He's sure he can feel Mortimer's gaze boring into his back, but he forces himself not to turn around. He's not quite sure what just happened, and he decides that it's best for everybody involved if he doesn't think about it. Especially not now.
Hartenstein doesn't see much of Mortimer for the rest of the day. The priority for now is to get closer to the meeting point with Schacht and the Capellini, and the fact that he has several lifeboats tied to his ship, coupled with over two hundred additional people on board, makes it a slow and cautious endeavour. They don't want to capsize the lifeboats, after all. At least the weather is playing along, and the seas are calm. It could be a lot worse.
They stop an hour before the sun sets. The dark isn't a good time to be moving with so much additional ballast, especially since they don't have the capacity to provide any form of light for the lifeboats. If something happened, they'd never know until the next morning. Hartenstein is not willing to take that risk.
They make use of the last hour of light to rotate the people in the lifeboats. Hartenstein watches from the conning tower while those who spent last night and most of the day on board change place with those who stayed in the lifeboats. Di Vicenzo, who became something of a speaker for all Italians, is standing next to Mortimer and together they help the passengers off the lifeboat. There is some resistance on the part of those who are supposed to get on the lifeboats, but in a mixture of English and Italian they manage to get everybody to understand that the change is necessary. Hartenstein hears Mortimer explain to a middle-aged man how it works and promise him that he'll be back on board tomorrow. It takes a bit of back an forth, and Hartenstein admires how patient Mortimer is with the stubborn man. He remains polite, but it's clear that he won't budge, and the man finally accepts his fate.
It's almost dark when the exchange of the passengers is complete. The lights on deck are on to provide at least a little bit of light for those who will spend the night outside. There's not enough room for everybody inside the U-boat. Some people are milling around, others have curled up somewhere to sleep. There's always some background noise, but it's still amazingly quiet considering how many people are gathered on deck.
Hartenstein is still scanning the horizon when darkness falls. Everything is clear. No lights at all. The advantage of the darkness is that you can spot ships even easier than during the day. Light travels far at sea.
He turns to look at the ladder when he hears somebody climbing up. A second later Mortimer's silhouette appears, outlined against the lightened deck behind him. He crosses the platform and comes to stand beside Hartenstein. He doesn't say a word, just leans with his elbows on the bulwark and looks out over the vast emptiness of the sea. Hartenstein hears him take a deep breath, slowly and deliberately, as if he is consciously savouring the fresh air.
Hartenstein turns back to look out over the sea. It's weirdly comfortable, standing there together in companionable silence that neither feel the urge to break. Night has completely fallen when Mortimer finally turns towards him and holds out a sheet of paper. "It's the new arrivals from today."
Hartenstein looks at it for a second before taking it. He never asked Mortimer to continue noting down the data of the survivors who hadn't been on board when he first compiled the list. He can't say that he's really surprised, though. It's nice to see his first impression proven right yet again. Mortimer would have made a damn fine First Officer, Hartenstein thinks.
"How many more?" Hartenstein asks because it's too dark to read the faint pencil writing. He knows better than to try.
"Fifty-seven. Fourteen of them Italians." Mortimer replies immediately without having to check. Hartenstein wonders if he knows the entire list by heart. "That makes a total count of four hundred thirteen on board and in the lifeboats, Captain."
Hartenstein remains silent and stares into the darkness, although he can't see a thing. Four hundred thirteen people. They're fast approaching the maximum his ship can take.
"Were there any reaction to your radio messages, Captain?" Mortimer asks after a minute or two of silence. His voice is very quiet as to not carry to the people on deck. He's probably very well aware of the fact that they can't go on like this much longer before the ship and the crew are reaching the limit of what is manageable.
"There will be two ships joining us sometime tomorrow." Hartenstein replies equally quiet. "They will take the Italians on board and resupply us with food, water, medicine and clothes."
Mortimer lets out his breath in a way that sounds like he's relieved. "That should ease the situation a bit."
"It should." Hartenstein agrees. "Furthermore there's a French vessel, the Gloire, on its way to us to take on the allied survivors. It'll take a while longer, though."
