Aldag
03-02-08, 12:44 PM
Since starting to play SH3 a mere month ago and look at this board about 2 weeks ago i have been nothing short of staggered and inspired by the patrol writing of some of the contributers here. Being as I wrote a bit a few years I decided to try and get it back and have a go myself. All comments/constructive criticism welcome. I plan on posting a small bit at a time to save anyone reading getting too bogged down/bored. It should also be noted my current patrol is much more exciting, but dammit i'm writing this one now!
As the cold air of a January night made him huddle down into his dress uniform coat and the scent of the Atlantic, both of the salt and of the battle to come, rolled into his nostrils Lt.Kpt Rolf Aldag of 7th Flotilla took a long look around the port of St. Nazaire.
This would be the fourth Atlantic patrol for U-46 and her young crew. Thus far they had come through relatively unscathed. Despite their young age they were regarded as veterans of the service and were just starting to realise that they had experience beyond the majority of their comrades... for a number of reasons. At some point in the next three weeks that experience would be put to the test in the all-or-nothing game the U Boats played with the Royal Navy.
But that was later. For now, all the preparations for their departure were complete. Each task checked off with decreasing patience on the part of Captain and crew. Looking around the darkened quayside and stroking his jutting, freshly shaven chin he pondered on any check neglected, any duty un-discharged that could prove the difference between life and death.
He thought of his home in Frankfurt, of the 1933 Olympics whose sailing events staged in what would become the home of the first U-Boat base, that ignited his passion for the sea. He thought of the weight of his Iron Cross around his neck and of all it represented... His Fuhrer's appreciation for the blows struck against his nations enemies... Each consignment of what he hoped were weapons and equipment destined for Africa or the Royal Navy that he had ensured would never reach it's destination... He thought, in particular, of the two Destroyers he had destroyed. In his mind, direct revenge for the humiliation that his nation, his race had suffered at Versailles some 24 years previously. Finally, he thought of the Boat's first weapons officer who he had almost certainly conisgned to death after informing his Admiral of the undoubted sabotage perpetrated by a trained Officer in missing his first five torpedo shots in anger and ensuring the crew had limped back to port damaged and empty handed. That bastard had nearly killed them all and, most importantly, nearly cost Aldag his command.
All of this was churned through his mind in the course of a cigarette's passage. Burning, almost uninhaled, down to his fingertips. One lengthy drag filled his lungs with a rich, warming smoke and his head with the buzz of nicotine. Exhaling slowly and drawing himself up to his full six feet he turned sharply on his heel, flicking the butt into the glassy sea of the Submarine pen.
"Slow ahead Otto... Let's get moving" he intoned watching the chief engineer relay the order he cast his gaze forward, always forward.
As the cold air of a January night made him huddle down into his dress uniform coat and the scent of the Atlantic, both of the salt and of the battle to come, rolled into his nostrils Lt.Kpt Rolf Aldag of 7th Flotilla took a long look around the port of St. Nazaire.
This would be the fourth Atlantic patrol for U-46 and her young crew. Thus far they had come through relatively unscathed. Despite their young age they were regarded as veterans of the service and were just starting to realise that they had experience beyond the majority of their comrades... for a number of reasons. At some point in the next three weeks that experience would be put to the test in the all-or-nothing game the U Boats played with the Royal Navy.
But that was later. For now, all the preparations for their departure were complete. Each task checked off with decreasing patience on the part of Captain and crew. Looking around the darkened quayside and stroking his jutting, freshly shaven chin he pondered on any check neglected, any duty un-discharged that could prove the difference between life and death.
He thought of his home in Frankfurt, of the 1933 Olympics whose sailing events staged in what would become the home of the first U-Boat base, that ignited his passion for the sea. He thought of the weight of his Iron Cross around his neck and of all it represented... His Fuhrer's appreciation for the blows struck against his nations enemies... Each consignment of what he hoped were weapons and equipment destined for Africa or the Royal Navy that he had ensured would never reach it's destination... He thought, in particular, of the two Destroyers he had destroyed. In his mind, direct revenge for the humiliation that his nation, his race had suffered at Versailles some 24 years previously. Finally, he thought of the Boat's first weapons officer who he had almost certainly conisgned to death after informing his Admiral of the undoubted sabotage perpetrated by a trained Officer in missing his first five torpedo shots in anger and ensuring the crew had limped back to port damaged and empty handed. That bastard had nearly killed them all and, most importantly, nearly cost Aldag his command.
All of this was churned through his mind in the course of a cigarette's passage. Burning, almost uninhaled, down to his fingertips. One lengthy drag filled his lungs with a rich, warming smoke and his head with the buzz of nicotine. Exhaling slowly and drawing himself up to his full six feet he turned sharply on his heel, flicking the butt into the glassy sea of the Submarine pen.
"Slow ahead Otto... Let's get moving" he intoned watching the chief engineer relay the order he cast his gaze forward, always forward.