Brag
01-20-07, 08:19 AM
The conflict between the Captain of U-551 and his first watch officer intensifies as they approach Iceland and the boat encounters trouble. :roll:
The whole story so far, is at: http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/ (http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/)
The latest instalment:
I was on the second step of the ladder when Hagel's voice made me freeze.
"Hoffman, stay below. I'm going upstairs."
Hagel's habit of using civilian terms, like upstairs instead of topside, irritated me. I took two steps down and looked at the captain with what I thought would be a quizzical expression.
"No need for both of us to be on the balcony in this weather." He hung his glasses on his neck and clambered topside. Like a useless, bloody idiot, I couldn't think of anything better to do than get into my bunk.
Dripping water all over the place, Deckert came in. The Old Man is going to drown as all," he muttered, letting his sou-wester flop onto the deck. "We have nearly a force ten gale."
"Maybe a wave will wash him overboard."
Deckert gave me a strange look, removed his leather jacket and wool jersey. He wrung the sweater.
The sub took a wild dive. Water from Deckert's jersey splashed on me instead of the deck. The vibration of racing screws stopped as water covered the diesel air intakes. From the Zentrale came the roar of a waterfall.
"Crazy," Deckert said. "One can't even sleep in this weather."
"If I was captain, we would be riding this storm submerged to thirty meters."
"Ja, one can't do anything in this weather."
Again, the screws raced as the stern popped out of the water. I wondered how much punishment the engines could take.
The following morning, our world was limited to dirty gray waves marbled with foam and flying spindrift that punished our faces when we were not underwater, drowning. Towering seas crashing on us had forced us to close the conning tower hatch. By five o'clock I had given up trying to make intelligent sweeps for signs of ships; or even checking if the lookouts on the bridge were still onboard. All one could do was hang on to the handles of the bridge's coaming and duck when waves engulfed the bridge. Several times I've been knocked off my feet. Only my belt and steel cable attached to a U bolt kept me aboard. My eyes burned, hands were numb. I couldn't think straight. To have people on the bridge under these conditions was a cruel joke. We were useless. To hell with the captain. I sent two of the lookouts below.
Half an hour later, instead of somewhat rested lookouts, the captain came on the bridge. "Courage. No storm lasts forever," he yelled into my ear. I couldn't answer as a cascade of water jerked me against my tether. I managed to grab Hagel and shove him against the periscope housing before he got washed away.
I spat water and handed Hagel a safety belt.
He gave me a wry smile. "I should explain . . .
Whatever he was going to say got drowned by another wave.
"Send the lookouts downstairs."
The sailors didn't wait for me to repeat the captain's orders.
I don't know how long I had been like this, in a state of semi-consciousness, my hands locked on the bridge bulwark and my face buried between my arms.
"There, you see." The captain's voice brought me out of the dark hole my mind had retreated to.
I looked up. The roar of the wind had subsided. Instead of flying spray, fog drifted over the clashing seas.
Hagel took the towel he had wrapped around his neck and wiped his face. "I use bad weather to run on the surface undetected."
Embarrased, I nodded.
Deckert's voice came through the Zentrale speaking tube. "Permission for the second watch to come to the bridge, Herr Kaleun."
"Granted." Hagel slapped me on the shoulder. "A good breakfast will go well now, Ja?"
The stale, pukey-smelling air below almost made me gag. I staggered to my bunk and dug out a packet of HB cigarettes from under the mattress. It has been what, two days that we haven't submerged? The thought bothered me. When visibility was limited, Willi would have submerged every two to three hours to listen for ships. Whereas, we have been racing blindly. The fog bothered me. I exchanged my thoroughly soaked sweater for the dry one I never wore topside and went to get breakfast.
When my next watch came up, the sea was still choppy and washing over the deck but not threatening to swallow the bridge. Visibility had improved to maybe a thousand meters. According to the dead reckoning plot, we were 200 miles from Reykjavik. We still didn't know what our destination or mission was. Bloody Montmartre.
The ripping noise overhead made me wince. I looked to port. "Alaaaarm," I yelled into the speaking tube. "Clear the deck!"
Out of the fog, a large, white moustache under its bow, the gray shape of a destroyer raced for us. A flash came from its number two gun. Another shell ripped overhead.