Even in the darkness Hartenstein can sees Mortimer shrug. "Well, we are in the middle of nowhere, after all."
Hartenstein hesitates a moment, then he replies, "Which is also in our favour."
"How's that?" Now Mortimer turns fully towards him, but the darkness of the night makes it impossible to see his face. The lights coming from the deck allow him only to make out the outline of his head and shoulders.
"We're out of range of Allied aircraft." Hartenstein elaborates. "At least for now. It should provide enough cover until all of the survivors have been transferred to other ships."
"Because some will believe this to be a ruse." Mortimer nods slowly, as if he's just understood the meaning of it. "And you can't submerge in the event of an attack. Not with so many additional people on board."
"You weren't here yet when we executed a test dive." Hartenstein is still amazed that the ship managed to resurface. For a few minutes he'd been sure that this dive would be their final one. "We made it, but let's just say that I'm not going to do it again."
"So we're basically a sitting duck." Mortimer's voice is very quiet, and Hartenstein knows it's because he doesn't want the survivors on deck to hear what they're talking about. It would cause unnecessary panic. It's not like anything can be done to improve their current situation.
Hartenstein just nods. "Pretty much."
Mortimer doesn't reply, but Hartenstein can feel that he's still looking at him, even if he can't see it. It feels like he's being scrutinised, and yet he doesn't have the impression that it's malevolent. More like Mortimer is looking at him in the light of new information, knowledge he didn't have before. Hartenstein wishes he could see his face so that he could get an idea of what the Englishman is thinking, but the darkness is too profound to allow for more than a rough silhouette.
"It's good, then, that we're getting help tomorrow." Mortimer says after a long moment of silence, his voice still quiet.
"It sure isn't a moment too soon." Hartenstein acknowledges. They're not running out of food and water just yet, but without resupplying, they would do so pretty soon. The ship's supplies aren't meant for over four hundred fifty people, after all. The catches of the day provided them with a little additional food, but the few fish aren't enough to feed the entire rag-bag of survivors and crew.
"I should try to find some rest now, too." Mortimer jerks his chin at the people huddled up under blankets on deck, the majority sleeping or at least trying to. "Good night, Captain."
"Good night, Mr. Mortimer." Hartenstein watches the Englishman swiftly climb down the ladder. For a moment, right before he disappears out of view, Mortimer's face is illuminated by the electric torches positioned on deck. They draw a fascinating picture of light and shadow, emphasise Mortimer's elegant features and his full lips, reflect off his wind tousled hair and enhance the blue of his eyes when his gaze catches Hartenstein's for the fraction of a second. Hartenstein feels like somebody punched him in the gut, and he finds himself still staring after Mortimer is long gone.
The moment only lasts for maybe a second, but Hartenstein feels like the image is burned into his memory. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to stop staring at the now empty spot, then he picks up the binoculars again and scans the dark horizon for any signs of other ships. Time to do something useful. Not too much later Mannesmann joins him in his task.
It's almost eleven o'clock when there's an opportunity to get a few hours of sleep. Like any seafaring man, Hartenstein knows not to waste such an opportunity. You never know when it might come up again. So he leaves Mannesmann in charge and retreats to his cabin. It's the only room on the U-boat that they're not sharing with the survivors. Instead, his bunk serves for the crew to sleep in turns since all other bunks are taken by the injured, the women and the children.
Hartenstein takes off his shoes, his jacket and his hat and lies down on the bunk, otherwise fully clothed. It's one of the things he learned early on. You never fully undress on a submarine, especially not as the captain. You're always ready to appear at the con within seconds, at any given moment, and being ready includes being dressed.
Hartenstein closes his eyes and consciously relaxes his muscles. It usually helps him to unwind enough to fall asleep whenever he wants to, no matter the time of the day. Life on a submarine means losing the connection to the natural course of day and night. It's a 24-hours job, and so it's essential to be able to sleep whenever the opportunity arises. Hartenstein has been living at sea long enough to have mastered that art a long time ago.
Tonight it's not working, though. In his mind's eye he sees Mortimer again, in that precise moment when the lights of the deck below caught on his face and made his features stand out like a skilfully carved relief. After several minutes of unsuccessfully trying to go to sleep, Hartenstein opens his eyes again and stares at the ceiling, unmoving but for the gentle rising of his chest with every breath he takes.
/"Never forget that you are a German."/ Hartenstein whispers into the empty room. It feels hollow and meaningless, although he knows that it shouldn't. It should mean as much to him as it does to Rosteau, who believes it wholeheartedly.
But it doesn't. Not in the face of the recent event.
Maybe it never did.
Hartenstein takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, lets it escape slowly. Of course he knows about his... inclination. He's known for a long time. It's not something he wouldn't have noticed. It's never been an issue, though - being a seafaring man, he's never spent much time around women anyway. But Hartenstein also knows how dangerous it is, and he has never ventured into the risky business of following his urges once he'd joined the Reichsmarine. It just wasn't worth it.
Not that he's had much of a problem with that, either. He's the Captain, it's out of the question for him to engage with somebody from the crew for many reasons, and those are the men he spends almost all of his time with. All in all, considering the dangers attached to his preferences, he's never had much trouble with it.
Now that has changed. All of the sudden, completely unexpectedly, in the most unlikely situation - and in a most dangerous way.
It's not just sexual attraction. Hartenstein is not ignorant enough to put it down to just that, he knows himself better than that. What first attracted his attention was Mortimer's demeanour, it caught his eye long before he had the opportunity to actually properly look at the Englishman. Not to mention that Mortimer had more resemblance with a drowned rat than a human being when he'd first seen him. Barefoot, wrapped in a blanket, wearing nothing but a shirt and long johns. Not the classic idea of either presentable or attractive, but that hadn't mattered.
It still doesn't.
Hartenstein closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. Oh God, how did this happen to him? He has fallen for another officer, but not just that, he has fallen for the enemy. For a British officer. A prisoner of war in his care. A man he met not even two days ago. Neither his timing nor his taste could have been any worse, he thinks with a hint of self-deprecation. Well, he's famous for doing things the hard way. Seems that also holds true now.
/"Never forget that you are a German."/ He murmurs under his breath again. It has become kind of a mantra, and he wonders what it says about him that he has to repeat it so often. Between Hilda Smith's questioning spirit unsettling his beliefs and Thomas Mortimer's utter attractiveness provoking thoughts he never had before, he's close to forgetting the meaning of those words more often than not. It's dangerous. Very dangerous.
The current situation doesn't make it any easier. It's less than convenient, actually. The crammed quarters of the submarine mean that Mortimer is always too close, and yet there's no privacy at all. It isn't exactly helping that Hartenstein has a shipload of survivors in his care, either, or that he's the one who sank their ship in the first place. The animosity he felt coming from Mortimer at their first meeting made it a little easier to keep his distance, to not let his thoughts wander where they had no right to go.
But tonight, when Mortimer joined him on the conning tower, the unspoken, underlying hostility wasn't there anymore. Instead the atmosphere was companionable, almost peaceful. It had thrown him for a loop.
Hartenstein can't help being fascinated by the Englishman. Mortimer may seem calm and in control, but Hartenstein knows that underneath the surface, there are emotions running high and hot. He could see it in Mortimer's defiant gaze that very first time they talked. He feels it every single time Mortimer looks him in the eye. It's a sensation limited to Mortimer alone. There's something going on, and by now he's sure it's not just him imagining things. He doesn't feel this kind of tension with anybody else on board, neither his crew nor the survivors. It's just Mortimer.
Maybe what fascinates him is that Mortimer is genuinely decent, to the very core of his being. It's not a mask, it's not a way to appear grand and gain people's trust, no, it's who he really is. There's an inexplicable feeling of certainty that Hartenstein can trust this man, never mind that he doesn't know him, that he has no reason to trust him. Mortimer is the kind of person he would want to have in his back in a crisis like this one. It feels good to know that they're slowly getting to that point.
