The Passenger by F. R. Tallis

Glenn Miller, and BennyGoodman. Although the Party had banned jazz, this prohibition wasn’t enforced on U-boats. Indeed, the popularity of jazz among U-boat crews was common knowledge in Berlin and considered, with weary disapproval, as another example of their tiresome eccentricity.
    â€˜Put this on,’ said Lorenz, handing Brandt a Benny Goodman record. The public-address system transmitted the thump of the connecting stylus, and the boat filled with lively syncopations. Lorenz retired to his nook, but left the green curtain open. Lying on his bed, he listened to Goodman’s agile clarinet, the irregular leaping intervals, the growling low notes, the sweet high notes. It was such paradoxical music, powerful and driving, yet at the same time fleet and fluidly inventive. How bizarre, thought Lorenz, to be traveling under the sea in an artificial air bubble, while listening to jazz! The vibrations would be transferred through the hull and out into the deep, providing a musical accompaniment for passing squid and porpoises. When the music came to an end, he called out: ‘And another.’
    Lorenz got up and walked to the officers’ mess where he found Graf, sitting alone, finishing a coffee. The chief engineer had exchanged his grey leathers for British standard-issue khakis. He had acquired the uniform from captured stocks abandoned by the British Expeditionary Force prior to their departure from the northern French ports. Such spoils were much sought after.
    â€˜Repairs complete?’ Lorenz asked.
    â€˜Almost,’ Graf replied.
    Lorenz sat down beneath a portrait of Vice Admiral Dönitz. ‘What about the hydroplanes?’
    â€˜They seem to be working very well.’
    â€˜So what happened? Why did we have to switch to manual operation during the attack?’
    â€˜I checked the system.’ Graf’s sentence was irresolute.
    â€˜And . . .’
    â€˜Thoroughly, you understand.’ The chief engineer sipped his coffee. ‘I checked the system thoroughly and I couldn’t find a fault.’
    â€˜But there must be an explanation, a cause?’
    â€˜Not all causes are readily identifiable, Kaleun.’
    â€˜Just one of those things, then, eh?’ Lorenz repeated Graf’s favorite maxim.
    â€˜Yes,’ Graf shrugged, his voice flat. ‘Yes, Herr Kaleun.’
    A tin of vitamin-fortified chocolates caught Lorenz’s attention. He pried the lid off, selected one, and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, his expression became contemplative. ‘There was a problem with the attack periscope.’
    â€˜Was there?’ Graf leaned forward, concerned. ‘You didn’t say . . .’
    â€˜It suddenly rotated and I hadn’t used the pedals.’
    â€˜Do you want me to take a look?’
    â€˜The machinery functioned well enough,’ he paused to scratch his beard, ‘in the end . . .’
    Benny Goodman’s clarinet soared above the chugging brass, and the drummer produced a striking beat that suggested a reversion to the primitive.
    â€˜The boat’s been very temperamental lately.’ Graf’s expression was full of meaning. He began to nod his head slightly, encouraging Lorenz to speculate.
    â€˜Everything was working when we left Brest.’
    â€˜Still . . .’ Graf continued to nod.
    Rumors of sabotage had been circulating for some time. ‘Nothing has been tampered with,’ said Lorenz dismissively. Graf accepted Lorenz’s rebuff with Stoic calm. Only the fractional elevation of his right eyebrow betrayed his mild irritation.
    They sat in silence for a while, both listening to a bright, blaring trumpet solo. When the full orchestra returned, Lorenz addressed Graf in a low, confidential register. ‘The crew . . .’ He hesitated before continuing, ‘Is the crew all right? Do you think?’
    â€˜I had a chat with Sauer. He thinks Richter may have unsettled them,’ Graf