The boat was already diving when I dogged the top hatch shut.
In the Zentrale, Hagel was on the observation scope. "Tribal class," he said.
"Passing ten meters," the boat chief announced.
I took a deep breath and grabbed the ladder. We could clearly hear the destroyer's screws coming up on us.
"Arrest the dive," Hagel ordered. "Down scope."
The angle of the deck leveled.
This crazy captain was suicidal. "Herr Kaleun--"
Hagel raised his finger. "They can't drop charges from their stern and hit us without blowing their own arse up."
The destroyer roared overhead.
"Wasserbomben," the hydrophone operator announced.
Maybe they'll blow their own limey arse and ours right along with them.
"Ahead flank."
The whine of the electric engines grew.
"Ten degrees starboard rudder."
Four explosions shook the boat and raised the stern.
"Continue fast dive to 200 meters."
"Destroyer slowing engines."
All idle men to forward torpedo compartment," the captain yelled.
I stood aside as the off-watch engine and aft torpedo crews raced forward.
The angle of the boat increased to about 20 degrees. We started going down fast.
"Destroyer turning, Herr Kaleun."
"Passing twenty meters."
"Engines ahead slow."
The reaction to seeing the destroyer rushing toward us, guns blazing began to affect me. My legs grew weak. I sat on the map box at the foot of the ladder.
"Passing thirty meters."
We won't be deep enough when the ash cans start dropping.
Everyone's gaze was upward as if they could see the destroyer coming overhead.
The rapid thumping of screws grew louder.
"Ahead flank."
"Passing forty meters."
"Wasserbomben."
****, the destroyer had anticipated our move. I tried to keep the mental image of where that verdamte destroyer was.
I flew across the control room. Lights went out. My ears hurt. Explosions made it impossible to hear anything else.
I came to. The noise of high pressure water entering the hull made me jump to my feet. Metalic taste of blood entered my mouth.
Dim, emergency lights came on.
"Forward torpedo compartment flooding."
"Port electric motor inoperative."
"Damage control party to forward torpedo."
"Passing seventy meters. Dive out of control, Herr Kaleun."
To be continued.
Your comments pleeeze! :roll:
The whole story so far, is at: http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/ (http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/)
The latest instalment:
I was on the second step of the ladder when Hagel's voice made me freeze.
"Hoffman, stay below. I'm going upstairs."
Hagel's habit of using civilian terms, like upstairs instead of topside, irritated me. I took two steps down and looked at the captain with what I thought would be a quizzical expression.
"No need for both of us to be on the balcony in this weather." He hung his glasses on his neck and clambered topside. Like a useless, bloody idiot, I couldn't think of anything better to do than get into my bunk.
Dripping water all over the place, Deckert came in. The Old Man is going to drown as all," he muttered, letting his sou-wester flop onto the deck. "We have nearly a force ten gale."
"Maybe a wave will wash him overboard."
Deckert gave me a strange look, removed his leather jacket and wool jersey. He wrung the sweater.
The sub took a wild dive. Water from Deckert's jersey splashed on me instead of the deck. The vibration of racing screws stopped as water covered the diesel air intakes. From the Zentrale came the roar of a waterfall.
"Crazy," Deckert said. "One can't even sleep in this weather."
"If I was captain, we would be riding this storm submerged to thirty meters."
"Ja, one can't do anything in this weather."
Again, the screws raced as the stern popped out of the water. I wondered how much punishment the engines could take.
The following morning, our world was limited to dirty gray waves marbled with foam and flying spindrift that punished our faces when we were not underwater, drowning. Towering seas crashing on us had forced us to close the conning tower hatch. By five o'clock I had given up trying to make intelligent sweeps for signs of ships; or even checking if the lookouts on the bridge were still onboard. All one could do was hang on to the handles of the bridge's coaming and duck when waves engulfed the bridge. Several times I've been knocked off my feet. Only my belt and steel cable attached to a U bolt kept me aboard. My eyes burned, hands were numb. I couldn't think straight. To have people on the bridge under these conditions was a cruel joke. We were useless. To hell with the captain. I sent two of the lookouts below.