Hartenstein's eyes drift shut. He wonders what Mortimer looks like in full dress uniform. His tall, lean frame enhanced by the cut off the uniform and by his posture that radiates discipline and relaxed elegance at the same time, a hat completing the impression of professional competence. He can see it before his mind's eye, as clearly as if it was real. He wonders what he'd see if he undid those buttons, if he pushed the jacket off Mortimer's shoulders, if he...
Hartenstein's eyes snap open. He can't continue like this. He has to get control over his overly active mind. He needs to reign in those wandering thoughts. He needs to regain the stoic calm he's known for. He needs to never let them show, those dangerous, inappropriate thoughts. It's not worth it. It's too dangerous.
His breath is coming too fast, it's almost loud in the small room. Hartenstein tries to calm down, to clear his mind. It's not worth it, he reminds himself again.
/"Never forget that you are a German."/ Hartenstein repeats and closes his eyes again, trying to force his mind to let go of all thoughts and get some much needed hours of sleep.
It doesn't help. He still sees Mortimer's face before his mind's eye, even when he's long asleep.
*** tbc
Part: I - Hartenstein POV
Chapter: 02/?
Fandom: The Sinking of the Laconia
Pairing: Werner Hartenstein/Thomas Mortimer
Author: Nanuk Dain
e-mail: nanukdain@gmx.net
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: first time
Word count of chapter: approx. 3.510
Word count total: approx. 6.790
Disclaimer: Not mine, and never will be. I mean no disrespect to the real people, this is entirely based on the portrayal of the actors in the movie. And my crazy imagination XD
Comment: Next chapter, because I was done with it anyway and I know
clonesgirl is looking forward to it ^^ Also, I needed a break from writing that paper for uni which I have been working on since 4.30 am this morning and which I will have to continue working on for the rest of the day. I'll call this my intellectual lunch break XD I hope you enjoy this chapter ^_^ Make my dry and boring day brighter by leaving me a wee comment? *is hopeful*
The ususal: Some of the dialogue is taken from the movie, sometimes adapted to my storyline. /"Blabla"/ are things originally said in German.
Chapter 1
Summary: Sometimes you meet the right person at the very wrong time, Hartenstein thinks while he watches the MPs lead Mortimer away to their waiting vehicle.
*******
CHAPTER 2
U-156, approximately 680 miles off the coast of West Africa
September 14th 1942
First thing the next morning Hartenstein orders his men to gather up all fishing equipment they have on board and improvise whatever else they can. Afterwards Weber, Fiedler and Mannesmann distribute the fishing rods among those on deck and in the lifeboats who want to help. It doesn't take long before there are men - and even a few women and children - sitting together while fishing. Hartenstein figures it's a good way to kill two birds with one stone: It'll give them something to do and at the same time any catch they make will improve their sparse diet.
It's around eleven in the morning that Mannesmann finds Hartenstein on the conning tower and reports that there are news from Command. Hartenstein makes his way down to the radio room and waits for Fiedler to rely the message. He's very relieved to learn that there are two U-boats coming to their aid. He's even more relieved to hear that they're are only a day out - they'll manage another day in the crowded space of U-156, then things will get better.
It's about time.
Later in the day they pick up to more survivors. There are two lifeboats and a few people who saved themselves on floating debris. The expression on their faces when they set foot on deck of the U-156 is something between astonishment, relief and uncertainty. Hartenstein watches from the conning tower and wonders how many more are out there, floating around on some piece of debris. Hilda Smith's word echo in his mind, that he's responsible, and he knows she's right. It doesn't change a thing, though, this is his job, and there's nothing more he can do for the survivors than what he's doing right now.
Down below he sees Mortimer fulfilling his self-imposed task of taking care of the new arrivals. With pencil and paper in hand he greets every single person, points them in the right direction to get food, water and clothes and notes down their name, nationality and age. Hartenstein smirks and keeps watching him until the last person is on board.
There isn't much to do while they're waiting for the U-507 and the Capellini to arrive, so following Mortimer's suggestion Hartenstein has Waldemar rally up any kind of games they have on board and watches Fiedler and Weber explaining the rules of those games the survivors don't know. He smiles when he sees groups slowly gathering here and there, on deck as well as in the sleeping compartments, all kinds of nationalities together. Cards seem the most popular, but the few board games they have brought also find the attention of the people on board.
