Perseus
04-04-07, 12:04 PM
Type XXI (yes yes, I know I know)
GWX 1.03
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
50-odd miles south west of Cabo de Sao Vicente, Portugal.
April 1941
I scratched my beard and took a sip from the hot stuff that wasn't anything near a decent definition of 'tea' as I listened to the hum of the electric engines coming from the back. Around me, a buzz of lazy activity added to general feeling of post-partol tiredness; Gunther gazed at coordinates on his navigation map and Hans was as always overseeing the controls, but sometimes seemed to gaze into the far distance, perhaps daydreaming even.
We had just come back from a patrol near the Gibraltar western inlet, where we ambushed a total of four small merchants. Small fry at which we were a bit disappointed. Back in Brest, the lordships from Bdu and Kriegsmarine intelligence had assured me that we would be likely to come across some British warships. Eeling a couple of those was the goal but alas, perhaps the Brits knew of the U-53 'Fur Deutschland' being around and so maybe they thought it better to keep their fette Beute in port until we were safe in our pen in Brest again.
Helmut was at the sonar and was showing some signs of fatigue - best to relieve him in about an hour or so, I thought. Tired ears don't always hear everything. But just then, as we were smoothly cruising at standard speed at periscope death, Helmut almost jumped from his seat and announced: "Kontakt! Kriegsschiff, komt naeher!", and gave the bearing - 351 degrees from the bow.
I almost dropped my cup of 'tea' but managed to slam it down on the navigation map table , yelled at radio to turn the music off and then shouted at Gunther that he get Max from his cot to take his normal place as the weapons officer while I almost simultaneously jumped into the conning tower to raise the attack periscope.
It was a bright sunny day - always in these waters, I thought - and peered throught the periscope once it was up. I swerved from 320 to 020 but saw nothing. Meanwhile, Helmut yelled that he'd picked up another warship. Seeing nothing I lowered the periscope and went down to Helmut to listen on the hydrophone myself.
Seated in Helmut's chair I heard what any sane person would call a cacophony of ugly noise, but was music to my ears: there, at 344, I heard the distinctive fast sound of destroyer diesel engines, but at 340 I heard the heavy beating of something much, much bigger.
"I heard the heavy sound first, then the destroyer," a revved-up Helmut said, and I nodded. Whatever she was, she was almost drowning out the high-pitched stamping of the destroyer. "Whatever that beast is, she must be moving at high speed," I said, and so went back to the control room and ordered full speed ahead, new heading due west. I asked Gunther for a depth measurement: 164 meters below the keel. "Go to 60," I told Hans, and he barked his orders at the noncom officers behind the controls. Within moments the sound of our own engines reverberated through the U-boot and I felt the bow drop; I catched the tea cup before it could fall.
"Depending how far that destroyer is, I bet they should be able to hear us soon," Max mumbled about 30 minutes later and I nodded. "Schleichfahrt, come up to periscope depth," I ordered Hans and the roaring engine sound quickly died down to a hum while the 'be quiet!'-message was passed down the length of the boat.
It took ages to reach periscope depth and by the time we got there, we were doing 2 knots.
What I had guessed - no, hoped - had materialised: the ships were sailing due south, south-south-west maybe, and we were almost right in front of them.
I slipped back into the conning tower, raised the periscope and peered out into the sunlit morning again, instinctively squeezing to protect my right eye from the glaring light.
A splash of water blurred the lens and as the water receded, I zoomed in and opened my eyes wide as I saw a big blurry shadow slowly take form.
"Unbelievable..." I murmured and reached for one of the ship identification books.
I had to make sure.
I flipped the pages of the "Britische Kriegsschiff" book and found myself staring at the meticulous drawing of a huge ship. Feeling distrustful of my own eyes and mind I peered through the periscope again, looking at the huge battleship. Then looked back at the drawing, looked through the periscope again, back to the drawing - and then felt completely sure as I peered through the periscope again.
I was staring straight at the HMS Rodney in all its splendor, in a calm sea - and there, to her right, was the lone V&W class DD screening her.
GWX 1.03
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
50-odd miles south west of Cabo de Sao Vicente, Portugal.
April 1941
I scratched my beard and took a sip from the hot stuff that wasn't anything near a decent definition of 'tea' as I listened to the hum of the electric engines coming from the back. Around me, a buzz of lazy activity added to general feeling of post-partol tiredness; Gunther gazed at coordinates on his navigation map and Hans was as always overseeing the controls, but sometimes seemed to gaze into the far distance, perhaps daydreaming even.
We had just come back from a patrol near the Gibraltar western inlet, where we ambushed a total of four small merchants. Small fry at which we were a bit disappointed. Back in Brest, the lordships from Bdu and Kriegsmarine intelligence had assured me that we would be likely to come across some British warships. Eeling a couple of those was the goal but alas, perhaps the Brits knew of the U-53 'Fur Deutschland' being around and so maybe they thought it better to keep their fette Beute in port until we were safe in our pen in Brest again.
Helmut was at the sonar and was showing some signs of fatigue - best to relieve him in about an hour or so, I thought. Tired ears don't always hear everything. But just then, as we were smoothly cruising at standard speed at periscope death, Helmut almost jumped from his seat and announced: "Kontakt! Kriegsschiff, komt naeher!", and gave the bearing - 351 degrees from the bow.
I almost dropped my cup of 'tea' but managed to slam it down on the navigation map table , yelled at radio to turn the music off and then shouted at Gunther that he get Max from his cot to take his normal place as the weapons officer while I almost simultaneously jumped into the conning tower to raise the attack periscope.
It was a bright sunny day - always in these waters, I thought - and peered throught the periscope once it was up. I swerved from 320 to 020 but saw nothing. Meanwhile, Helmut yelled that he'd picked up another warship. Seeing nothing I lowered the periscope and went down to Helmut to listen on the hydrophone myself.
Seated in Helmut's chair I heard what any sane person would call a cacophony of ugly noise, but was music to my ears: there, at 344, I heard the distinctive fast sound of destroyer diesel engines, but at 340 I heard the heavy beating of something much, much bigger.
"I heard the heavy sound first, then the destroyer," a revved-up Helmut said, and I nodded. Whatever she was, she was almost drowning out the high-pitched stamping of the destroyer. "Whatever that beast is, she must be moving at high speed," I said, and so went back to the control room and ordered full speed ahead, new heading due west. I asked Gunther for a depth measurement: 164 meters below the keel. "Go to 60," I told Hans, and he barked his orders at the noncom officers behind the controls. Within moments the sound of our own engines reverberated through the U-boot and I felt the bow drop; I catched the tea cup before it could fall.
"Depending how far that destroyer is, I bet they should be able to hear us soon," Max mumbled about 30 minutes later and I nodded. "Schleichfahrt, come up to periscope depth," I ordered Hans and the roaring engine sound quickly died down to a hum while the 'be quiet!'-message was passed down the length of the boat.
It took ages to reach periscope depth and by the time we got there, we were doing 2 knots.
What I had guessed - no, hoped - had materialised: the ships were sailing due south, south-south-west maybe, and we were almost right in front of them.
I slipped back into the conning tower, raised the periscope and peered out into the sunlit morning again, instinctively squeezing to protect my right eye from the glaring light.
A splash of water blurred the lens and as the water receded, I zoomed in and opened my eyes wide as I saw a big blurry shadow slowly take form.
"Unbelievable..." I murmured and reached for one of the ship identification books.
I had to make sure.
I flipped the pages of the "Britische Kriegsschiff" book and found myself staring at the meticulous drawing of a huge ship. Feeling distrustful of my own eyes and mind I peered through the periscope again, looking at the huge battleship. Then looked back at the drawing, looked through the periscope again, back to the drawing - and then felt completely sure as I peered through the periscope again.
I was staring straight at the HMS Rodney in all its splendor, in a calm sea - and there, to her right, was the lone V&W class DD screening her.