Story: "Der Spanier"

[Schöneboom]

Moin, Alle,

I felt like a little literary exercise, using both my patrols and historical research as inspiration. This is just a taste, like a movie trailer (I used to write screenplays). Who knows where it's going -- hope you enjoy the ride. The views expressed are not necessarily those of the author. ;)

All of Schöneboom's postings in this thread are Copyright © 2007 by Wayne K. Mathias. All rights reserved.

* * * * *

October 1939: After a successful first convoy attack, U-53 makes a brief detour to El Ferrol, Spain, for "repairs".

* * * * *

My 1WO Lt. Hesse looked surprised at the lively crowd of Spaniards filling the smoky tavern. "Mensch, it's almost 2 AM. Don't they have to work in the morning?" he asked.

"Of course, but they have the siesta to help them recover," I answered while refilling his glass with rioja. "A very sensible tradition, especially when it's hot."

"I was hoping to see flamenco dancers," said L.I. Grosz.

"This is Galicia, L.I. For real flamenco, you have to go south. Cadiz, for example."

"A little too close to Gibraltar for me!" he replied with a nervous laugh.

"Herr Kaleun," said Lt. Lemper, my 2WO. "You've never told us about your stint in Spain..."

"Na, there's not much to tell, really. Two years ago, I helped enforce the Non-Intervention Committee's blockade. Near the northern ports, mainly. The Italians covered the Mediterranean ones. Basically we would stop the ships and check their papers. They never argued with us when we made them turn back."

"But you must've gotten some torpedo practice at least," said Hesse.

"Ja doch! Day and night. They never knew we were practicing on them, of course." I took a swig of the rioja and searched my memories. "We had a few close calls, though... One night we stopped a French tramp steamer heading for Bilbao, and I thought I saw men with machine-guns on board. We instantly trained every gun we had on the ship -- and on the men they sent over to deliver the papers. Mensch, it was tense for a while!"

"Smugglers, eh?"

I nodded. "Communists, too, no doubt. I wish we'd torpedoed them. But rules are rules."

Lemper glanced just over my shoulder, probably at a Spanish woman, knowing him. "Do you think Spain will enter the war on our side?" he asked.

"I doubt it. They'll need years to recover from the civil war. Did you know what happened to their gold reserves?" They shook their heads.

"The verdammte Reds sent all of Spain's gold to Russia." Their eyes widened. "Stalin will never return it, of course. So Franco has to rebuild the country and pay off his war debts, starting from nada."

"Scheisse," muttered Grosz. "Looks like we won't have any U-boot bases here anytime soon. Would've been nice."

"There's another thing," I said. "Franco still has opposition. Underground, naturlich. But it only takes one person to tip off the British consulate. That's why we have to leave in the morning."

My officers cast furtive glances around the room. "Easy, men," I said. "I didn't bring you here to get paranoid."

Lemper grinned impishly. "Herr Kaleun, perhaps you know a good etablissement where a man can relax, if you get my drift."

"Thought you'd never ask! Madame Rosa's. Very classy. Hot showers and ice-cold cava. It's an easy walk from here, even for a drunken sailor."

[Brag]

Good start! :D

There are lots of U-boat story possibilities besides bang them with topedoes.

[Hitman]

Nice start of the story, and you seem to know more about Spain than the average foreigner (Not to mention the average north american:lol: ).

The views expressed are not necessarily those of the author. ;)


I hope so, as I would of course have chosen a wine from the "Duero" region instead of Rioja if I wanted a really good red one. There are very good Riojas, but the average ones are more widely known thanks to marketing than to real quality -Dueros are better for my taste-. But of course what else could one expect from a german tourist? :roll:

In any case, the famous -rightfully- local wine in Galizien is Ribeiro, a kind of white, dry wine that really fits like heaven with fish and shrimp:up:

[Schöneboom]

Danke, I'm grateful for the feedback. Glad to hear from you, Hitman. I visited Spain several years ago: Madrid, Sevilla, Barcelona -- marvelous country! Such variety of culture and landscape! No wonder the Roman generals retired there (y ahora los ingleses!) :D

Btw, I wrote two movie scripts about Americans involved in La Guerra Civil. Both won writing awards but did not sell -- I learned the hard way, Hollywood is the wrong place for writers who care about history!

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

verry nice... wish i could write storry's aswell :roll:
:hmm: if only someone could help

[IrischKapitan]

Nice Start, looking foward to the rest of it already :up::up:

[Hitman]

Danke, I'm grateful for the feedback. Glad to hear from you, Hitman. I visited Spain several years ago: Madrid, Sevilla, Barcelona -- marvelous country! Such variety of culture and landscape! No wonder the Roman generals retired there (y ahora los ingleses!) :D

Ahh so you have been here and also visited all those cities :up: You beat me to that, I have visited nearly all EU but never been in the USA -which I would like to do some day, when my childs grow-. Spain is an interesting country and it would be even better if we could find a way to stop disputing among ourselves :lol:

Btw, I wrote two movie scripts about Americans involved in La Guerra Civil. Both won writing awards but did not sell -- I learned the hard way, Hollywood is the wrong place for writers who care about history!

That's interesting:up: but I guess our civil war is a problematic stuff for Hollywood...because if you put your characters with the Fascists you are playing a "wrong" side, and placing them with the Republicans means being pro-soviet to the wide public, something not much appreciated in the US AFAIK.

It was the most terrible war, brother against brother :down: and unfortunately it is still close in some people's minds here. Lost of "revisionists" lately, I'm afraid :hmm: and while I understand their POW, the younger generations like mine want mainly to put that all in the past once and for all:88)

[Schöneboom]

Muchas gracias, Hitman,

I understand your point of view completely. If there are lessons to be learned from war, La Guerra Civil is an especially complex lesson! That's why real history is a hard sell in Hollywood -- in real life, one cannot so easily divide people into "good guys" & "bad guys". Well, onward to the next chapter...

[Schöneboom]

From the private Tagebuch of Kptlt. Ullmann, 25.12.39

Time flies by; memories pile up quickly. It seems like only yesterday that I bid farewell to Hesse and Grosz. When they finally complete their commander training, will the war be over? For all our sakes, I can only hope so.

Lt. Kuppert, our former navigator, has surpassed my expectations as the new L.I.; with any luck, BdU won't steal him, too -- at least not right away. Lt. Lemper has also proven himself a very capable 1WO; he bears his responsibilities with an easy smile, and he gets results. Our new 2WO, Lt. Arendt, is on his first patrol, and he's hungry for action. However the seas are too rough to use the deck gun (his specialty). Our other new officer, Oberfähnrich Voigt, has Kuppert's old job, doing navigation and the third watch. He's just a boy, fresh out of the Academy.

Ever since our visit to El Ferrol, the crew has taken to calling me "Der Spanier". To me it's funny; I could never pass for a Spaniard -- but it's better than being called "Der Alte."

* * * * *

Our Christmas decorations were humble: a tiny Tannenbaum, boughs of holly -- and inevitably, a few smelly socks hung by the bunks. Dinner was as good as it gets on a U-boot; Gerhard, our Smutje, baked delicious Stollen cakes for the entire crew. Though BdU might have excused us for having a drink on this day, we had to shadow a convoy, and that job required us to stay sharp. I promised the men we'd make up for it later.

After dinner, Lemper noticed my expression. "Is something wrong, Herr Kaleun?" he asked. "Don't you like your present?"

We glanced over at the tiny porcelain penguin, safe in its padded box, sitting on my desk.

"Doch, it's perfect," I replied. "I'm just thinking about that convoy. If it were up to me, I'd let these Tommies go."

"Na, I'm glad we didn't attack last night," said Kuppert. "I couldn't live with myself."

"Still, waiting one day isn't much better, is it?" I said. "But maybe we can show some mercy this time, so they don't think we're totally barbaric."

"What would that mean exactly, Herr Kaleun?" asked Lemper. "Following the Prize Regulations with an escorted convoy is impossible, as you know."

"Ja, but let me give an example: tonight, if we damage a Frachter and it's dead in the water, we won't fire a Fangschuss. But we'll torpedo the ones that are still moving."

Lemper & Kuppert exchanged a thoughtful look. "Well, that's something at least," Lemper commented. "Better to be stuck on a floating wreck than in a lifeboat."

I sighed. "If you ask me, I'd say we're fighting the wrong enemy. I still can't believe we're at war with Britain and have a non-aggression pact with the verflüchte Soviets."

Kuppert spoke up. "The pact won't last, Herr Kaleun. It's just stalling for time. One day we'll clobber those Russkies, you'll see."

"While we're still at war with Britain?" I retorted. "That would be wahnsinnig!"

"The Tommies will have to quit eventually," said Lemper. "Isn't that the point of our strategy? To make it too costly for them to continue?"

"Trouble is, governments are rarely as sensible as individuals," I said. "Once they commit to war, they can't just quit, even if they're losing."

Exasperated, Kuppert said, "I can't fathom these Tommies. Why do they take a stand now?! Why for Poland? Why not earlier?"

"The big brains in Berlin are probably asking themselves that, too," I said. "Tscha... there's nothing for it."

Taking a deep breath, I picked up an intercom mike to address the crew:

"Na, Männer... I hope you ate plenty of Gerhard's Stollen. It's going to be a busy night.

I know we'd all rather be home with our loved ones right now... We didn't choose this war, but here we are... With a British convoy 4000 meters off our port bow.

There are other men who can't go home for the holidays -- and maybe not for a long time. I want you to remember our comrades from the Admiral Graf Spee. All interned in Buenos Aires for the duration, thanks to the Tommies.

The folks back home are proud of us for making the sacrifices we do. They're counting on us to bring this war to an end quickly -- then we can all go home.

In four hours, our truce ends, and the fighting begins. The harder we fight, the sooner we'll be at peace again. So give it everything you've got! Ende."

[CapZap1970]

Very nice writing.... I hope you keep doing it, because you do it very good!! :up:
I liked your story a lot. :up:
CapZap

[Hitman]

Keep it coming! :up:

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

awsome mate :rock:
keep on makin them :up:


Mohr

[Hadrys]

I like your posting in general but this is really great stuff! Not a single word concerning attacking or running and still very interesting :up:

[Schöneboom]

Vielen Dank, Alle! I'm enjoying this, too -- & there's more to come...

Hey, I just noticed Subsim has a Writing Contest! Good timing, eh? :hmm:

[_Seth_]

Vielen Dank, Alle! I'm enjoying this, too -- & there's more to come...

Hey, I just noticed Subsim has a Writing Contest! Good timing, eh? :hmm:
You should definitly join that contest! Excellent stuff, mate! :up::up:

[Schöneboom]

26.12.1939

Due to poor visibility we could target at most two ships on each attack run. We overtook our intended targets, turned 90 degrees to fire, then sped away at flank speed. Each time we got away safely before the torpedo hits triggered a frenzied search. Far behind, the V&W escort hunted for us in vain, while we reloaded our tubes. By the third attack, we were brimming with confidence. Though we could not yet confirm any sinkings, everything was going our way.

