Unlike many of the crew on the German raider Well-Reiter in June 1945, Oberleunant Ivan Biermann was not devastated by the news that the war in Europe was over. The tragic times were a year before when his parents were killed by an allied air raid. There was nobody back in the ruins of the homeland for his only brother had also died so he just felt empty inside..

He assembled on the deck with his fellow officers and crew to await an address from Kapitan zur See Edberhard Nadel. Behind the captain on the upper deck were the first officer and Korvettenkapitan Gereon Schwarz, though the third ranking officer, the most feared and ruthless man aboard. He was the unofficial Nazi political officer and the rumour was that he really had the most say in how the raider operated.

"The war in our theatre of the war is over, gentlemen," Kapitan Nadel used the civilian term 'gentlemen' for the first time. "There is no homeland. Our original orders to reach Japan have been superseded by an order to surrender this vessel to the nearest allied port. In our case this is a a town called Bluff in the south of New Zealand."

He paused and Ivan glanced at his companion, Kiefer Maurer who just shrugged. They knew almost nothing about New Zealand except that it was a small British nation south-west of Australia.

"Before we surrender the Well-Reiter, there is one final duty we have to perform. As you are all no doubt aware, a precious cargo was transferred to us from U-boat 4176 off the coast of Argentina last month." The captain glanced sideways at the grim Schwarz. "The u-boat was later attacked and sunk in the South Atlantic but luckily the cargo was with us before this tragedy happened. This is no hope of reaching Japan so we will off-load and hide it in a remote area of New Zealand and afterwards proceed to Bluff for the formal surrender.

The war is over, gentlemen. In New Zealand you may be interned but will eventually be allowed to return home. In many ways we are the lucky ones for the British will not seek revenge like the Russians. One day our country will rise again but in the meantime, may God help us all."

"As if that will make any difference," Kiefer muttered after they were dismissed and the pair stood on the deck to gaze out at the line of mountains across the horizon ahead.

"No, but it is better than being sunk by an American dive bomber while we try to reach Japan."

"Their turn will come. A million American troops will be transferred from Europe there to invade. I heard their cities are worse than ours."

"Perhaps the Russians will arrive first."

"So?" Kiefer replied, "It's not our war any more. Anyway, what is the cargo the captain mentioned?"

"You saw the cylinders when they were slung aboard. I'd say they contain gold bullion or other national treasures from our homeland."

"Or stolen from the lands we overran."

Ivan nodded. "Don't let Korvettenkapitan Schwarz hear you say that. He's still capable of having you shot."

"I guess," Kiefer whispered but his cheeks paled slightly.

*

"Oberleunant Biermann, wake up. You're to report to the captain. Now!" The young sailor who wouldn't have been more than seventeen looked wide eyed as he shone a torch

into Ivan's face.

It was still dark for June was mid-winter in this part of the world. "What's the time?" Ivan asked as he swung out of his bunk and was careful not to awaken Kiefer, asleep below him.

"Just after eight. You were sleeping like a baby. We're in a fiord just like the ones in Norway."

"What!"

"Look out the porthole."

Ivan did and in the dawn light saw they were sailing through a long inlet surrounded by steep hills. Ahead, a white peaked mountain poked out of a fog layer. It was cold, only a few degrees above zero, Celsius but far better than the minus twenty they had experience on the voyage here that touched the Antarctic circle.

"Where is the captain?" he asked.

"On the bridge."

"Right, Thanks, Adelbert. Perhaps you could get a coffee ready."

"I'll see," the youngster replied with a grin.

The lad had his uses. Coffee had not been available at home in years but Adelbert had arrived back at the ship at their last port of call at Bahia Alta in Argentina with a gigantic carton of delicacies from bananas to a casket of wine and a flour sack filled with coffee beans.

*

"This is a map of the South Island," Kapitan Nadel spread his hand over the chart table that was before them. "The details are not as good as I would have liked and that is where you come in Oberleunant Biermann,"

"Yes Sir."

As the only pilot aboard, Ivan was not surprised at the captains request. He was to fly ship's float plane, an Arado AR 196 up the fiord to search for any beach or landing area. The fiord had four tributaries and stretched forty kilometres inland, an area that could take several days to explore by motorboat. This could be done in less than an hour by the float plane.

As soon as it was light and with Kiefer in the rear seat of the single engine, two seat float plane, Ivan powered up the controls and the ship's catapult propelled them into the air. He loved the AR 196 where he was the entire master and because of enforced radio silence, he could do, within limits, whatever he wished. Flying between steep hills was different from his usual flights over open ocean but the scenery was spectacular.

"Look. Aren't those seals below?" Kiefer's voice came though the internal speech tube.

Ivan looked out and saw a colony of slug like creatures on rocks below. There were, though, no real beaches or places to go ashore from the boat. He reached the open sea, glanced at the map on his knee and decided to encircle the island at the entrance and return through the northern fork. After flying over the Well-Reiter again, Ivan headed east, again through a valley of steep hills and dark blue water. For twenty minutes they flew on before he made a sharp turn to head back.

"Try a side fork,"Kiefer shouted through the speech tube.

"Okay, but it's narrow. I hope there's room to turn around at the end."

He manoeuvred the twelve metre float plane up a narrow fork and almost immediately spied a small beach at the mouth of a stream that entered the fiord through a steep gully.

"That'll do. Can you get a reference point, Kiefer."

"Got it!"

Their problem now was to turn around. Ivan opened the throttle, the nine-cylinders opened and they rose at a steep angle before he dipped the port wing and almost slid around before descending again to get another view of the cove where the beach was.

"Water looks deep. I'm sure the Well-Reiter can get close to shore as long as it stays away from that shingle bank,"he said.

*

Five metal containers shaped like pipes with sealed ends were lowered off the Well-Reiter into the motor-boat. Ivan was among the crew that chugged ashore to the tiny beachhead. They lifted the surprisingly heavy containers onto their shoulders and, under the command of Korvettenkapitan Schwarz. However, within a couple of hundred metres their way was blocked for the steam stopped at the base of a high waterfall.

"Damn," the korvettenkapitan muttered.

"To the left, Sir," one of the crewmen called out. "See that dry cutting? Perhaps that'll do."

"The waterfall may overflow down there," another warned.

"No," Schwarz replied. "It'll do."

There was just rock but the korvettenkapitan was resourceful. Within moments he had selected a small crack in the surface and directed that a small plug of gelignite was to be inserted. The armoury officer was an expert, When the charge exploded a few moments later, there was a small landslide of rocks that blocked the stream but a distinct cavity behind.

Ivan joined the crew who were set to work moving the shattered rocks. He found it quite heavy work after months of life on the ship and stood up at one stage to ease his aching back. As he did so, he noticed that Schwarz was sketching a diagram in a notebook. The man pulled a small compass from his pocket and noted a reference. He placed out the distance from the waterfall to where they were working and made yet another note .

The tall, narrow cavity was not deep but by tying the cylinders together in sets of two and three, they fitted inside like a pyramid with the two cylinders above the other three.

"Good," Schwarz muttered. "I want the whole front covered like a wall. He glowered around. "And I don't want it to slide away in the next storm."

Again the crew were resourceful and talented. It took over and hour but the completed job looked like a natural rock slide. Tufts of fern were even inserted between the rocks. Ivan gazed at it and knew that within a season the area would be indistinguishable from the rest of the adjacent valley wall.

*

After the AR 196 was swung aboard by the ship's crane, the korvettenkapitan ordered crews to work to paint out the Swastikas and Crosses on the fuselage and wings. By lunchtime there was no sign of the plane's nationality and by evening the red, white and blue ringlets of the British Air Fleet Arm adorned the craft. Afterwards, it was clamped onto the catapult ready for launching.

Ivan was curious but not even the rumours could provide a reason for the change. He shrugged for he knew he would soon find out. As the only remaining pilot aboard, if the float plane was going to be flown anywhere it would involve himself.

The Well-Reiter spent two more nights anchored in the fiord. On the third morning the klaxon sounded well before dawn and as the eastern shy turned to red the captain ordered another parade on the aft-deck.

His words were sad but except to offer advice on what to do after the raider was surrendered to New Zealand authorities in Bluff they contained no new news. The kreigsmarine flag was raised to the masthead immediately above a white flag of surrender while the ship's guns were exposed and lowered to face the ocean. They were covered in white sheeting to make the once proud ship look defeated and isolated.

The order arrived. Ivan dressed in his flying gear and climbed up into the cockpit. As he adjusted his straps and ran an eye over the checklist he noticed a second man clamour aboard. It was not his gunnery officer though, but Korvettenkapitan Gereon Schwarz who squeezed in the rear seat.

"I want to take a last aerial view of the cylinder site," he muttered. "Are you ready, Oberleunant Biermann?"

Ivan's throat contracted. Something was wrong! Schwarz had never flown with him before. Indeed the rumour was that this navy officer never saw the need for a reconnaissance plane to be aboard and would have preferred landing craft to take up the space occupied by the float plane, service deck and catapult. There was a long held rivalry between the German armed forces and that was perhaps the reason the Kreigsmarine had never built aircraft carriers like their Japanese allies.

"I asked a question, Oberleunant?"

"Sorry Sir," Ivan replied. "Will you please see that your straps and helmet are adjusted correctly."

"They are. Signal the crew to prepare to launch."

The engine screamed and the whole craft shuddered. Ivan glanced in a rear vision mirror and had the satisfaction of seeing Schwarz looking white as he clung on and stared straight ahead. Being catapulted off a ship for the first time was nerve-racking even for the most experienced pilot. For someone doing it for the first time, the experience could be terrifying.

The engine screamed as Ivan pushed the throttle forward, the plane vibrated like jelly and rev meter swung high into the red danger line. Ivan waited a second before he signalled, there was a twang and the Ar196 was propelled forward at a speed that sent Ivan crushed back into his seat and blood almost bursting behind his eyes. The float plane wobbled but he knew how to handle the throttle and other controls.

"The hill!" Schwarz's almost petrified scream came though to Ivan's ears.

The valley walls were close but nothing he couldn't handle. He dipped the starboard wing and manoeuvred until they were flying down the fiord. Ahead was the island and open sea. To get back over the cove he would have to make a hundred and eighty degree turn.

Just as he began his turn, Schwarz interrupted. "Just keep going out the mouth, Biermann," he snarled with his old authority back again.

Ivan gulped but pulled out of the turn. To do so though, he had to gain height and again dip one wing. As he did so, he glanced sideways. Way below he saw the Welle-Reiter. In those few seconds he saw everything!

The smoke from the funnel of the ship was replaced by a series of explosions right along the ship. Flames bellowed up from the waterline as if it had been hit by a torpedo. Fighting emotions of horror, Ivan ignored the screaming orders coming to him and flew in a long "s" pattern that ended up so he was flying back up the fiord.

The ship below was already a ball of flames with secondary explosions now visible from the armoury section. They roared over, so low that smoke engulfed them before they flew out the far side.

"Shit!" Ivan grasped as he swung the float plane around yet again and back to the smoke,

He saw the Welle-Reiter for one last time. It was already tipped at a gruesome angle and tiny figures could be seen sliding off the deck.

"We have to land," he cried.

"No, Oberleunant. You will keep going and head out to sea. Once there, you will turn north and follow the coastline. "

Ivan felt ill. This was not an accident. The man had planned it all along! The burying of the loot or whatever it was, the refuelling of the plane and the explosion on board immediately after they were in the air all added up. Schwarz probably used a wireless to send a signal down to detonate the charges.

"You did this you murdering thug!" Ivan shouted as he fought his emotions and piloted the plane at the same time.

He felt something cold against his neck and glanced in the mirror. Schwarz had his hand on a Luger while his steel eyes stared at him through the mirror.

"Go on, shoot me." Ivan dropped his voice to a whisper. "You will never be able to fly this plane. Even for a trained pilot it is difficult to fly. Shoot me and it will be the last thing you do in this life, Korvettenkapitan."

The Luger moved away as Schwarz moved back into his seat. "So it is a stalemate, Biermann," he said. "However, even you can see it will be fatal for you to land. You cannot help those aboard who died bravely for the fatherland and as soon as we're down you're at my mercy."

"And shot!"

"The ball is in your court, my friend. Once we both swallow our emotions we may come to an arrangement that benefits us both."

"Yeah sure."

Ivan knew he could not trust the fanatic behind him for even a gram. Once they had landed he would be shot as ruthlessly as the hundreds of crew in the sinking ship below were killed. He had no doubt about that, what-so-ever. He also knew that fanatics were always vulnerable too, They had absolute belief in their cause whether it was religion or ideology and no persuasion would change that view. Schwarz was already dead inside for he would never adjust to the knowledge that they had lost the war. But had he? That was what it was all about. He wanted to live, recover the booty and use it for his own evil purposes.

As he thought , the float plane flew on and had reached the open sea. He turned north and tried to recall what was ahead. There was a mountain range that came almost to the shore with only a strip of coastal land. He doubted if many people lived on this remote coast. The Ar196 had a range of a thousand kilometres if he flew slowly but already many litres of fuel had been used. With luck, they could fly eight hundred kilometres before the fuel was gone. that was about three hours flying time.

"Yes we will have enough fuel to clear this island," Schwarz interrupted his thoughts. "We will cross it near the and head to the North Island."

"Why?"

"That is where the capital city is. I have contacts in Wellington who will help us get out of this accursed country."

"We?"

"Of course, Ivan. If you co-operate there is no reason why you cannot survive. I wouldn't approach any of the locals, though. I doubt if they will be very friendly to someone flying a spy plane."

"Spy plane?'

"We have British ringlets on our fuselage yet are obviously a German plane. You'd be shot without mercy if you're caught."

Ivan gulped. That is what would happen if a British plane with German markings landed land at home. After five years war he doubted if the British would be any more sympathetic. He still didn't trust Schwarz, though but needed time to consider his position.

"The weather looks good but I have to get to a cruising height and slow down," he said.

"Why?"

"If we fly too fast we burn up too much fuel; fly too low and we're buffeted by local breezes. Too high and again more fuel is needed in the oxygen depleted air."

"You're the pilot," Schwarz replied. "Do what you must."

He lapsed into silence and let Ivan continue to fly the float plane.

*