When Hartenstein passes Mortimer in the galley in the afternoon, he touches his arm to get his attention and gives him a little smile. "The games were a good idea, Mr Mortimer."
"I've noticed the atmosphere is more relaxed." The Englishman replies and looks at the group sitting in the back of the room. There's some cheering when one of the Italians throws his last card on the tabletop with a triumphant grin. Mortimer turns back to Hartenstein and smirks almost teasingly. The sight gives Hartenstein goosebumps. "Maybe we should have a game at some point, Captain."
It takes Hartenstein a moment to find his voice. "We definitely should, Mr Mortimer."
"Do you play poker?" Mortimer asks, looking at him almost curiously. It's a new impression, one Hartenstein hasn't seen before.
"I do." Hartenstein replies and tries to ignore the - by now familiar - goosebumps spreading over his skin. Damn this man.
"Perfect." Mortimer doesn't look away once, and Hartenstein doesn't either. It's a bit like a duel, just without weapons. "I'll challenge you to a game, then, when we have a minute."
"I'll be happy to accept the challenge." Hartenstein smirks and raises an eyebrow, intend on rattling Mortimer a bit. It works surprisingly well. The Englishman swallows hard, but he quickly regains his composure. Only the slight red colour rising to his cheeks betrays that he's not as calm as he appears to be. Hartenstein opts to not torture the man any longer.
"I'll be waiting, Mr. Mortimer." He says very quietly and then walks past him to leave the room. He's sure he can feel Mortimer's gaze boring into his back, but he forces himself not to turn around. He's not quite sure what just happened, and he decides that it's best for everybody involved if he doesn't think about it. Especially not now.
Hartenstein doesn't see much of Mortimer for the rest of the day. The priority for now is to get closer to the meeting point with Schacht and the Capellini, and the fact that he has several lifeboats tied to his ship, coupled with over two hundred additional people on board, makes it a slow and cautious endeavour. They don't want to capsize the lifeboats, after all. At least the weather is playing along, and the seas are calm. It could be a lot worse.
They stop an hour before the sun sets. The dark isn't a good time to be moving with so much additional ballast, especially since they don't have the capacity to provide any form of light for the lifeboats. If something happened, they'd never know until the next morning. Hartenstein is not willing to take that risk.
They make use of the last hour of light to rotate the people in the lifeboats. Hartenstein watches from the conning tower while those who spent last night and most of the day on board change place with those who stayed in the lifeboats. Di Vicenzo, who became something of a speaker for all Italians, is standing next to Mortimer and together they help the passengers off the lifeboat. There is some resistance on the part of those who are supposed to get on the lifeboats, but in a mixture of English and Italian they manage to get everybody to understand that the change is necessary. Hartenstein hears Mortimer explain to a middle-aged man how it works and promise him that he'll be back on board tomorrow. It takes a bit of back an forth, and Hartenstein admires how patient Mortimer is with the stubborn man. He remains polite, but it's clear that he won't budge, and the man finally accepts his fate.
It's almost dark when the exchange of the passengers is complete. The lights on deck are on to provide at least a little bit of light for those who will spend the night outside. There's not enough room for everybody inside the U-boat. Some people are milling around, others have curled up somewhere to sleep. There's always some background noise, but it's still amazingly quiet considering how many people are gathered on deck.
Hartenstein is still scanning the horizon when darkness falls. Everything is clear. No lights at all. The advantage of the darkness is that you can spot ships even easier than during the day. Light travels far at sea.
He turns to look at the ladder when he hears somebody climbing up. A second later Mortimer's silhouette appears, outlined against the lightened deck behind him. He crosses the platform and comes to stand beside Hartenstein. He doesn't say a word, just leans with his elbows on the bulwark and looks out over the vast emptiness of the sea. Hartenstein hears him take a deep breath, slowly and deliberately, as if he is consciously savouring the fresh air.
Hartenstein turns back to look out over the sea. It's weirdly comfortable, standing there together in companionable silence that neither feel the urge to break. Night has completely fallen when Mortimer finally turns towards him and holds out a sheet of paper. "It's the new arrivals from today."
Hartenstein looks at it for a second before taking it. He never asked Mortimer to continue noting down the data of the survivors who hadn't been on board when he first compiled the list. He can't say that he's really surprised, though. It's nice to see his first impression proven right yet again. Mortimer would have made a damn fine First Officer, Hartenstein thinks.
"How many more?" Hartenstein asks because it's too dark to read the faint pencil writing. He knows better than to try.
"Fifty-seven. Fourteen of them Italians." Mortimer replies immediately without having to check. Hartenstein wonders if he knows the entire list by heart. "That makes a total count of four hundred thirteen on board and in the lifeboats, Captain."
Hartenstein remains silent and stares into the darkness, although he can't see a thing. Four hundred thirteen people. They're fast approaching the maximum his ship can take.
"Were there any reaction to your radio messages, Captain?" Mortimer asks after a minute or two of silence. His voice is very quiet as to not carry to the people on deck. He's probably very well aware of the fact that they can't go on like this much longer before the ship and the crew are reaching the limit of what is manageable.
"There will be two ships joining us sometime tomorrow." Hartenstein replies equally quiet. "They will take the Italians on board and resupply us with food, water, medicine and clothes."
Mortimer lets out his breath in a way that sounds like he's relieved. "That should ease the situation a bit."
"It should." Hartenstein agrees. "Furthermore there's a French vessel, the Gloire, on its way to us to take on the allied survivors. It'll take a while longer, though."
Even in the darkness Hartenstein can sees Mortimer shrug. "Well, we are in the middle of nowhere, after all."
Hartenstein hesitates a moment, then he replies, "Which is also in our favour."
"How's that?" Now Mortimer turns fully towards him, but the darkness of the night makes it impossible to see his face. The lights coming from the deck allow him only to make out the outline of his head and shoulders.
"We're out of range of Allied aircraft." Hartenstein elaborates. "At least for now. It should provide enough cover until all of the survivors have been transferred to other ships."
"Because some will believe this to be a ruse." Mortimer nods slowly, as if he's just understood the meaning of it. "And you can't submerge in the event of an attack. Not with so many additional people on board."
"You weren't here yet when we executed a test dive." Hartenstein is still amazed that the ship managed to resurface. For a few minutes he'd been sure that this dive would be their final one. "We made it, but let's just say that I'm not going to do it again."
"So we're basically a sitting duck." Mortimer's voice is very quiet, and Hartenstein knows it's because he doesn't want the survivors on deck to hear what they're talking about. It would cause unnecessary panic. It's not like anything can be done to improve their current situation.
Hartenstein just nods. "Pretty much."
Mortimer doesn't reply, but Hartenstein can feel that he's still looking at him, even if he can't see it. It feels like he's being scrutinised, and yet he doesn't have the impression that it's malevolent. More like Mortimer is looking at him in the light of new information, knowledge he didn't have before. Hartenstein wishes he could see his face so that he could get an idea of what the Englishman is thinking, but the darkness is too profound to allow for more than a rough silhouette.
"It's good, then, that we're getting help tomorrow." Mortimer says after a long moment of silence, his voice still quiet.
"It sure isn't a moment too soon." Hartenstein acknowledges. They're not running out of food and water just yet, but without resupplying, they would do so pretty soon. The ship's supplies aren't meant for over four hundred fifty people, after all. The catches of the day provided them with a little additional food, but the few fish aren't enough to feed the entire rag-bag of survivors and crew.
"I should try to find some rest now, too." Mortimer jerks his chin at the people huddled up under blankets on deck, the majority sleeping or at least trying to. "Good night, Captain."
"Good night, Mr. Mortimer." Hartenstein watches the Englishman swiftly climb down the ladder. For a moment, right before he disappears out of view, Mortimer's face is illuminated by the electric torches positioned on deck. They draw a fascinating picture of light and shadow, emphasise Mortimer's elegant features and his full lips, reflect off his wind tousled hair and enhance the blue of his eyes when his gaze catches Hartenstein's for the fraction of a second. Hartenstein feels like somebody punched him in the gut, and he finds himself still staring after Mortimer is long gone.
The moment only lasts for maybe a second, but Hartenstein feels like the image is burned into his memory. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to stop staring at the now empty spot, then he picks up the binoculars again and scans the dark horizon for any signs of other ships. Time to do something useful. Not too much later Mannesmann joins him in his task.
It's almost eleven o'clock when there's an opportunity to get a few hours of sleep. Like any seafaring man, Hartenstein knows not to waste such an opportunity. You never know when it might come up again. So he leaves Mannesmann in charge and retreats to his cabin. It's the only room on the U-boat that they're not sharing with the survivors. Instead, his bunk serves for the crew to sleep in turns since all other bunks are taken by the injured, the women and the children.
Hartenstein takes off his shoes, his jacket and his hat and lies down on the bunk, otherwise fully clothed. It's one of the things he learned early on. You never fully undress on a submarine, especially not as the captain. You're always ready to appear at the con within seconds, at any given moment, and being ready includes being dressed.
Hartenstein closes his eyes and consciously relaxes his muscles. It usually helps him to unwind enough to fall asleep whenever he wants to, no matter the time of the day. Life on a submarine means losing the connection to the natural course of day and night. It's a 24-hours job, and so it's essential to be able to sleep whenever the opportunity arises. Hartenstein has been living at sea long enough to have mastered that art a long time ago.
Tonight it's not working, though. In his mind's eye he sees Mortimer again, in that precise moment when the lights of the deck below caught on his face and made his features stand out like a skilfully carved relief. After several minutes of unsuccessfully trying to go to sleep, Hartenstein opens his eyes again and stares at the ceiling, unmoving but for the gentle rising of his chest with every breath he takes.
/"Never forget that you are a German."/ Hartenstein whispers into the empty room. It feels hollow and meaningless, although he knows that it shouldn't. It should mean as much to him as it does to Rosteau, who believes it wholeheartedly.
But it doesn't. Not in the face of the recent event.
Maybe it never did.
Hartenstein takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, lets it escape slowly. Of course he knows about his... inclination. He's known for a long time. It's not something he wouldn't have noticed. It's never been an issue, though - being a seafaring man, he's never spent much time around women anyway. But Hartenstein also knows how dangerous it is, and he has never ventured into the risky business of following his urges once he'd joined the Reichsmarine. It just wasn't worth it.
Not that he's had much of a problem with that, either. He's the Captain, it's out of the question for him to engage with somebody from the crew for many reasons, and those are the men he spends almost all of his time with. All in all, considering the dangers attached to his preferences, he's never had much trouble with it.
Now that has changed. All of the sudden, completely unexpectedly, in the most unlikely situation - and in a most dangerous way.
It's not just sexual attraction. Hartenstein is not ignorant enough to put it down to just that, he knows himself better than that. What first attracted his attention was Mortimer's demeanour, it caught his eye long before he had the opportunity to actually properly look at the Englishman. Not to mention that Mortimer had more resemblance with a drowned rat than a human being when he'd first seen him. Barefoot, wrapped in a blanket, wearing nothing but a shirt and long johns. Not the classic idea of either presentable or attractive, but that hadn't mattered.
It still doesn't.
Hartenstein closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. Oh God, how did this happen to him? He has fallen for another officer, but not just that, he has fallen for the enemy. For a British officer. A prisoner of war in his care. A man he met not even two days ago. Neither his timing nor his taste could have been any worse, he thinks with a hint of self-deprecation. Well, he's famous for doing things the hard way. Seems that also holds true now.
/"Never forget that you are a German."/ He murmurs under his breath again. It has become kind of a mantra, and he wonders what it says about him that he has to repeat it so often. Between Hilda Smith's questioning spirit unsettling his beliefs and Thomas Mortimer's utter attractiveness provoking thoughts he never had before, he's close to forgetting the meaning of those words more often than not. It's dangerous. Very dangerous.
The current situation doesn't make it any easier. It's less than convenient, actually. The crammed quarters of the submarine mean that Mortimer is always too close, and yet there's no privacy at all. It isn't exactly helping that Hartenstein has a shipload of survivors in his care, either, or that he's the one who sank their ship in the first place. The animosity he felt coming from Mortimer at their first meeting made it a little easier to keep his distance, to not let his thoughts wander where they had no right to go.
But tonight, when Mortimer joined him on the conning tower, the unspoken, underlying hostility wasn't there anymore. Instead the atmosphere was companionable, almost peaceful. It had thrown him for a loop.
Hartenstein can't help being fascinated by the Englishman. Mortimer may seem calm and in control, but Hartenstein knows that underneath the surface, there are emotions running high and hot. He could see it in Mortimer's defiant gaze that very first time they talked. He feels it every single time Mortimer looks him in the eye. It's a sensation limited to Mortimer alone. There's something going on, and by now he's sure it's not just him imagining things. He doesn't feel this kind of tension with anybody else on board, neither his crew nor the survivors. It's just Mortimer.
Maybe what fascinates him is that Mortimer is genuinely decent, to the very core of his being. It's not a mask, it's not a way to appear grand and gain people's trust, no, it's who he really is. There's an inexplicable feeling of certainty that Hartenstein can trust this man, never mind that he doesn't know him, that he has no reason to trust him. Mortimer is the kind of person he would want to have in his back in a crisis like this one. It feels good to know that they're slowly getting to that point.
Hartenstein's eyes drift shut. He wonders what Mortimer looks like in full dress uniform. His tall, lean frame enhanced by the cut off the uniform and by his posture that radiates discipline and relaxed elegance at the same time, a hat completing the impression of professional competence. He can see it before his mind's eye, as clearly as if it was real. He wonders what he'd see if he undid those buttons, if he pushed the jacket off Mortimer's shoulders, if he...
Hartenstein's eyes snap open. He can't continue like this. He has to get control over his overly active mind. He needs to reign in those wandering thoughts. He needs to regain the stoic calm he's known for. He needs to never let them show, those dangerous, inappropriate thoughts. It's not worth it. It's too dangerous.
His breath is coming too fast, it's almost loud in the small room. Hartenstein tries to calm down, to clear his mind. It's not worth it, he reminds himself again.
/"Never forget that you are a German."/ Hartenstein repeats and closes his eyes again, trying to force his mind to let go of all thoughts and get some much needed hours of sleep.
It doesn't help. He still sees Mortimer's face before his mind's eye, even when he's long asleep.
*** tbc
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Date: 2016-03-01 11:00 am (UTC)So glad that you, too, have fallen in love with these 2 men from opposite sides of a world at war. They deserve to be together and I can't wait to read how you manage to keep them together. :)
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Date: 2016-03-02 12:56 pm (UTC)Hehehe, thinking back to our recent conversation about the special relationship between Hartenstein and Mortimer, you'll know why I'm sure he's only feeling this tension with Mortimer. Ahhhh, all those delicious little clues... As for the conning tower, I think it's one of the few places on the sub where you can have at least a resemblance of privacy (when alone) - not to mention that Hartenstein seems to spend quite a lot of time there. Let's just say it's not the last time it makes an appearance in this fic ^^
"You have a great understanding of the characters." - Wow, thank you so much. That's a huge compliment! I hate nothing more than inadvertedly turning a character OOC. But somehow I feel comfortable with my Hartenstein-voice and my Mortimer-voice in my head. Hopefully they'll stay a while longer so that I can get seriously involved in this fandom once my paper is done. Because hey, I have soooo fallen in love with those two. They definitely deserve to get a happy end. Also, did you notice that we're slowly managing to make the fandom grow? Seems we have at least two more people! Yay!
no subject
Date: 2016-03-02 01:53 pm (UTC)As for this tiny fandom growing, I'll drink to that. That would be fantastic. We'll know soon enough when they start raving about the characters. :)