This time, we steered towards a small Frachter on the outer row. At 3000 meters out, Voigt spotted a larger Ladungschiff, one we had hit before, on our first run. Lemper called out the torpedo settings for the little Frachter; he then turned the UZO to the fat one, now listing to starboard, but still going strong.

"She's at bearing 300, Herr Kaleun," said Lemper. "Even at the speed she's going, I'm not sure we'll have a good impact angle. Can we reposition the boat?"

"Not enough time," I replied. "The Zerstörer will be back any minute. Take the shot, Lemper!"

He peered through the UZO again, called out the settings, then fired -- one eel for each ship. I yelled into the voice tube, "Steer to course 240, all ahead flank!" We gripped the bridge as our boat heaved in the immense waves.

We looked back at the rapidly receding convoy. Lemper glanced at his two stopwatches. "Here comes the first one..." I raised my binoculars just in time to catch the explosion. The little Frachter took it dead-center, but kept on going.

"And now the second..." We all turned our binoculars on the big one, wondering if our long shot would pay off.

"Torpedotreffer!" cried Voigt. We did it! "Good shot, Lemper!" I yelled over the din of the engines. At that moment, a series of massive explosions ripped through the Ladungschiff. We stared in disbelief at the fireball that lit up the horizon.

"Mein Gott!" exclaimed Lemper. "Were they carrying munitions?!"

Despite the cheers coming from below, my heart sank. Most of the men on that cargo ship were surely dead, or they would be soon. Until now, all the sinkings we had witnessed were slow enough for the crews to abandon ship. Not this time.

I glanced at Voigt; his mouth hung open in shock. I was sorry he had to see this on his first patrol. And after I had spoken of "showing mercy" -- what could I tell this boy now? We watched in grim silence as the fires grew fainter and finally disappeared.

"Look!" cried one of the lookouts, pointing north. There, a starshell burned brightly in the sky, just above the horizon. Too far away to endanger us, it was startlingly beautiful.

"The Star of Bethlehem," said Lemper.

For a moment I scowled at his remark. But I realized he wasn't joking: that was exactly what it looked like.

[Brag]

Good writing! Keep it going. :D

[Alyebard]

:up:

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

:rock: :rock:

only one thing to say... mohr of it :rotfl:


Mohr

[coronas]

Great work Schöneboom! And a cup of Ribeiro for Hitman and everybody!
A link of Ferrol: http://orbita.starmedia.com/~ferrolterra/fotos_ferrol.htm
Can you see Madame Rosa's house?

[Schöneboom]

¡Gracias a mis camaradas españoles! I love those pictures of El Ferrol!
Mucho más to come! :D

[Schöneboom]

26.12.1939

"Herr Kaleun," said Lemper. "We have three torpedoes left. Shall we attack again?"

I gazed out at the darkness and considered my options. "Yes, once more. But the Tommies must be getting wise by now. Let's cross behind the convoy and attack the other side. After that, we'll try to find out which ships actually sank."

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun!"

We turned the boat east and reduced our speed. Voigt reported that the small Frachter we torpedoed had just sunk. That plus the big ship that exploded made two confirmed sinkings.

As we passed behind the convoy, another Frachter came into view just off our starboard side. This was ideal for the stern tube; we would not have to turn around, but merely speed up and change course slightly.

Lemper rotated the UZO to aim at the ship. Just then, a lookout yelled, "Zestörer bearing 280!" The V&W emerged from the darkness at full speed!

"ALAARRM!!! Hard to starboard!" I screamed. We flew down the ladder and I sealed the hatch. As the tower went underwater, I ordered silent running and periscope depth. A big risk, yes, but I had a gut feeling that the Tommies had not seen us.

A peek through the attack periscope confirmed my hunch: the escort was merely rushing to rejoin the formation, and we had almost blundered across its path. When the V&W was nearly out of sight, I returned the boat to its original heading and soon re-acquired the Frachter. I had to act quickly before the impact angle became too steep.

"Rohr 5, LOS!" And away went our last stern torpedo... It missed.

"Verdammt!" I realized too late that the ship was now on a zig-zag course -- which I should have anticipated. Tired and frustrated, I descended to the Zentrale and ordered the boat down to 40 meters.

After hours of being tossed like a cork on the surface, it was a great relief to be underwater. Gerhard brought us mugs of steaming hot apple juice. On a bitterly cold Atlantic night, that was pure bliss!

Before I even had a chance to sit down, Rolf, our sonarman, reported three contacts far to the north: Stragglers, no doubt.

We soon confirmed these ships were heading south, on the same course as the convoy. Back on the surface, we began a visual search, starting with Voigt, myself, and our four best lookouts. Eventually Lemper and Arendt joined us on the bridge.

It was nearly 0400 when we finally located the Frachters. They were a pathetic sight, barely staying afloat.

"You have to give them credit," I mused aloud. "That's good damage control."

"Mensch!" said Arendt. "You couldn't pay me enough to be a merchant officer!"

"The one in the middle is almost running decks awash!" Lemper quipped. "They must have good planesmen!"

"Here's the plan," I said. "Target the two Trampdampfers -- they're close together and right in front of us. The third ship can help the survivors."

Arendt lamented, "If only we could use the deck gun! I'd finish them off in no time!"

"Out of the question," I said firmly. "It's not worth the risk of someone getting washed overboard."

We closed in and aligned our boat for a good shot angle. My officers peered at me from time to time, as if looking for a sign of doubt. Inwardly I dreaded the possibility of another flaming massacre. But I could not appear indecisive. The ships were moving: they were fair game.

By the time we were 1000 meters out, it was clear they were not zig-zagging. Lemper aimed with the UZO and fired our last two eels. With the convoy far to the south, there was no urgent need to flee. We waited for the impacts.

The Dampfer on the right took the first hit, and without further ado began to sink by the stern.

But the one on the left... something felt wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Voigt saw it first: "Its engine just went kaputt!" He was right: there was no more smoke trail! The ship was slowing down! Our torpedo passed harmlessly just in front of the bow.

"Ach, I can't believe it!" cried Lemper, pulling his hair. "It must've missed by a centimeter!"

I was upset for only a moment. "Naja, those poor bastards needed a miracle... This is one they'll be telling their grandchildren about!"

Before we departed, I waved and called out to the ship in English, "Hey, Tommies! This is your lucky night! HAPPY CHRISTMAS!!!"

[Hitman]

:cool:

Love unexpected endings:up:

[Schöneboom]

And it's all "true" -- based on actual events from my third patrol. :D

(Next stop: Vigo!)

[Schöneboom]

29.12.1939

For a full day and night we dutifully cruised up and down BF76 (our assigned Quadrat) and encountered no ships -- which was just as well, since we could neither load our external torpedoes nor fire the deck gun in the rough seas. But the time was not entirely wasted; a number of my men, having correctly guessed my plans, begged me to teach them Spanish. So I taught two classes each day, copying the techniques of my favorite language teachers, and using the chalkboard that we normally use to count wabo explosions. Interest grew rapidly, until the Bugraum was packed to capacity for every class.

Sailors being sailors, they wanted to learn how to order drinks, seduce women, and talk dirty. A more eager group of students would be hard to imagine. To practice what they learned, I had them role-play with each other: for ex., one man as the bartender, the other as the customer. Inevitably we collapsed in hysterical laughter when practicing the "boy meets girl" scenarios. I also lectured them on the importance of good manners and upholding the honour of Germany and the Kriegsmarine. Some of them, at least, got the message.

Just before dawn on the 29th Dec., we docked in Vigo for "emergency repairs", as I told the harbormaster. Before I could turn the men loose, there was in fact real work to be done. The biggest job was the loading of the external torpedoes, which took all morning. While Lemper supervised this project, I took Gerhard and six Matrosen (in civilian clothes, naturally) to the plaza market to buy fresh food for our trip home. We returned to the boat laden with crates of fruits, vegetables, smoked meats and bacalao (salt cod).

After releasing the crew and posting guards on the boat, my officers & I went to a restaurant to feast on Galician delicacies, including seafood dishes (like pulpo á feira) and empanadas, washed down with chilled ribiero. It was one of the best lunches I'd ever had. Kuppert balked at the sight of the octopus, but we teased him mercilessly. Lemper sang, "Das kann doch einen Seeman nicht erschüttern," waving a tentacle in Kuppert's face until he finally ate some. We made sure he swallowed, then applauded wildly. The locals must have thought we were insane. In a way, we were.

Pleasantly full and slightly drunk, we were planning the next stage of festivities when two strangers walked in: a balding, beak-nosed German in a trenchcoat, and a lean, black-haired Spaniard with a moustache, wearing a dark suit. One look at their faces, and I knew I was in trouble.

[Schöneboom]

Vigo, 29.12.1939

The two men approached our table; we all stopped laughing.

"Excuse me, Meine Herren," said the German gentleman. "Is one of you the Kommandant of that U-Boat docked out there?"

"That would be me," I replied, standing up. "Kapitänleutnant Peter Ullmann."

"I am Karl-Heinz Gruber, attache to the German Consulate," he said, giving the Party salute before shaking my hand. The resident Abwehr agent, of course.

The Spaniard then introduced himself. "Good day, my name is Estevo Alberte Pardo, assistant to the Alcalde de Vigo."

"Would you like to join us for a drink?" I offered.

Gruber, the more serious of the two, looked over my hairy, unwashed officers with distaste, then gestured to the door. "We need to speak in private. It's an urgent matter."

I left my officers to finish their coffee while I accompanied the two men outside. Though the street was empty (siesta time), they kept a constant watch while speaking in low voices.

"Herr Kapitänleutnant, your U-Boat must leave Vigo at once," Gruber said bluntly.

"Herr Gruber, I was assured by the harbormaster that under international law we could stay for 24 hours to make emergency repairs," I said. "If it's the British you're worried about, I don't think they'll find out about us in time to do anything."

"Never underestimate British Intelligence," Gruber replied tartly.

Pardo interjected, "Señor Capitán, there is a larger problem to consider. We understand the need to make repairs. But your men were seen loading torpedoes. Think of how that must look to outsiders! People will talk -- and there are foreign reporters in Vigo."

Gruber continued, "Even the appearance of German naval operations in a Spanish port jeopardizes Spain's neutrality. And we do not wish to make Spain a co-belligerent against her will."

"Do you expect us to sail all the way back to Germany defenseless?!" I retorted. "Those torpedoes are essential to our safety!"

Gruber sighed. "Perhaps next time you should choose an isolated cove rather than a major port. But what's done is done. I urge you to gather your men and leave Vigo as soon as possible... If your U-Boat is not gone by tonight, I will contact your superiors at BdU."

He didn't have to threaten me like that. Abwehr Hund!

Pardo handed me a letter. "Use this only if you really need it." The letter was a very official request in Spanish to render all possible assistance to the bearer -- signed and sealed by the Alcalde.

I pocketed the letter, thanked Pardo and apologized for the trouble. I gave Gruber a curt naval salute, and the two men departed. I re-entered the restaurant to confer with my officers. They looked worried for me.

"Männer, our boat is making diplomatic waves. We have to round up the crew and leave port tonight."

"Scheisse," muttered Lemper. "I knew it was too good to last!"

"Mensch!" said Kuppert in dismay. "How are we going to find them all in time?! It's like looking for ships in the fog!"

"Not quite, L.I." I said. The waiter provided us with simple tourist maps of the city. Spreading a map on the table, I quickly drew up a search plan, Kriegsmarine-style.

"Assuming everyone's on foot, they can only get so far from the port. Since they don't know this town, they'll probably stick to bars and brothels within a mile of the bay. And they'll be moving in packs, not alone. This narrows down our search area considerably."

I divided the area into four parts (one for myself) and gave maps to Kuppert, Lemper, & Arendt.

"Voigt, you return straight to the boat. Collect any sailor you find on the way. The rest of us will rendezvous at the boat at 1700.

Now, repeat after me: ¿Usted ha visto los marineros alemanes?"

I had them say it several times until I was satisfied. Then we parted.

My own search area included, naturally, Madame Carme's. ;)

[Hitman]

Wow looks like the commander is now in deeeeeeep trouble. British escorts? Nah, nothing compared to the spanish bureacracy :D a depth charge attack by Walker's elite group is prefereable, and of course does not last anywhere as long as dealing with spanish bureacracy :lol: it is legendary!!

including seafood dishes (like pulpo á feira) and empanadas, washed down with chilled ribiero. It was one of the best lunches I'd ever had.

You bet!!:up: Yummm I just got hungry from reading it! Will go to dinner and come later:p

http://aycu21.webshots.com/image/21500/2005540284125924139_rs.jpg

[Schöneboom]

Wilhelmshaven, 10.1.1940

"Your tonnage saved you this time, Ullmann," said KrvKpt. Werner Hartmann, our new Flottillenchef. He sat at his desk, scratching his beard thoughtfully while reading my KTB. "You can imagine Raeder was not amused when he saw this report." He pushed an intelligence memo towards me, dated 31.12.1939:

Three British destroyers sighted patrolling outside Vigo Bay.

"But, Herr Korvettenkapitän, how was I to know a German supply ship would arrive in Vigo a few days later?!" I stammered. "I never hear anything till the last minute!"

"Na, someone up there must like you," Hartmann said, shaking his head. "Anyone else would be commanding a warehouse by now. What the hell were you thinking, anyway?"

"It was a calculated risk, sir," I said.

"With the Royal Navy, the Spanish government, and the Kriegsmarine all at the same time? Mensch, that was tempting fate!"

"I'm sorry, sir -- it'll never happen again!"

Hartmann smirked. "Oh, you'll return to Spain, all right -- just not the same way."

He showed me two long-range photos of our new supply ships at anchor: the Bessel, in Vigo, and the Thalia, in Cadiz.

"So, the Spaniards know about all this?"

"Only a few, at the very top," he answered. "But don't expect them to help if something goes wrong. They will 'look the other way' only if you follow these rules: You must make the rendezvous at night, undetected. And you must leave undetected in 24 hours. You and your crew may board the supply ship at the captain's discretion, but none of you may go ashore. Even emergency cases will require the prior approval of BdU."

"Understood, Herr Korvettenkapitan!"

"For your sake, I hope so," he said. "Believe me, I know the allure of Spain as well as you do. But it's not like the old days. Better get used to it."

I nodded; no doubt he saw my disappointment. To enter a Spanish port but not go ashore?!

Hartmann handed me my KTB. "By the way, I hope you don't have any skeletons in your closet."

For an instant I was taken aback. How much did he know?

"No, of course not. What's this about, sir?"

"The Propaganda Company's always looking for another U-Boat Hero. Should I mention your name?"

"What would I have to do? Magazine interviews?"

"Interviews, speeches, autographs, newsreels... If they really like you, they might even shoot a film on your boat," he replied.

Lieber Gott, I thought.

"You owe BdU a favor," he added. "And the publicity will help your career."

"Well, maybe after the next patrol," I said.

"Going on leave soon?"

"First I'll visit my parents in Kiel for a few days," I answered. "Then I'll join my crew in Garmisch. I'm not much of a skier, though."

"Doesn't matter. It's a great resort. Lots of women, too... the athletic type," he said with a wistful grin.

[Schöneboom]

Quadrat BE39, 16.02.1940

All the cares, joys and discomforts of the previous weeks faded into dream-like insignificance when the enemy convoy came into view just after midnight. I knew in my bones that this sight would stay with me forever. Lemper and Voigt stared in awe through their binoculars.

"I've never seen a convoy so huge!" exclaimed Lemper. "And without escorts!"

"The Tommies should be ashamed of themselves," I said. "These ships would've been better off travelling independently."

"Maybe they'll rendezvous with some destroyers further east," Voigt speculated.

"You're probably right," I said. "Good thing we caught them first."

The conditions were nearly ideal: the sea was again too rough for the deck gun, but I felt we could risk using magnetic pistols on our eels. Our first devastating attack confirmed I was correct. The ships were unarmed, and for once we could fire at close range with impunity.

One could not properly call it a battle; in truth, it was a massacre. The only danger to us was the possibility of getting rammed on purpose or run over by accident. We dove many times, mainly to confuse the enemy. We also dove once to avoid a collision and to set up a stern-tube shot afterward.

In less than 3 hours we sent 7 ships to the bottom for a total of 37000 BRT. To my surprise, Voigt showed no sign of emotion when a pair of Frachters exploded and sank in flames -- something had changed in him since our last patrol. And in me, too, I realized. There was a terrible beauty in those fires burning so vividly in the dark. To watch them was hypnotic, like gazing into a fireplace.

During our egress to the southeast, Rolf handed me an SSS message he'd intercepted.

"I checked the registry, Herr Kaleun," he said in a flat tone. "That 3000-tonner we hit was Norwegian."

"Scheisse," I groaned. "All these flags have so much red in them, one can hardly tell them apart in the dark!" Not much of an excuse, but it was honest. The idea of sinking a neutral was abhorrent to me, and this marred our otherwise triumphant night, for me at least. All we needed was a new enemy and more propaganda calling us "pirates".

I had Rolf transmit a report to BdU, which included the unfortunate detail about the Norwegian ship. Fifteen minutes later, we received the first response, not from BdU, but U-37:

I HAVE SUNK MORE NEUTRALS THAN YOU. NO WORRIES. HARTMANN.

Keine Sorgen? Much as I respected his leadership, I still could not reconcile myself to the reality of "unrestricted submarine warfare". First the Prize Regulations go out the window. Now this.

Arendt turned in his bunk to face me. "In my opinion, if neutrals sail in British convoys, they should expect to get sunk."

Rolf chimed in, "Something's building, that's for sure. The Tommies are very busy in Norway these days."

"Naja, let's hope that supply ship in Cadiz has a full load of torpedoes for us." With that, I reclined on my bed and gazed up at the wood paneling. My eyes drifted to the radio shack, or more precisely, to our new pin-up girl, Bettina. A curvy brunette in a grass skirt, dancing the hula. Our boat's gentle rocking added to her liveliness. The red light was, of course, the Hawaiian sunset.

Rolf played us a recording of "Wochenend und Sonnenschein", which put a smile back on my face (it never fails). The original version was quite different; I could recall some of the English lyrics:

Happy days are here again,
The skies above are clear again,
So let's sing a song of cheer again,
Happy days are here again!

Happy Days? It's all relative, I guess.

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

nice as always.
didnt had much time to read this lately but... hell your a good storry writer :rock:

gimme some of your inspiration

[Schöneboom]

There's more, Mohr, coming soon... ;)

Muchas Gracias!

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

im looking forward to it Herr Kaleun :rock:

[bookworm_020]

The story is building nicely. Can't wait for the next installment.:up:

[Schöneboom]

Cadiz, 24.02.1940

We entered the Bay of Cadiz at 0250, submerged. Several Spanish vessels were in port, and among them, one German merchant ship, the Thalia. We found her without difficulty, surfaced and pulled alongside -- on her starboard side, in order to be less visible.

When I informed my crew that we could not go ashore this time, one could hear a few groans -- from those few who had still hoped that I would somehow bend the rules again. Fortunately most of my men were content: I promised that the Thalia would provide them a good meal, a cold beer, a hot shower, and would even wash their stinking clothes. And the Thalia, bless her crew, delivered the goods.

Upon arrival my officers & I were warmly greeted by Kapitän Heinz Schroeder, a grey-haired old salt who clearly envied our youth and "wild adventures". Due to the lateness of the hour, the welcome celebration was simply a glass of champagne for each of us; all we really wanted was a good night's sleep.

"Tell me, Ullmann," asked Schroeder, "Has the hunting been good?"

"Better than ever," I answered. "One week ago, we sank 7 Frachters. Then two nights ago, on the way here, we sank 3 more. That was mostly Lt. Arendt's doing. You should've been there!" Anyone could see that Arendt was still ecstatic from his first use of the deck gun in combat.

"I'll bet you boys have some medals waiting for you in Schlicktown, eh?" said Schroeder.

"Very likely, sir," said Lemper. "But I prefer blondes and brunettes, myself." That got a wicked laugh out of the old man.

"Herr Kapitän, as for our boat, when shall we begin?" I asked.

"My men will perform the refueling right now," he replied. "No worries, they're very well-trained. They can do this job with their eyes closed."

That gave Kuppert some relief; he needed sleep even more than the rest of us.

Schroeder continued: "At dawn we'll start loading torpedoes. We'll need your crew on the receiving end, natürlich. This will take all day. After that, it's showers and laundry, fresh food for your boat -- then off you go!"

"First-rate," I remarked. I sent Arendt and Voigt to supervise the boat till daybreak. Schroeder then escorted me, Kuppert, and Lemper to our rooms. For a Frachter, they were better than I expected, more like ocean-liner staterooms.

"Ja, meine Herren, private rooms! With beds bigger than you are!" said Schroeder, who obviously knew of our deprivations.

Seconds after my head hit the pillow, I was fast asleep. For about four hours. Then I was awakened by the sounds of Schroeder's men hauling torpedoes.

I stood over the cargo deck watching this operation for several minutes; then I indulged my next primal urge -- I took a long, hot shower. Ahhh... At times like this, watching the rivulets of dirt stream off me, I think without a doubt the greatest invention of Western Civilization is the hot shower.

By the time I arrived in the mess hall, Lemper was already chowing down with the Thalia's junior officers. Kapitän Schroeder and I loaded up our plates from a surprisingly posh buffet, then sat at a separate table. Between bites, Schroeder told me about his situation in Spain. Though technically he and his crew were interned, the conditions were actually quite lax; he could, for ex., go ashore whenever he felt like it.

"I'm glad you don't feel like a prisoner here," I said with a hint of jealousy.

"Na, one still has to be careful," he replied. "There are plenty of British spies about. And destroyers out of Gibraltar. They stop by here often, to keep an eye on us. You're lucky, you just missed one of them."

"Verdammte imperialists," I said. "They think they own the whole ocean!"

"Ja, but they won't for much longer, eh?" said Schroeder with a wink. Leaning closer, he whispered, "Ullmann, there's someone here who wants to meet you, in private. Major Horst Brandt."

"Abwehr?" I whispered back. He nodded slightly.

Ach, Scheisse, I thought. What now??

[S Rafty]

This is making for such an excellent read.

Deep, entertaining and not dull at all.

This is well researched and very well written!

I Want More!!!!!!!:rotfl:


...bitte lol

[Schöneboom]

After breakfast I quickly changed into my uniform -- my cleanest outfit, as I rarely wore it on patrol -- and met with Major Brandt, who had taken over Schroeder's office for the occasion. I greeted him with a sharp traditional salute, which he answered with what I call the "Party bureaucrat" salute: an almost casual gesture, like hailing a taxi. Over the years I've come to interpret this salute, esp. at first meetings, as a subtle signal that one is not dealing with a Fanatiker, but a "March Violet". However, Brandt was an Abwehr agent, so I had to stay on my guard.

Anyone might have guessed him to be an accountant, going by his grey business suit, wire-rimmed glasses, and sedate, owlish demeanor. But I reminded myself that this could just be a well-polished act; this man might be capable of anything. He closed the dossier he had been reading (probably mine) and invited me to sit.

"Herr Kapitänleutnant," he began. "Since your little escapade in Vigo, the Abwehr has made a very thorough investigation of you and your family." Just as I'd feared.

He gave me a clinical, penetrating look, as if I were an exotic species of beetle that he'd read about in a biological journal. If this look was meant to make me nervous, it was working. He went on: "My superiors have come to a conclusion about you."

I asked in a slightly indignant tone, "Herr Major, is my loyalty in question?"

"No, not at all," he replied. "We in the Abwehr understand that there is more than one kind of patriot. Even so, we think you need our help."

"Sir, are you quite sure?" I said. "Perhaps you haven't heard: I just sank ten ships. I may get the Ritterkreuz for this!"

"May I remind you, Herr Kapitänleutnant, that medals are not bullet-proof. If the SD or the Gestapo knew what we know about you..."

Mein Gott, the bastard really had me by the short hairs!

"All right, Herr Major," I said. "Let's lay our cards on the table, then. What sort of 'help' did you have in mind?"

"Have you ever considered," he said, warming to the topic, "how easily one clerical error can make a vital piece of evidence disappear forever?"

"You could really do that, huh?"

"Our people are everywhere," he answered. "The other agencies underestimate us -- that is our advantage."

"So... what does the Abwehr want in return?"

"From time to time we require the use of a U-Boot. Some of our missions are so secret, we don't want even the Kriegsmarine to know about them. If you were to work for us in that fashion, you would incorporate the Abwehr tasks into your regular patrols. You would simply not inform BdU about those activities."

I leaned back in my chair and glanced out a porthole at the skyline of Cadiz. What the hell was I getting myself into??

"Herr Major, what about my crew?"

"They must be sworn to secrecy, of course. How much do you trust them?"

"I trust my officers completely. As for the rest, most have done only a few patrols with me. I can't say I know all of them very well."

"An honest answer... You should know, we are conducting background checks on all your men. As a result, we might need one or more of them to transfer off your boat. Would you accept this?"

"That depends... Right now I'm satisfied with everyone's performance. How would I explain a transfer?"

"You won't have to. As you know, BdU has commissioned many new U-Boots, and they will need experienced crewmen. All we have to do is suggest some names. Problem solved."

"You really have this all figured out, don't you?" I remarked. "Do any of the skippers I know work for you, too?"

"That is not a subject for discussion," he answered sternly. "And you must never mention it to your fellow commanders."

"Ja ja, of course, Herr Major... I accept the conditions." As I shook Brandt's cold, clammy hand, I wondered if I would regret this. As a boy I'd heard the saying that "no man can serve two masters" -- evidently the Abwehr thought otherwise.

"Welcome aboard, Ullmann," said Brandt with a smile like a thin scar. "We have a job for you now, if you want it. Quite simple, really: One of our agents must go to Tangier. It's just 120 kilometers. You may think of it as a test."

"All right, Herr Major... We'll do it."

Brandt gave me a map of the Moroccan coast with an "X" mark 5 km east of the port of Tangier. "That is the drop-off point." On the back of the map were three short lines of Enigma-style code.

He explained: "One hour before you reach the coast, you will transmit this first line by radio, exactly as written. Upon arrival you will send the second signal by Varta-Lamp. The response from shore will be this third line. Then a boat will come to collect our agent."

"Sounds simple enough -- as long as the Tommies don't get in the way." I folded the map and slid it into my pocket.

"If we are satisfied with your work, one of our officers will contact you in Wilhelmshaven about future missions."

"Good. Is there anything else I should know, sir?"

"Stealth is the highest priority," Brandt said firmly. "Avoid engaging any enemy vessels en route to Tangier."

"Understood, sir!"

"And I must emphasize again: No one at BdU may know that you even went there. Klar?"

"Herr Major... are you suggesting that I falsify my KTB?"

Brandt replied crisply, "That would be an excellent idea."

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

im wondering.... what do you mean with this -> "May I remind you, Herr Kapitänleutnant, that medals are not bullet-proof. If the SD or the Gestapo knew what we know about you..."

[Schöneboom]

Oh-ho-ho.... Be patient, Herr Mohr. (Btw, spy stories are my specialty -- as you'll soon see.) ;)

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

Oh-ho-ho.... Be patient, Herr Mohr. (Btw, spy stories are my specialty -- as you'll soon see.) ;)

did you raped a spanish girl ? :hmm:
or killed a woman's husband and raped the woman ? :hmm:

[bookworm_020]

On the trip dwn he will either spot a large convoy of troopshis tankers and passanger ships, A task force in perfect firing setup, or the Queen Mary! :roll:

[S Rafty]

Or Jesus thumbing for a lift :rotfl:

[Schöneboom]

Just tune in tomorrow, folks... :cool:

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

Just tune in tomorrow, folks... :cool:

:shifty: you hook us up on a story.. and update it tomorrow ? :nope:

[Schöneboom]

Cadiz, 25.02.1940

Day gave way to night, and the stars came out as the last of our crew returned from the Thalia -- clean, jolly, and well-fed. On board, we were completing our final preparations before sailing: mainly stowing the mountains of fresh food we had been given.

Gerhard gleefully pointed out to me the Spanish items in the mix: a gigantic jamón serrano, three cartons of bacalao, and several tins of extra-virgin olive oil. I waved and called out to Kapitän Schroeder: "Mensch, you thought of everything! Danke schön!"

"Nichts zu danken!" he replied. "Come back anytime!"

Below in the bustling Zentrale, I met with Kuppert. He wiped his hands clean and flashed a huge grin. "Everything's ship-shape, Herr Kaleun," he said. "These Thalia men are incredible!"

"We must've set a new record for torpedo loading!" Lemper interjected.

Kuppert went on: "You should've seen their collection of spares! And they have a complete machine shop, with a lathe for making parts from scratch!"

"Ja, like Schlicktown in miniature," I said, watching a pair of sailors hang the jamón by the compressor. Behind them, two more men lugged in sacks bulging with freshly-baked bread.

Voigt checked the clock. "It's 1833. Where's our special guest?"

I looked to Lemper. "Heard anything from Schroeder?"

He shrugged. "Nada, Herr Kaleun."

"Well, we can't wait around forever..." I was about to fetch my megaphone to announce our departure to the Thalia, when we heard someone descending the ladder. One can always tell when an outsider is boarding, from the pauses in the footsteps.

Lemper's eyes got big. He stammered, "Herr Kaleun! It's... it's..."

"I can see, 1WO."

Everyone in the Zentrale froze and stared in astonishment as the young woman stepped off the ladder and faced us. She was dressed aviator-style, in a leather jacket & khaki trousers, which did not entirely hide her ample curves. Her shiny black hair was topped with a wine-red beret at a rakish angle.

Her face was that of a Mediterranean goddess: with her fine features and olive skin, she could have passed for a native of any of a dozen countries from Portugal to the Black Sea -- and stopped traffic in all of them.

When she smiled and turned her deep brown eyes upon me, time stood still.

"Willkommen an bord," I said. She gave me a jaunty salute, which I returned.

"Guten Abend, Herr Kaleun," she said, shaking my hand. "You may call me Veronica."

[S Rafty]

One woman on a U Boat...

Even the Abwher would have a ahrd time finding whos kid it is :P

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

:hmm: im sure this gets out of hand..
specialy now your "boys" wernt on shore for the "ladies of plesure" :nope:

[Schöneboom]

"So, this is Major Brandt's idea of a test," I remarked.

Veronica noted the lascivious grins of the hairy sailors all around her. "For you and me both," she said.

"Prepare to dive!" I ordered. "All ahead standard! Periscope depth!" The news of this woman's presence must have spread through the boat faster than my orders.

"Herr Kaleun," said Veronica, "Is there some place more private where we can sit?"

"Sorry, on a U-Boot, no such place exists." Then a horrible thought startled me -- I whispered urgently in the ear of Bootsmann Leicht, "Make sure someone cleans the W.C. at once!"

He nodded and took off. Gott, if she saw our Klo in its usual condition, she'd think for sure we were cavemen!

I led Veronica to the officers' mess, asked Gerhard to bring us coffee, and stowed her satchel under my bed. By now the narrow corridor was filling up with desperately curious sailors.

"Back to your quarters!" I bellowed. Stabsoberbootsmann Zierbes drove back the herd, yelling, "Verdammt noch mal! Clear the way, you idiots! SCHNELL!! Or I'll kick your asses overboard!"

I sat down at the table next to Veronica. "We've been at sea a long time," I explained apologetically.

She answered, "It's all right, really. Being horny just means you're healthy." I liked her attitude!

I could still see men peering at us from the Zentrale. Arendt asked, "Should I close the hatch, Herr Kaleun?"

I seriously considered it. "Not all the way," I said at last. "I need to hear what's going on." Arendt closed the hatch half-way behind him.

Veronica & I sipped our coffee, glancing at each other in awkward silence. Perhaps she fancied me, but I couldn't be certain. If only Brandt had warned me, that Hund! I would have groomed myself better.

I asked Rolf at the sonar station about contacts. "Just a Frachter in port, Herr Kaleun, bearing 320." He turned the hydrophone wheel further, then his eyes brightened... "And dolphins!"

Veronica went to him at once. Rolf had a delirious grin -- he probably hoped she would sit on his lap. But she just crouched beside him when he gave her the headphones.

"I never knew they made such sounds!" she exclaimed with girlish delight. I could've watched her all night like that.

At 1930 we cleared the port of Cadiz and surfaced. Arendt went up with the watch crew. Voigt plotted a course to Tangier; our ETA would be 0130... provided all went well. Regardless of the speed, this was going to be a long ride.

Inevitably, Kuppert, Lemper, & Voigt joined us at the mess table for coffee. Veronica took it all in stride; no doubt by now she was used to this kind of attention.

"I've always been curious about the world of espionage," said Lemper. "Is there anything you can tell us that isn't classified?"

"Well," she began, "We do have a lot of inter-service rivalry. I'm sure you know what that's like."

"Ach, do we ever!" blurted Kuppert. "The Kriegsmarine and the Luftwaffe?! Gott, there's no end to it!"

"It's even worse for us," she said. "There's a lot of overlap and duplication with intelligence work. And our competition's not just over funding, it's about power & politics. Himmler and Heydrich would put the Abwehr out of business completely, if they could."

Voigt leaned in and spoke with a hint of caution. "Is it true, Fräulein, that there's internal spying in all the armed forces?"

"It's true," Veronica responded. "In fact our agencies even spy on each other! A phenomenal waste, if you ask me. A few of our operations have been spoiled as a result -- probably on purpose."

"So, you're not going to ask us to spy on the Kriegsmarine for you, eh?" I asked.

"Definitely not," she answered. "The Abwehr regards that as bad for morale and counter-productive."

I pondered this for a moment. "If we're to keep certain Abwehr missions secret even from BdU, is that because of the Gestapo & SD informants among us?"

"Now you're catching on," she said. "Mind you, the top brass at OKW know about our operations in general, if not in detail."

My officers and I glanced at each other. We were surprised by the seriousness of our talk, when we only meant to make chit-chat and ogle this beautiful woman! I felt like steering the conversation in a lighter direction.

"Veronica, may I ask where your family's from? At first sight I wouldn't have guessed you were German."

"I'm of Czech and Italian descent," she replied with a smile. "My family emigrated to Bayern about two centuries ago."

"Na, lucky for us the Abwehr doesn't subscribe to that Aryan purity nonsense, eh?!" I remarked. The others laughed, a bit nervously. It was about time... so many things we never discuss in public anymore.

"How many languages do you speak?" asked Lemper.

"In addition to German, Italian, and Czech, I speak Spanish, French, and English fluently; plus I know a little Catalan, Portuguese, Greek, Russian, and Arabic. Oh, and a bit of Japanese, too."

"Japanese??"

"A fellow from the Japanese Embassy taught me martial arts: Jujitsu and Karate. So if any man lays a hand on me, I'll snap his arm like a twig."

Formidable! as the French say.

We cruised south, about 10 km off the Spanish coast. The sea was calm, for a change. Voigt returned to the Zentrale, and the rest of us wound up reclining on the padded benches, as we usually do.

"Veronica, may I ask how you got into the Abwehr?"

"I was recruited while working for the Foreign Ministry," she said. "The good thing about diplomatic work is that you have access to high-level people. I was going to parties almost every night."

"Sounds very glamorous," I said.

She sighed. "The disadvantage, of course, is that everyone assumes you're an agent. Next time I should have a less obvious occupation."

"In Tangier?"

"Who knows? I'll probably lay low for a while and resurface somewhere else. I just go where they tell me."

"Same here."

I glanced at the clock; it was 2250. Then I heard Arendt scream from the bridge:

"Zerstörer, bearing 050! ALAAARRRMMM!!!"

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

:hmm: she speaks a lot of languidges.... that means she trained herselve ages on those languidges...

lol. im awaiting a convoy in front of Gibraltar at the moment. i shal clear your path :arrgh!:

[S Rafty]

Awesome, loving it :)

[Schöneboom]

I bolted into the Zentrale just in time to miss the stampede of men rushing to throw their weight into the Bugraum. Arendt dropped in from the tower, panting, "It came out of nowhere! Doing at least 20 knots!"

"How deep is the water?!" I asked Voigt.

"Forty meters, Herr Kaleun!"

"Scheisse! Periscope depth! L.I., the moment we're under, give me 2 knots and silent running!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun!" Before Kuppert could level off the boat, I raised the observation periscope for a quick look. Arendt gestured to indicate the Zerstörer's heading: coming in diagonally across our bow.

One glimpse through the scope, and I lowered it instantly. The Zerstörer was less than 1000 meters away and closing!

"L.I., give me 1 knot, depth 15 meters!" Kuppert's eyes widened.

"Herr Kaleun, at one knot, we can't hold this depth for long!" I knew this, of course -- the diving planes were already pushed to their limits.

"Just keep the tower under for a few minutes!" I watched the tachometers slow down to 50 rpm. The boat was as quiet as could be. We heard only our own heavy breathing, the clock ticking, and the ominous chugging of the Zerstörer directly ahead.

I noticed Veronica had climbed into the Zentrale along with several men returning to the stern compartments. She saw the severity of the situation in our faces.

Rolf called in a low voice, "Second Kriegschiff, bearing 290! Long range, closing fast!"

Gott in Himmel! I took a quick breath and raised the scope again to see the first Zerstörer. It was going full-speed off our port bow... we weren't out of the woods yet.

In the background I heard Veronica ask Lemper, "Is he going to launch torpedoes?"

He shook his head. "That would only make matters worse," he replied softly. "Every Zerstörer from here to Gibraltar would be on us like piranhas!"

Rolf called again, "Herr Kaleun! The first one's turning! It's coming back!"

Verdammt! He was right! It was making a loop, heading for our stern. I lowered the scope and leaned against the map table. Stay cool...

Veronica did not seem afraid. Her expression was rather one of consternation: the look you see on a businessman's face when he hears his train is running late. Those rude Tommies were disrupting her plans!

Lemper asked her, "Are you a good swimmer?" His humor, sometimes... Lieber Gott!

"Yes, I can swim," she said grimly. "But... if I'm captured, I have orders to kill myself." Well, that raised a few eyebrows!

"Don't take the cyanide yet, my dear," said Lemper. "Der Spanier still has a few tricks up his sleeve!"

It was good of him to flatter me. But the truth was, I had no more tricks. All we could do was listen as the chugging returned -- and pray.

Rolf whispered, "Bearing 200... 195... 190..."

I raised the scope once more. The Zerstörer passed behind us, heading away to the west.

"L.I., ahead two knots," I said. Everyone sighed with relief.

"Rolf, where's the second Zerstörer?" I asked. He turned the hydrophone wheel and listened intently.

"About... 5000 meters out... She's turned... heading... north."

I peered through the scope again; the westbound Zerstörer was nearly out of sight.

Following my instincts, I ordered: "Surface! All ahead full!" We had to reach the deep water, fast. Upon surfacing, I donned my leather coat & binoculars and joined Arendt and the lookouts.

By 2345 we had reached a part of the Strait that was at least 160 meters deep. We sighted no vessels. Sensing that the worst was behind us, I returned to the Zentrale. I decided to continue at full speed for the rest of the trip.

"At this speed, what's our new ETA?" I asked Voigt.

"At 14 knots... 0110, Herr Kaleun." Time for a midnight snack, I thought.

I turned to Gerhard in the galley. "Tapas, por favor!"

"Sí, Señor Kaleun!" he answered. "Pa amb tomàquet?" Clearly he'd done his homework!

"Sí, con jamón!" called Veronica from the radio room. With Rolf's approval, she played a recording by the Comedian Harmonists: "Schöne Isabella von Kastilien." We were all smiles again, like kids on holiday.

[looney]

Wow man what a great story can't wait for the next piece

[Schöneboom]

At 10 minutes past midnight, Rolf transmitted the coded signal to give the Abwehr station in Tangier one hour's notice of our arrival. Gerhard prepared a large platter of pa amb tomàquet for me & Veronica -- which we gladly shared with Kuppert, Lemper & Voigt. Such a simple dish, yet so satisfying: thick slices of toast rubbed with ripe tomato and raw garlic, topped with a dash of olive oil, and, in this case, sliced jamón serrano... Ja-wohl!

While we were happily munching and listening to the gramophone, Voigt asked, "Whatever happened to the Comedian Harmonists? They were so popular, remember? I used to hear them all the time when I was a kid."

We looked at each other, perplexed. Veronica finally answered, "Three of them were Jewish."

"Ohh..."

That "Ohh" spoke volumes, not just for Voigt, but for all of us. Our mood shifted suddenly, as if a cloud had blocked out the sun.

Voigt continued hesitantly, "Are they all right? Do you know where they are now?"

"The last I heard," said Veronica, "Those three went to live in Australia."

"Of all places," Kuppert remarked. "How are they doing?"

"Well enough, I suppose," she said. "But it'll never be the same again, obviously."

I observed the faces of my men as each privately grappled with this unsavory truth: another one of those things we somehow had learned not to talk about. Ironically, those happy dulcet voices were still singing to us -- but for once we weren't smiling.

Lemper tried to change the subject. "You think Schalke will go all the way this year? They're on a roll..."

Kuppert responded half-heartedly, "Well, don't forget Dresdner has Walter Dzur now. And I think Schalke's getting overconfident. They can't always be on top."

Their lingering embarrassment was palpable -- Voigt's most of all. He excused himself from the table first. Then Kuppert sheepishly rose and said, "Pardon me, I should adjust the trim -- it feels a bit off." And away he went.

Veronica hinted with her eyes that she wanted to go topside. That was fine with me.

Midway up, she stopped to examine the attack periscope. She was also fascinated by the repeater gauges and the torpedo control panel. I let her perch on the seat and "ride the carousel". Her girlish smile returned, and I felt better. I should've guessed she had another reason for stopping here. She spoke in a near-whisper: "Vous parlez français bien, non?"

I replied softly in French, "Yes, I do. You've read my file, eh?"

"But of course," she said. "Have you told your officers the truth about yourself and your family?"

I shook my head. "Do you think I should?"

"You can't rely on luck forever. You need to know who your friends are. And so do they."

"I might tell them... when the time's right." Her concern for me and my crew surprised me. I hoped it wasn't just an act.

We continued up to the bridge. Because of our speed, the wind was strong. Veronica zipped up her jacket, to Arendt's disappointment. The coastal hills of Morocco were just visible, silhouetted against the starry sky.

Reverting to German, I asked Veronica, "Isn't Tangier dangerous?"

"It can be, if you're alone and don't know the place. But for me, it's safer than Spain right now."

"Are you armed?"

"Always." She raised her right pant leg to reveal a Walther PPK in an ankle holster.

I leaned closer and said, "I've been meaning to ask... How does the war look to you? I mean, you know things that we don't."

After some thought, she sighed. "In my world, there are no lofty principles. It can make one quite cynical."

Veronica looked away towards the coastline. I scanned the horizon, occasionally glancing at her with concern. Like me, she was risking her life for the Fatherland -- and with fewer illusions, if any. I realized she was trying to protect me with her silence.

As if reading my mind, she said at last, "You mustn't worry about me, Ullmann. That won't help me at all -- it'll only distract you from your mission."

"Call me Peter," I said softly. For an instant, her reaction was one of subtle surprise. "So, I suppose you won't be worrying about me, eh?"

"I can't afford to, Peter," she replied stoically. "Your fate is not in my hands."

I looked at the shore ahead and recognized the dark outlines of palm trees; off to starboard, the lights of Tangier glittered. I called into the voice tube: "All stop! Varta-Lamp to the bridge!"

I reckoned our boat would come to a halt about 1 km offshore. Arendt handed me the Varta-Lamp, and with it I flashed the password towards the beach. After a few seconds, the countersign was flashed back.

Six minutes later, a small motor launch emerged from the darkness. Lemper brought Veronica's bag up to the bridge. I told Arno, one of the lookouts, to fetch a machine-gun, just in case.

Lemper asked Veronica impishly, "Will you say good things about us in your report?"

"Natürlich! But, forgive me for asking... Are all U-Boots this smelly?"

Without missing a beat, Lemper answered, "Oh, the others smell much worse!" We all nodded in agreement; she was lucky, in fact -- this was one of our better days!

"Next time I need a lift, I'll know which boat to ask for."

As the launch drew nearer, we could see its two occupants: a tall, leathery-faced European man in a trenchcoat stood near the bow; at the tiller was a young Moroccan in a striped djellaba and a red fez. Arno had his MP-38 ready, but Veronica gently nudged the barrel down.

"Relax," she told us. "I know these men."

She slung her bag on her shoulder, thanked us & shook our hands, and climbed down to the deck. "Auf Wiedersehen! Gute Jagd!" she called. Then she bounded across the gangplank provided by the trenchcoat-man. He merely looked up at us with bland detachment and gave the "Heil Taxi" salute. To him, we were just another ferryboat.

We all waved to Veronica as she sped away into the night. "Did you get her number?" asked Lemper.

"You don't call the Abwehr," I replied. "They call you."

We turned our boat west; our course would keep us in the deep water, yet close to shore. Amid the lights of Tangier, I could see the outlines of ancient palaces and mosques. I pictured Veronica there, walking the narrow, maze-like streets of the medina -- to another rendezvous, perhaps.

I glanced at Lemper, Arendt, & Voigt -- like me, they were gazing dreamily at the exotic skyline. In the few hours we had shared with Veronica, something had changed irrevocably. We did not have to say anything; it was enough just to watch Tangier gliding by in the velvet darkness.

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

We all waved to Veronica as she sped away into the night. "Did you get her number?" asked Lemper.

"You don't call the Abwehr," I replied. "They call you."

:rotfl::rotfl::rotfl::rotfl:

good storry :up::rock:

[looney]

Hmm I guess the Allies got themselves another sub :cry:

[Schöneboom]

Keine Sorgen, looney,

Our boat still floats -- but life has been busy. And the weather in the Atlantic... :roll:

There will be more, maybe next week!

BTW, the more research I do about the Abwehr and the U-bootwaffe, the more I think "Der Spanier" would make a good novel: a real book for the public. I just read it to my girlfriend, who teaches film writing, and she's excited. Mensch, she even knows about the Comedian Harmonists!

Mach's gut!

[Schöneboom]

From the private Tagebuch of Kptlt. Peter Ullmann:

2 März 1940, 0120 hrs., Planquadrat BE35

Since yesterday afternoon we have tracked a westbound convoy through heavy rain and fog. Only by regular hydrophone checks have we been able to maintain contact. At 1457 we sighted one of the Frachters, which forced us to crash-dive. Two minutes later a Zerstörer started dropping wabos; we were not damaged. We continue our pursuit in the hope that the fog will lift enough to make a torpedo attack feasible.

* * * * * *

In the Zentrale I called into the voice tube, “Clear the bridge! Prepare to dive!”

Lt. Arendt and his watch crew slid down the ladder, soaked and exhausted; they were grateful at the sight of Gerhard and his coffee-pot.

“Nothing sighted, Herr Kaleun,” said Arendt. “And no change in the weather. I might as well wear a sack over my head.”

“Na, at least no one ran us over,” I remarked. “Get some rest.” I turned to Kurt, the lookouts’ designated lens-wiper. “As soon as you’ve had your coffee, clean everyone’s binoculars thoroughly!”

He snapped to attention, splashing a bit of coffee on his sleeve. “Jawohl, Herr Kaleun!”

Our boat leveled off at 40 meters and slowed to 2 knots. Rolf donned his headphones, listened in all directions, and frowned. “No contacts, Herr Kaleun. Nichts.”

“Verdammt! They must've made a serious course change, not the usual zig-zag.”

“What now, sir?” asked Kuppert.

I studied the map, noting the previous contact marks. “If their destination is Canada, they probably turned south.” Walking the calipers from the last contact, I made an intuitive guess. “New course, 210. Surface!”

We proceeded blindly through the fog until 0300, when we dove and made another sound-check. Still no contacts. My hunch told me to continue SSW. So we ran on the surface again until 0455, then dove again.

This time Rolf exclaimed, “Contact! Very faint, bearing 340!” Endlich!

Voigt, struggling into his foul weather gear, asked, “Are the escorts still with them?”

“Can’t tell at this distance,” Rolf answered. “All the ship sounds blend together.”

We made another high-speed dash on the surface to catch up; then at 0600 we dove again. This time the convoy was east of us. We would stay under a while longer, to determine their course.

By 0900 it appeared certain they had resumed a zig-zag course, now heading northwest. We turned to 330 degrees, surfaced, and reported the contact to BdU. I accompanied Lemper and his lookouts to the bridge. For three mind-numbing hours we saw nothing but fog and rain.

At 1200 we dove again. After listening for several minutes, Rolf determined that the convoy was heading west. “I can tell them apart now,” he said. “At least 10 merchants, and 3 escorts. All ahead of us.”

“That might be better for us,” I said. “Less risk of collision.”

We surfaced and matched the convoy’s course and speed (8 kts.) for another 9 hours. At dinner with Lemper, Voigt, and Kuppert, I noted their pent-up tension.

“This verflüchte fog is like a wall protecting the Tommies!” groused Lemper as he stabbed his potatoes with a fork.

“Herr Kaleun,” asked Voigt, “Is there any way we can attack even with the fog?”

“Don’t be absurd!” Lemper retorted. “We can barely see 800 meters in the daytime. At night, 400 meters, at most! The ships disappear almost as soon as you see them!”

“And that's if you don’t run into them!” added Kuppert.

“So, how much longer do we shadow them, if the weather stays like this?” Voigt asked. “Looks like no other boats are joining us.”

I sipped my coffee and remarked, “Na, perhaps one just has to take a different approach.” I used my hands to illustrate the point. “For example… we can overtake the convoy, and as soon as we spot a ship, we turn away and shoot with the stern tube. How’s that sound?”

My officers mulled over the idea. “Under these conditions, it’s a damn sight better than turning towards the ship,” Lemper commented.

“With the stern tube, we’ll have two chances,” said Voigt. “Two’s better than none.”

“And Gott only knows when the storm will pass,” said Kuppert.

“All right then. At 2100 we go to battle-stations.”

We went to full speed to pass the convoy along its port side. Lemper turned the UZO around in preparation. At 2123 a small Dampfer emerged from the fog off to starboard. Our course was not quite parallel after all, which, given our speed, was a little frightening.

“Hart backbord!” I yelled. “Flood Tube 5!” Lemper peered through the UZO as the boat lurched in the turn. It was looking good… that is, until the Dampfer’s searchlights went on.

The twin beams blinded us. In seconds, more lights pierced the gloom from adjacent ships. Lemper gawked at me, bewildered. We heard a BOOM in the distance, and a splash in the water nearby.

“ALAARRRMMM!!!”

:damn:

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

seems like you dont have much luck dont you :hmm:

[S Rafty]

I know EXACTLY how that feels...

[Schöneboom]

Lemper and his lookouts hurtled down the tower. As I sealed the hatch, a shell slammed into the rear of the tower, nearly knocking me off the ladder. My ears were ringing when I finally entered the Zentrale. Another shell struck us in the stern just as we were going under. The damage report came quickly: Our pressure hull was intact. No mechanical damage.

Now we had to escape the wabos. We heard a Zerstörer run directly over us like a freight train at full speed.

"Wasserbomben!" cried Rolf. We held on to anything solid, bracing for the inevitable...

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!! They just missed us, but the shock waves rocked our boat.

"Steer to 180 degrees," I told Kuppert. Then I turned to Rolf. "Na, where are they?"

"One's moving away at bearing 350," he replied. "Another Zerstörer approaching! Bearing 115!"

And then the pinging started. "Schiesse!" muttered Lemper. "They have ASDIC!"

I stared at the depth gauge, willing the boat to dive faster. It was the inbound Zerstörer that was pinging. We still had time, but not much. The depth needle crossed 150 meters.

"Hard to port. Silent running, 1 knot!" I ordered. Come on, Tommy, turn to starboard... I watched our compass dial rotate, waiting for the right moment.

Rolf leaned out of the sonar shack. "Zerstörer holding steady! Bearing 160!"

"Rudder amidships!" I ordered. Seeing that Kuppert and the others needed a little encouragement, I added, "They can't hear us now... If the ASDIC doesn't touch us, we can slip the noose."

We listened to the chugging and pinging as the Zerstörer passed behind us... then we heard faint booms from above, like gunfire. "Star shells?" asked Kuppert.

"Wabos," I answered. "They're shooting them with some kind of catapult. Clever, nicht wahr?" The pattern of explosions seemed to confirm this; two were noticeably closer than the rest.

Down the corridor, I saw Arendt and Voigt leaning out of their bunks, as if listening to a game on the radio. For the moment, our side was ahead. Arendt said, "They won't get us. Their wabos are set too shallow."

Lemper glanced upward. "Did you notice? The pinging... It's much fainter now."

I smiled -- so I wasn't going deaf after all. "We must've crossed a thermal layer. Gott sei Dank!"

Kuppert was still worried. "Herr Kaleun, we're rising." He was right: the depth gauge needle was creeping upwards.

"Rolf, where's the Zerstörer?"

"The ASDIC one's circling behind us, bearing 130," he replied. Turning the hydrophone wheel, he added, "The other one's heading away. Bearing 280."

I checked our depth again: 145 meters. "L.I., increase speed to 2 knots." The tachometer needles went to 100 rpm. Our ascent finally stopped at 142 meters.

Wabos continued to rain down at intervals, all behind us. I removed my rain coat and sat on the map box.

"Keine Sorgen, Männer," I said. "They're just trying to scare us. Rolf, where's the convoy now?"

"Bearing 120, heading southwest."

"If only we'd stayed up a few more seconds," sighed Lemper. "We would've sunk that Dampfer."

For the next hour, we crept away to the south, while behind us the Tommies circled, pinged, and dropped wabos uselessly. Since we did not know the effective range of ASDIC, it was safer to just wait for them to give up. At 2230 the Zerstörers finally departed, having sunk their imaginary U-boot.

At 2242 we returned to the fog, rain, and darkness on the surface. Stabsoberbootsmann Siegfried Baltz went up with the watch crew to inspect the damage to the tower. Even without a torch we could see the twisted edge of the Wintergarten deck and the bent flagpole.

"Flak gun is functional, Herr Kaleun," reported Baltz. "Damage to the tower is superficial. I'll begin repairs in the morning. In the meantime, however, one must still be careful." With a pair of pliers he extracted a piece of shrapnel from the wood lining the bridge. Lemper took a good long look at that razor-sharp hunk of metal.

I remarked, "You were saying something about 'a few more seconds'?"

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

be glad they didnt had radar then :-?

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

blast. they got another good commander :cry:

we wont forget you Shöneboom :p

[looney]

I'll drink one on that brave kaleun.

:lost:

[Schöneboom]

Hey, wait a minute! Who says I'm on eternal patrol?! This story's not over by a long shot. But you should know, my life is now hectic in more ways than one. I just moved into my girlfriend's apartment, so there's lots of junk I have to unpack & get rid of, so it doesn't feel like a Type II in here. :roll:

And "Der Spanier" is going to become an actual novel -- at least that's my plan. That requires a lot more research & thought. The story will continue to develop, but mostly offline -- and maybe it will skip forward a couple of years, for more danger.

I'm very grateful for your encouragement, because you helped get me back into writing after a long dry period. And it's always nice to do well in a contest -- I made only a few changes to the story you have read here.

Keine Sorgen, Jungs! :up:

[looney]

A whell guys lets drink 1 (or more) beers on this great Kaleun

[Schöneboom]

Naja, I've made some progress with the new flat (I can see the floor now), and my new story... enjoy:

* * * * *

24 August 1941.

I'm on a train to Lorient as I write this. Yesterday I had an informal lunch meeting in Paris at Café de Flore with the Abwehr's liaison officer, Hauptmann Kessler. He said they were glad to hear of my return to the front. I told him I'd need time to become familiar with my new boat and crew before doing any special missions. He said he understood perfectly and reassured me that my crew had already been thoroughly screened.

"Do you mean they're all Party members?" I asked.

Kessler stifled a laugh. "No, it's not like that. I just mean they can be trusted."

I had the uncomfortable feeling that I only get around people who know my secrets, especially when they're complete strangers. If I had any way of knowing the Abwehr's dirty laundry, we might be on a more equal footing. But Kessler gave the impression of being on my side, and for now, that would suffice.

"Are you going to miss Gotenhafen?" he asked.

"Not really. Training kids to be U-Bootmänner is more dangerous than fighting the Tommies."

He smiled slightly. "Ja, I can imagine. But isn't there someone waiting for you back in Danzig?" He read my irritation correctly. "Please, excuse me. But it is my job to know these things."

"Well, it's all very respectable, really. Gisele's from a good Prussian family. Her father's an executive with Danziger Werft AG. One of the shipyards building our VIIC boats."

"Na, that could work out very well for you later on," he commented. I just nodded slightly. I left out the part about her father's obsession with status. He would clearly prefer his daughter to wed a senior staff officer, the sort who doesn't smell of seawater and diesel. Gisele and I have not discussed marriage yet, but her frequent demonstrations of domestic skill leave no doubt that she wants me to think about it. So much I could say about this, but not to Kessler.

"Will I be ferrying your people around like last time?" I asked. As we were in public, we were discreet in our choice of words.

"Very likely," he answered. "There could be other jobs, too. You received a glowing recommendation from your last passenger."

"How is Veronica, by the way?" I couldn't help but ask.

"No idea, she's not in my department. I'm not sure which regional office handles her now. Shall I enquire for you?"

"It's not necessary. Forget I asked."

The sly glint in his eyes told me he would not forget it. Verdammt, I should be more grateful for what I have!

* * * * *

Just after sunset, my train pulled into Lorient station. I wonder if I will ever get used to the new France; the resentment of the locals to our presence is palpable, yet nearly invisible in face-to-face dealings. No one ever taught us how to live in an occupied country. Now I'll have to learn.

A staff car was waiting to take me to the base. Shower, dinner, and sleep, that's all I need. Tomorrow I go over the patrol plan with the Flottillenchef and meet my new boat, U-67.

[baggygreen]

I likes this story, cant believe i didnt stumble across it until today!

well written, nice work.

[bookworm_020]

Great work!

thanks for puting up a new installment, was wondering what had happened!:hmm:

[Kaleu. Jochen Mohr]

so he's not dead after all :lol:

keep up the good work :up:

[Schöneboom]

1 Sept. 1941.

U-67 was finally removed from the maintenance pen after getting a clean bill of health from her LI, Oblt. Karl-Hermann Gocksch. Not a moment too soon, as we have only 3 days left to ready her for patrol. My new LI often comes across as high-strung and demanding, but his perfectionism suits me. At our first meeting he sized me up, much the way Gisele's father did when we were first introduced. I promised Gocksch I would do my best not to break his boat -- but I could not promise anything about the Tommies.

This morning I got a call from Krvkpt. Viktor Schütze, the 2. U-Flottille's Kommandant: "Ullmann, do you have your white dress uniform?"

"Ja, but it needs pressing. Why?"

"Get it pressed. At 1900 we're having dinner with The Lion."

Schütze gave me a lift to "le Chateau des Sardines" -- our nickname for the Villa Kerillon at Kernéval, whose original owner had made his fortune in the fishing industry. It was a gorgeous place, though incongruously fortified with anti-aircraft guns and an underground bomb shelter. Seeing the immaculate officers striding the halls of this opulent chateau, I had to remind myself they were doing important work, too.

"Careful you don't end up like one of them someday," whispered Schütze.

It struck me that this is exactly the life that Gisele and her parents envision for me in their wildest dreams. When Gisele wept at my leaving, it was partly because I had given up a comfortable rear-echelon job, one that could've led to a prestigious administrative career. Instead I would be risking my life far from home for weeks at a time. I share her grief at our separation, but I'm also irresistably drawn to the sea, despite its dangers. Will she ever understand?

Vizeadmiral Karl Dönitz joined us in the cavernous dining room with his entourage of staff officers. A few U-Boot skippers - the ones not on patrol or on leave - also joined us: Heinrich Schuch (U-38), Richard Zapp (U-66), and Wilhelm Kleinschmidt (U-111). The dinner was top-notch, the main dish being of course the plateau de fruits de mer (fresh seafood platter), washed down with chilled muscadet. Coquilles St. Jacques, lobster florentine crepes, and moules à la bretonne were also popular choices.

As the new arrival, I was reserved a seat next to Schütze, quite close to Dönitz.

"So, Der Spanier has returned at last," said Dönitz, shaking my hand. "How do you like our new headquarters, Ullmann?"

"If one cannot go to sea, Herr Admiral, I guess this will have to do." For a moment, Schütze looked worried. The other officers watched for The Lion's reaction.

Finally Dönitz smiled. "Spoken like a true U-Bootmann!"

Visibly relaxing, Schütze added, "I reckon a year of teaching cadets was more than enough, eh?"

"Let's just say it deepened my appreciation for experienced personnel."

"It's a tough balancing act," said Dönitz. "We need men like you both at the front and at the Academy. How is Fregattenkapitän Hartmann, by the way?"

"The 2nd Training Division is lucky to have him. He seems to enjoy the work, too."

Schuch interjected, "Hartmann has the sea in his veins. One day he'll beg to trade his desk for a boat!"

Kleinschmidt spoke up: "Na, by that time, the war will be over!"

"Do you really think that?" I blurted.

"Don't you?"

My fellow officers gawked at me in astonishment. Dönitz, however, kept his poker-face on.

Zapp said with a tolerant smile, "I didn't know you were a pessimist, Ullmann."

"On the contrary," I replied, "I'm being quite realistic. Britain alone has no hope of beating us, but we can't invade Britain either. Clearly, they're not weaklings -- it could take years to starve them into quitting. And if the Wehrmacht doesn't take Moscow before the winter, things could turn sour for us there, too."

The well-manicured officers who were chatting among themselves suddenly fell silent. It was as if I had farted in church!

Dönitz finally spoke up, assuming the role of wise patriarch. "Young man," he said to me, "Are you seeking a post on the General Staff?" The others laughed gently, sensing that was the appropriate response. But the way he addressed me, I could not be sure he was only kidding.

"If I am mistaken, Herr Admiral, please correct me. No doubt you are privy to things I know nothing about."

"Without giving anything away, I must concede that our final victory may not come as swiftly as we would like," he said to us all. "Even if the Soviet Union falls like a house of cards in the next few months, the Wehrmacht will face the daunting task of occupying that immense country."

Schuch muttered, "Gott sei Dank we only have to sink ships!"

"Mein lieber Schuch, you've hit the nail on the head!" Dönitz said. "Fate has chosen us to turn the wheel of history. To do this, we must all perform our duties impeccably. In our case, we must sink as many ships as possible. But ultimately, it comes down to a contest of wills. Either we or the enemy must break."

Then he looked me straight in the eye: "Would you agree, Herr Kapitänleutnant, that the German people will never break?"

"Absolutely, Herr Admiral!" And I meant it, too.

With that, Schütze raised his glass: "Here's to the German Will!" We eagerly drank a toast (the first of many).

Driving back to Lorient, Schütze said to me in disbelief, "Ullmann, you lucky Schwein..."

[Schöneboom]

4 Sept. 1941.

At 2230 last night, on the eve of our departure, the RAF bombed Lorient. When the sirens blew, Krvkpt. Zapp hustled me down to his preferred bomb shelter. It was worth the longer run, as this shelter was packed with nurses and secretaries, standing-room only. Deep underground, the explosions sounded far away, mixed with the thunder of our flak batteries. As I remarked to the young lovelies pressed up against me, "They remind me of badly-aimed depth charges." Only a few showed signs of fear; this was clearly not their first time. The raid was over very quickly; too soon, in fact, from Zapp's point of view.

There were no fatalities, except for the crews of two Blenheims shot down. Our U-boots were all safe in their pens, but three merchant ships were hit; their skippers ran them aground before they could sink. The final loading of provisions aboard U-67 was delayed for only a few hours. Outside, repair crews toiled through the night to ensure that the base would be in a suitable condition for our departure.

After lunch, my new 1WO Lt. Richard Adler reported all crewmen present and led me to U-67's pen in the Keroman 1 bunker. Adler was intimately familiar with U-67, having served with her previous skipper, Kptlt. Pfeffer. However, U-67 was until now a training boat; the twenty men with combat experience had just transferred from other boats. One consolation: at my request, Hans-Gerhardt Meyer, U-53's former cook, was one of the transferred personnel.

Adler introduced me to my 2WO, Kurt Schmoll, and my Obersteuermann, Antonius Kretschmer (no relation to Otto). On the main deck behind them stood my crew, 49 in all. I gave them the once-over, a no-nonsense look of appraisal, then addressed them:

"Guten Morgen, Meine Herren... BdU has sent me to inform you that School is Over!" They grinned in response. "They tell me you lads are ready to fight... That better be true, 'cause I intend to pay the Tommies back for what they did last night! Are you ready, Männer?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun!"

As the crew dispersed to man their stations, Schütze arrived to see us off. "Gute Jagd, Ullmann. Stay on your toes, eh?"

I knew he was thinking of U-452. Sunk last week with all hands. Also a former training boat on her first war patrol.

"Keine Sorgen, sir. If the students at Gotenhafen couldn't kill me, the Tommies won't, either."

As we followed our escort out of Lorient and passed BdU's chateau at Kernéval, Adler and I spotted the three shipwrecks rusting in the sun. An ominous sight.

"They'd better salvage those ships quickly," Adler muttered with distaste. "It's bad for morale."

I simply nodded. I couldn't tell if Dönitz was watching us, but I waved to the villa anyway.

[Schöneboom]

From the private Tagebuch of Kptlt. Peter Ullmann:

8 Sept. 1941.

Our assigned patrol grid is CG89, west of the Strait of Gibraltar. A short trip, particularly for a Type IXC; but considering that most of our crew have never sailed beyond the Baltic, this first step into the real war should be brief. I must see how well we work together before embarking on longer patrols.

About their ability to perform under ordinary conditions, I have no doubt -- what's crucial to me is their performance under stress. In training, the sense of mortal danger is rarely duplicated except by accident -- as was the case for me last May, when a vent stuck open during a crash-dive in the Baltic. Had it not been for the LI's ingenuity, we might've been practicing the emergency escape procedure with Tauchretters on!

Our trip down the Iberian Peninsula was uneventful, which gave me time to get acquainted with the crew. The petty officers in charge of each compartment introduced the Matrosen to me. Though I could have taken advantage of Hauptmann Kessler's very detailed files on my men, I preferred to learn about them in the natural way. Twenty-nine of them were also new to U-67, having been posted here straight out of U-bootschule.

Yesterday the 2nd watch lookouts spotted a stationary bright light on the horizon off our starboard bow. A Portuguese lightship in all likelihood, but we dove to 40 meters to be on the safe side. When we surfaced at 1855, there was no sign of ship or land. Lisbon was already well behind us.

As I mentioned to Adler and Gocksch over dinner, "This route's nearly the same as the one my father and I sailed one summer when I was 15 -- except that we hugged the coast and made frequent stops."

"How far did you get?" asked Gocksch.

"Mallorca," I replied. "That's when I fell in love with the Mediterranean. It's a pity we can't go there now."

"If only we could take Gibraltar," remarked Adler. "Heard anything about that possibility, Herr Kaleun?"

"Don't hold your breath. The Wehrmacht can't go through Spain without Franco's permission, and he's playing it safe."

"Any chance we might visit a Spanish port?"

"If the need arises, and conditions permit," I answered.

Gocksch spoke hesitantly, "Herr Kaleun, we've, um, heard stories about you..."

"Really? What have you heard?" I was afraid to guess.

"Well, uh, we heard that you once saved a beautiful Spanish woman from a life of sin..."

Adler continued, "You took her away in your U-Boot, and now she is your mistress in Casablanca."

I groaned. "And you actually believe this Quatsch?!"

Gocksch tried to laugh it off. "Of course not... You know how it is with sailor-talk. We hear all kinds of crazy stories!"

Adler said, "Ja, for example, some high-ranking Party members supposedly believe in the occult, and they search the world for secret magical powers!"

"Naja, I've got news for you Junge," I said. "I work for that occult group, and we're on a secret mission to find the Spear of Destiny for der Führer!" We laughed our heads off -- and that, Gott sei Dank, was the end of that.

1350: We have arrived in CG89. Weather is sunny with scattered clouds. Rough seas, though -- no chance for using the deck gun. We're on a ladder search pattern, cruising at 9 knots.

1643: We just made our first real Alarmtauchen, because of a seaplane. Hartmann was right: the Type IX's crash-dive is agonizingly slow. I don't know how he could stand it in U-37. Apparently the plane didn't spot us (no bombs fell).

"We've got to shave at least five seconds off our dive-time," I told Gocksch and Adler. "I have a feeling that's how U-452 bought it. A few seconds too late, and boom..."

Adler nodded soberly. "We'll do better next time, Herr Kaleun. I promise."

"A hard 90-degree turn will help," said Gocksch. "It'll spoil their aim."

Would it be enough? I thought. What if we encounter a faster plane? I stopped by the galley and said to Gerhardt: "More carrots for the lookouts. We need all the help we can get."

1830: More news on the radio about the fighting in Russia. The reports about Leningrad sound encouraging. However the RAF bombed German cities last night, including Berlin. The latter nearly cancels out the former, as many of us have family and friends in the bombed cities, and we are in no position to help them. Klaus, our Funker, is patiently transmitting requests from eight of our men for information about the fates of their loved ones in Bremen, Hamburg, Hannover, Berlin, and other Northern cities.

Some commanders might exploit this tragedy to arouse greater hatred for the enemy. But for me, I've found that whipping up the desire for revenge feels "unnatural". Perhaps it is because deep down I know we are being punished for having gone too far. Duty requires that I keep such thoughts to myself and appear always confident to my men. Of course I can do it, but maintaining this act for their benefit isolates me.

1945: Another seaplane and Alarmtauchen. The crew moved more quickly this time. I should have carried a stopwatch in my pocket; the nearest one was on the map table, and the Bugraum-stampede prevented me from reaching it. Again, we were not attacked. I can only hope our position was not reported.

[BootsmanBoof]

Just read a lot of this thread. You express very well the notion of understanding responsibility for the death of another.

When I play SHIII/GWX I get an adrenaline rush when a long-sought-after target is nullified. However, seeing real ships explode in wartime footage on Youtube leaves me a little lost for words, especially as my father was a lifetime merchant mariner.

LOL I've never told him about this game. I don't know if he'd appreciate it.:hmm:

[Schöneboom]

11 Sept. 1941.

1800: Two days ago, we gave up on searching CG89 and turned westward in the hope of catching one of the Freetown-Liverpool convoys (beyond the range of Gibraltar's aircraft). En route, we received a contact report from U-105: a large convoy in CG75, heading SSE.

Our interception would be easy, or so we thought. Without having to speed up, we should have sighted the convoy just before sundown. But here we are, in CG7831, and there's no sign of them, even after diving to listen on the hydrophones. I double-checked the calculations -- the convoy must have changed course. All we can do is start another ladder search, SW of the projected convoy course, and hope for a position update. Frustrating!

12 Sept. 1941.

0120: Finally, a new report! The convoy is northeast of us, no more than 25 km away! Going full speed to intercept.

0258: A Black Swan was sighted at 349 Grad on an aggressive search pattern.

Watching the Swan through my binoculars, I called out evasive course changes. "The Tommies have definitely improved," I remarked to Adler and Schmoll. "Still, there has to be an opening..."

Matrosengefreiter Weymar called out, "Flames, Herr Kaleun! 313 Grad!" Sure enough, two ships were ablaze -- U-105's handiwork, no doubt. After a course adjustment, we were soon able to identify five of the ships on the convoy's starboard side.

"UZO to the bridge!" It was time for Adler to take his first real shots. "Excited?" I asked.

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun!" With that, Stabsbootsmann Lohf handed him the UZO, then returned to his position at the torpedo control panel. I let Adler handle the eels, while I kept watch on the Swan -- now turning in our direction.

"Time's up, Adler. Take the shot!"

Selecting a large Frachter at 3000 meters, he fired two eels with impact pistols. There was no time for more: the moment he yelled "LOS!" the shells started whistling over our heads. We dove at once, but not fast enough to avoid damage to our forward deck. The pressure hull was not ruptured, Gott sei Dank, but the many leaks in the Zentrale and Funkraum made for an especially hair-raising dive.

When I ordered the boat down to 150 meters, LI Gocksch looked at me wide-eyed.

"She can take it, can't she?" I asked. Gocksch stared at the water dripping off the pipes above us. "I hope so," he replied.

As soon as the repair frenzy calmed down, Adler glanced at his stopwatch. "The first one should've hit by now. Verdammt!"

"Don't kick yourself," I said. "The ships must have turned after the Swan spotted us."

BOOM! "Better late than never!" Schmoll called out with a huge grin. The men could hardly contain their glee.

Almost two minutes later, at 0327, the second torpedo exploded. We knew these were lucky hits, but we were happy for Adler just the same.

"Are they sinking?" Adler asked our sonarman. At the hydrophone station, Gerloff listened, then shook his head.

"Give them time," I said. At 150 meters, I ordered, "Silent running. New course, 110 Grad."

0346: The Tommies dropped a lot of wabos; thanks to a thermal layer, none were close enough to harm us. But because of our one-knot speed, we're drifting upwards -- we're at 130 meters and still rising.

0352: The Black Swan came so near, we could hear it chugging overhead. At times like this, the silence in an U-boot is positively eerie. I whispered to Gerloff, "Hear any other U-Boots?"

Gerloff turned the hydrophone wheel slowly. "Nein, Herr Kaleun. But the convoy's changed course... more south-east."

"Heading for Gibraltar," Schmoll commented.

"Maybe," I said. "In any case, we won't lose them. Gerloff, where's that Zerstörer?"

"At 230 Grad, heading away," he answered. "It could be returning to the convoy."

"So soon?" Adler said. "They must think we're dead."

"Could be a trick... At 0400 we'll go back to Sehrohrtiefe. Nice and slow."

Creeping back up at 4 knots, it took us until 0407. What I saw through the attack scope surprised me. The convoy was so huge that a few ships were still in range, and even closer than the ones Adler fired at.

"Flood Tubes 3 to 6."

Lohf dialed in the torpedo settings as I called them out. Then I fired two eels at a Mittelgrosse Frachter, aiming for the bow and engines. At once I rotated the scope to aim at a Grosse Frachter approaching on our port stern quarter.

"Tubes 5 & 6, LOS!" Away went our stern eels. I lowered the scope and waited.

Lohf showed me the stopwatch for the bow torpedoes. They were overdue.

"Maybe they were duds," he said. "It's been known to happen."

"Ach, Scheisse." Maybe I've lost my touch, I thought grimly.

BOOM! A few more seconds, another BOOM!

I looked through the observation scope, then let Lohf take a peek. He exclaimed, "You got two, Herr Kaleun!" Indeed, somehow my eels struck a Kleine Ladung and a Grosse Frachter. Without warning, the larger ship exploded in spectacular fashion. In the confines of the tower, it was as if we were inside a giant drum being pounded vigorously.

I turned the scope to the Grosse Frachter behind us, just in time to see it catch one eel in the bow. KA-BLAM! "That was from Tube 6." I figured Tube 5's eel missed. But no matter: below, my men were cheering. "Der Spanier got another one!" Adler had to hush them up, but I doubted the Tommies could hear us over all the explosions.

Searchlights began sweeping the area, and star-shells lit up the sky. Lowering the scope, I called down the hatch, "LI, take us down quick! 160 meters!"