Half an hour later, instead of somewhat rested lookouts, the captain came on the bridge. "Courage. No storm lasts forever," he yelled into my ear. I couldn't answer as a cascade of water jerked me against my tether. I managed to grab Hagel and shove him against the periscope housing before he got washed away.
I spat water and handed Hagel a safety belt.
He gave me a wry smile. "I should explain . . .
Whatever he was going to say got drowned by another wave.
"Send the lookouts downstairs."
The sailors didn't wait for me to repeat the captain's orders.
I don't know how long I had been like this, in a state of semi-consciousness, my hands locked on the bridge bulwark and my face buried between my arms.
"There, you see." The captain's voice brought me out of the dark hole my mind had retreated to.
I looked up. The roar of the wind had subsided. Instead of flying spray, fog drifted over the clashing seas.
Hagel took the towel he had wrapped around his neck and wiped his face. "I use bad weather to run on the surface undetected."
Embarrased, I nodded.
Deckert's voice came through the Zentrale speaking tube. "Permission for the second watch to come to the bridge, Herr Kaleun."
"Granted." Hagel slapped me on the shoulder. "A good breakfast will go well now, Ja?"
The stale, pukey-smelling air below almost made me gag. I staggered to my bunk and dug out a packet of HB cigarettes from under the mattress. It has been what, two days that we haven't submerged? The thought bothered me. When visibility was limited, Willi would have submerged every two to three hours to listen for ships. Whereas, we have been racing blindly. The fog bothered me. I exchanged my thoroughly soaked sweater for the dry one I never wore topside and went to get breakfast.
When my next watch came up, the sea was still choppy and washing over the deck but not threatening to swallow the bridge. Visibility had improved to maybe a thousand meters. According to the dead reckoning plot, we were 200 miles from Reykjavik. We still didn't know what our destination or mission was. Bloody Montmartre.
The ripping noise overhead made me wince. I looked to port. "Alaaaarm," I yelled into the speaking tube. "Clear the deck!"
Out of the fog, a large, white moustache under its bow, the gray shape of a destroyer raced for us. A flash came from its number two gun. Another shell ripped overhead.
The boat was already diving when I dogged the top hatch shut.
In the Zentrale, Hagel was on the observation scope. "Tribal class," he said.
"Passing ten meters," the boat chief announced.
I took a deep breath and grabbed the ladder. We could clearly hear the destroyer's screws coming up on us.
"Arrest the dive," Hagel ordered. "Down scope."
The angle of the deck leveled.
This crazy captain was suicidal. "Herr Kaleun--"
Hagel raised his finger. "They can't drop charges from their stern and hit us without blowing their own arse up."
The destroyer roared overhead.
"Wasserbomben," the hydrophone operator announced.
Maybe they'll blow their own limey arse and ours right along with them.
"Ahead flank."
The whine of the electric engines grew.
"Ten degrees starboard rudder."
Four explosions shook the boat and raised the stern.
"Continue fast dive to 200 meters."
"Destroyer slowing engines."
All idle men to forward torpedo compartment," the captain yelled.
I stood aside as the off-watch engine and aft torpedo crews raced forward.
The angle of the boat increased to about 20 degrees. We started going down fast.
"Destroyer turning, Herr Kaleun."
"Passing twenty meters."
"Engines ahead slow."
The reaction to seeing the destroyer rushing toward us, guns blazing began to affect me. My legs grew weak. I sat on the map box at the foot of the ladder.
"Passing thirty meters."
We won't be deep enough when the ash cans start dropping.
Everyone's gaze was upward as if they could see the destroyer coming overhead.
The rapid thumping of screws grew louder.
"Ahead flank."
"Passing forty meters."
"Wasserbomben."
****, the destroyer had anticipated our move. I tried to keep the mental image of where that verdamte destroyer was.
I flew across the control room. Lights went out. My ears hurt. Explosions made it impossible to hear anything else.
I came to. The noise of high pressure water entering the hull made me jump to my feet. Metalic taste of blood entered my mouth.
Dim, emergency lights came on.
"Forward torpedo compartment flooding."
"Port electric motor inoperative."
"Damage control party to forward torpedo."
"Passing seventy meters. Dive out of control, Herr Kaleun."
To be continued.
Your comments pleeeze! :roll: