U-2 War Journal

[Bosje]

September 7th, 1939. U-2, grid AF87.


-9:40 am
Udo gave me a strange look 2 minutes ago, as I went to my bunk. I have left him in charge of U-2 for the upcoming half hour, all he has to do is steer the boat due east at full speed for a bit. Of course, strictly speaking, he is my Weapons Officer but Fritz is still asleep and I did not see any need to go to battle stations just yet. I have half an hour of time to kill and I decided to kill it by starting my war journal. I doubt I will be able to sleep much anyway and I shouldn't, considering there is a merchant vessel some 20 kilomets away from us.


I picked up this little writing journal about a week ago, when the war started. I do not know much about war but I am assuming that, as an officer in command of a boat and crew, I will not be at liberty to share or even show my emotions much, even though I am sure I will be scared, petrified or even mortified sooner or later. So, listening to the advice of my Naval Academy tutor who served on U-boats in '14-'18, I will entrust my doubts, fears and frustrations to this journal while I act the part of fearless and cunning commander in front of my men. Leutnant zur See Vom Bosch, most promising graduate from his class in the Academy, part of the elite on paper. Nice, all I can do from there is to disappoint, really.


So much for my first entry, it's time to submerge and listen in on my sonar contact.


-10:45 pm
Well, I am feeling disappointed but I had better get used to it; it is to be expected when one patrols the sea just off the Norwegian Fjords north of Bergen. As I went to periscope depth, to check on our contact, there was already a plume of smoke on the horizon right where it should have been. I positioned myself in textbook fashion for a kill shot with my last eel, but the red flag on the mast winked at me with a hint of blue lines. Not the red ensign after all, a simple Norwegian coastal freighter. I left it alone.


Several hours later a tugboat crossed my path, I let it sail away but the crew are starting to get bored. We are not a fleet submarine after all, we do not have the facilities to cruise around the oceans for weeks on end, looking for fat targets. We are a Type IIA coastal U-boat, fit for short aggressive patrols, put the 5 cigars into whichever hull we come across and be back home in time for tea and sausages. That seems to be the general idea, anyway. Well, the crew may be bored now but we are already successful on this, our first feindfahrt. This is our 5th day at sea but we already sent an enemy ship to the bottom. Perhaps the first kill of the war, who knows?


We were on our way to our assigned patrol grid when Martin got a radio message from a patrol craft, indicating an English Merchant steaming from the Skagerak to England. My boat is not very fast, at best it can do 12 knots, but after some calculations together with Otto, my navigator, we figured we should be able to get within visual range after 3 hours of steaming at full speed. As it turned out, we were right and a huge merchant appeared on the horizon almost exactly where we had expected it to be. We positioned ourselves for a textbook shot and at noon on the 5th of september, I fired my first ever torpedoes in anger. 2 torpedoes set up for a 3 degree spread at 90 degrees off her port bow. I had my third tube lined up, just in case,


I preferred to hang on to that fish though, because it was one of my two type 2 electric eels. At least 1 of the torpedoes hit home and the crew cheered but the ship seemed unimpressed. I was still positioned to fire the third torpedo if necessary and after 10, 20 seconds of nothing happening to the ship at all, I let it loose. Waiting longer would mean losing the advantageous position. It hit the merchant in the same spot, just afore the bridge and exploded but still the merchant ploughed on through the heavy swell, now zig-zagging but still doing at least 6 knots. That's all 3 of my tubes empty but I am not inclined to let my first ever prey get away without a fi...


Lookout reports visual sighting bearing 341, it should have been to my starboard so I'll have to finish this entry later.


-11:30 pm
It was another Norwegian, of course. I don't want to sink neutral fishing boats and tugboats with my precious last torpedo so I have decided to head for the English coast instead. We have been lying in wait here for 24 hours, as per our patrol orders, we have intercepted 3 merchants which we picked up on the hydrophones, all 3 were identified as insignificant Norwegian coastal ships and I have left them all unmolested. I could just go back to base with one solid kill in my log, but I want to spend this last torpedo, preferably on a fat limey. We have almost ¾ of our fuel tanks still full so we are just gonna make the crossing and look for targets near the British port of Hartlepool. This gives me plenty of time to properly finish my previous entry.


The merchant we hit was identified by myself and confirmed by Udo as a British C2 cargo vessel of around 6400 tons. It was surely damaged by my two detonating torpedoes but still floating and even sailing away from me. I ordered all hands to the house of lords, to reload tubes 1 and 2 with my last fish, but it was taking them forever. We were all quite tired and the windspeed was some 15m/s so they were not having an easy time. It had to be done and quickly, however, as I was not inclined to get my first ever prey get away like I was about to explain an hour ago. Meanwhile we ran at flank speed on the surface, trying to again get into a good firing position by the time tube 1 would be ready. My whole crew looked like they had been in a marathon but they did not complain, we were about to strike 6400 tons of shipping off the charts, after all.


Finally it was done, fire tube 1, jawohl Herr Kaleun, boom. It hit exactly under the bridge, just under the waterline. With a spectacular explosion the ship immediately broke in half, the stern end keeling over and disappearing in seconds, the bow end following suit soon after. The ship was gone even as we all ducked on the bridge to avoid our heads getting cut off by the shrapnel from the blast. Wow what a rush. I failed to feel sorry for the poor bastards, we had our first kill and a spectacular one it was, too. Even if it had cost me 4 out of my 5 torpedoes.


That was 2 days ago. No, 3 days as I realise, looking at my clock. It's 1am, september 8th. Well, I am off to bed now. My LI, Fritz, is back on watch to take the boat to the English coast with only a small crew of sailors on duty in the control- and engine rooms while everyone else is getting some hard-earned and much-needed sleep.




September 10th, 1939. U-2, grid AN54 (14 kilometers east of Hartlepool)


-10:50 pm
I hope this is at all readable later, the boat is vibrating so much it's hard to keep my writing steady. Or perhaps i'm just trembling a little. We are running at flank speed on a course due east, this time on our way back home to good old Wilhemshaven. I feel just like I felt years and years ago, when I was a little boy. I had just nicked a bar of chocolate from a shop and very exitedly ran away as fast as I could, not daring to look back to see if I was being followed. As I turned a couple corners I started to believe I had actually gotten away with it and with this strange mix of triumph and disbelief I ate the chocolate, hiding in a back alley. The guilt came later. That is exactly how I feel right now, a very naughty boy who is getting away with it, except this time I'm not expecting any feelings of guilt.


It all happened quite fast. Exactly an hour ago, at 21:50, we were at this same spot, only facing the other way. The English port of Hartlepool lay right in front of us, we could see the lighthouses dimly through the fog which crept over the water. It was a beautiful clear night, still is, and the sea is as smooth as a mirror. Adolf, my 1.WO, stood beside me on the cramped bridge. Herr Kaleun, you have a very mischievous look on your face, he said. I smiled and replied that I felt like a child in a sweetshop. We could not yet see the docks but I was sure there would be an good target for our last torpedo.
Well, Herr Kaleun, conditions are excellent for a surface run on an undefended port. We may even be able to use our 2cm gun, Adolf said. Hmmm, lets first check if it is in fact undefended, shall we? Periscope depth, ahead 1/3. Battle stations. Jawohl Herr Kaleun. Once back inside the boat, I told Fritz: LI, make it 15 meters at 1 knot, silent running. Then I looked to Karl on his sound station. Several minutes went by, I was about to give orders for a surface run into the port when Karl whispered: Warship, bearing 341, closing at medium speed. Damn, that was going to mess with my little party.


This, I figured, was a lone destroyer, probably very bored with patrolling up and down the English coast, and it was probably going to pass very close to our position. I turned theboat to meet it head on, while making it back to periscope depth, I then pulled up the observation scope and waited. I didn't have to wait long, there it was. A destroyer, at first glance V or W type, leisurely sailing along the shore. If I was going to fire my last tube at a merchant vessel, I would have nothing to defend myself afterwards and the destroyer would probably start to look for me actively. I only had about 10 meters left under my keel and little submerged speed or range to play with. Ok, so I would fire at the destroyer. It was an electric T2 so he probably wouldn't see it coming and even if I missed, chances were the enemy would never even know they had been fired upon. That was a longshot filled with 'ifs' and 'probablys' of course but I had been mostly correct in my assumptions to date, even back at the academy. Besides, I needed to boost my own morale.


The destroyer was going to pass very close, to my east, so I lined up the boat towards the southeast, waited for the destroyer to present a decent angle and I had Udo set up the fish. Flood tube 2, Torpedo depth 4,5 metres, magnetic pistol, set range 1000 meters, 10 degrees starboard angle, target speed 12 knots. I double checked it, Udo double checked it, it was all set up as well as could be. The crew held their breath in the red glow, Fritz looked at me and gave me a reassuring wink which I answered. Fire 2! It was so quiet in the boat that I imagined all of England hearing the hiss as my last torpedo sprung out of it's cage. 10 seconds, 20 seconds, BOOM... torpedo treffer! Oh yes, I have crossed fists with the Royal Navy and the first round very definitely goes to me! I raise the scope again to witness his fate when Karl shouts: Screws! Moving fast, closing, increasing speed! Bearing 240! **** **** what is this? Why has Karl not picked them up before? Were we all too focused on our target? We are now defenseless apart from the little bb gun on deck.


My first panicked impulse was to flank it out of there submerged, as close to the bottom as possible but before I gave the commands, I remembered something I once heard a veteran say: 'when you're suddenly in the ****, don't do anything at all for a couple of minutes, just smoke a cigarette. It seemed nonsensical but there was a very clear point in it. As the crew all had their heads turned at me in expectation of the emergency orders, I leaned against the observation periscope and lit a cigarette. They all looked at me in disbelief but a sense of calm came over the boat after the exuberant screams when we destroyed the destroyer. If the kaleun is taking the time to light a ciggy, it can't be too bad after all. I could only have gotten away with it after sinking the 2 ships as we had done, but I didn't do it for them, I did it for myself. Smoke the ciggy and consider all the information you have.
Karl, follow that contact, Fritz, 110 grad kleine fahrt. Maintain silent running, maintain periscope depth. Jawohl Herr Kaleun. Well if we can only hear it now, that means it must be quite far away. I certainly don't see anything in the scope. If I run too fast submerged, he'll hear us while we won't make much distance to show for it. He certainly hasn't got us pinpointed, he's just running to the scene where a comrade just went down. And it's smooth and dark outside. My cigarette was finished, I dropped the butt into the puddle that had formed into the observation scope housing from all the dripping inside and gave the good old hit and run commands. Blow ballast tanks, ahead flank on the surface, everything you've got, LI! Let's get the hell out of here. Jawohl Herr Kaleun. And congratulations Herr Kaleun, he adds with a grin to match mine. It is this grin which has been on my face for the last hour and I imagine it will still be on my face when we get home. If we get home. No, when we get home.


Fritz just knocked on the wooden panel outside my bunk. Yes? Herr Kaleun, I was wondering, a shot of rum for the crew? Not yet, Fritz, if we are still clear by dawn, then yes. Let's just keep running at full speed until then. As he went back to his station I called after him: and don't recharge the batteries yet, I want as much distance between us and that coast as possible. Very good, Herr Kaleun. This grin is giving me the cramps in my jaw but it's the most pleasant pain I have ever endured.




September 14th, 1939. U-2, grid AN95 (5 hours from Wilhelmshaven, the weather permitting)


-7:30 am
It is a beautiful day, the weather has been perfect ever since we left the English coast. Presumably, God is quite partial to his creations killing one another. We will dock on a very sunny late-summer afternoon, it should be a great welcome home after our first war patrol. As we watched the sun rise, 3 days ago, I ordered a shot of rum for the crew and announced we were going home. That went down very well. Like I said, we are only a small boat, with a small crew. Going to battle stations means every last man has a job to do if not several jobs, reloading the torpedoes means having all the watch crew and all the off-watch engine personal working their sterns off in the house of lords. Ok the boat is not supposed to reload during combat, standard procedure would be to submerge and maintain just a little speed and depth while the crew goes to work, but as we found out on our very first engagement, we need more than that. I plan to have Udo train a set party of crew until they can reload the tubes as fast as humanly possible, even in less than favourable conditions. I also plan to have an additional man for the sound stations because Karl has done a great job on this patrol but he is utterly exhausted after we track a couple of sound contacts for a couple of hours. I don't blame him but soon we should all be more efficient at and used to our wartime duties.


Also I am going to put Gottfried up for a medal. He shot down a jabo the morning after our adventure in Hartlepool. Despite the rum. Or perhaps because of the rum. He wasn't even on the watchcrew, he was just having a smoke as he came off his engine room watch. He spotted the planes before the watch did, leapt for the flakgun and he was putting shells into the hurricane before the alarm was even sounded. It's a good thing we had kept the gun ready to fire all throughout the night, washing a couple of ammo boxes off the deck was the least of my concerns in a crash dive. There was no need to crash though because the hurricane pitched violently left and right to avoid the tracers. I suppose it was a first time for him, too. By now I had been called to the bridge to decide our course of action and the first thing I saw was a great big black pill dropping from the plane, it splashed into our wake more than 2 boatlenghts away and the plane sputtered away with trail of smoke coming off its right wing. As the engine roar was quickly fading it suddenly stopped just before it should have faded away and we watched the smoketrail plummet down, hitting the sea with a visible splash somewhere between us and the horizon. Its mate had disappeared rather than seek revenge. 5 minutes later we dived, just in case. Ran at a 90 degree angle for the rest of the morning, also just in case, and resumed course back home at nightfall on the surface to finally charge our batteries.


I have to expect any subsequent RAF adventures will become more and more fruitful though, it is great to shoot down a jabo but I shouldn't push my luck. From now on we will have standing orders to crash dive upon aerial contact and we'll just take things from there. The days of waving at each other and trading Dutch brandy for German beer with fishermen are over.


For now, however, we are back home. Lookout reports the Wilhemshaven harbor heads coming up on our starboard and I have to put on my uniform for the cheering spectators. This journal will remain here and I will write again the next time I am forced to sit out some hours of waiting for contacts.


Leutnant zur See Vom Bosch,
KaptanLeutnant Type IIa U-2

[Bosje]

December 31st, 1939. U-2, grid AN47 (just a few miles off the English North Sea coast)


-9:30 am
Soon it will be a new year, I wonder what it will be like: new year's eve in wartime, in enemy waters. If I can cause a nice big explosion somewhere around midnight, that would be great for morale. But morale is very high already. We have not taken so much as a scratch so far, while we have sunk quite a few vessels, including 2 warships. This is our fourth feindfahrt and the second one in our new boat. Still a Type II but an improved one, it has an unbelievable operational radius and it's supposed to be able to go deeper as well. We have never gone anywhere but the North Sea though, and we have never had to dive deep out of necessity. I do not like this boat, the bridge is very crowded and crammed full of stuff, it means the watch crew can't do their jobs properly. And it's still a coastal boat. A patrol craft, really. Wait until I get my hands on a proper fleet boat, then the Brits better watch themselves. I am getting way too cocky. It's part of the image I project towards my crew. The cocky young boy who gets away with murder. Except it's not murder, it's successful war patrols. I still fail to feel guilty, we have a simple job to do.


We are all starting to get routines. As seamen everyone is highly superstitious and everything is either an omen or a ritual. The stupid grin on my face as we run away from the scene of the crime is one of them. The crew are starting to get used it, and love it. It means we put it to the enemy with just a handful of lads in a tin can of sardines. This lingo is very silly but it's all part of the game: the first officer makes a point of grumbling about our crowded can of sardines every time he climbs down from the bridge, so now our crew are sardines. As long as I grin, the boat is happy, if I light a cigarette in the control room, we are in trouble. They are also getting used to seeing me retreat to my quarters whenever we have to wait out for some time, looking for contacts, taking up a position, whatever. I worried that the officers would feel bad about the commander bailing out on them while the enemy was know to be present, but as it turns out they are happy about being left in charge in those situations. As long as I don't go writing while we are being depthcharged, but we have not yet experienced that. In fact, the only enemy combat units we have encountered are 3 destroyers (1 of which we sank on our first patrol, the other 2 were only heard on the hydrophone in very heavy weather) one patrol craft, not much more than a trawler with some guns welded to her (which we sank) and 2 aircraft coming in on a bombing run (one of which we shot down). So far, this is all going much too easy, there has to be a catch.


I want to write about my officers and crew but now is not the time. It's a beautiful clear winter's day which is a bad thing for U-2 and I need to check on our sound contacts.


-10:30 am
Bah, the contacts seem to be moving away but they are so far away, Karl can't be sure, all he can give me is 'screws' but I can hear that myself. When the boat is completely silent and still, that is. I like to do this, listen to our prey together with him. He sometimes explains how he can hear the approximate speed and course and I love it. Very much the predator in me, I suppose.


Anyway that's why I'm here. To sneak up on their sheep and slaughter them, perhaps have the odd head to head with one of the guard dogs. My mind wanders off and I need to have a smoke: I could run on the surface at full speed for an hour or two, the weather is absolutely wonderful which gives my flak gun a decent chance. Especially after Konrad has gotten his flak gun certificate and is now our official sharpshooter (sadly, the medal for Gottfried still hasn't come through. BdU maybe has doubts about giving a machinist credit for shooting down a hurricane.) Anyway, running on the surface in these conditions right under the noses of the RAF is just a bad idea, I am not that cocky.


-4:30 pm
Ok, so I am that cocky after all. The boys are dying to end the year with a loud bang and, frankly, so am I. We ran on the surface all afternoon, recharging the batteries and waiting for the enemy to show up. Nothing. We dived just now to have a thorough eavesdrop on our surroundings but again, nothing. Might as well just go a bit deeper and have a toast to Winston Churchill and his crew of bowler hats. If Otto, my navigator and hustler extraordinaire, hasn't got some booze smuggled onboard and stowed away somewhere I shall be very disappointed. Now I'm off to the bridge to watch the sun set on 1939.


-5:00 pm
Things are sure heating up! As we surfaced 10 minutes ago, a radio message came in from BdU. Standard contact report on a lone merchant making around 9 kts due north. If we steam due east we shall run into his portside for a lovely shot abeam. The boat is doing 12 knots and the watch crew are aware I do not want to be surprised by anything that might disrupt my fireworks setup. Otto just came back to me, he heard the crew whisper about stalking it through the evening and blowing it up at midnight, but I think that may be pushing it just a bit too much. We will attract the hunters soon enough anyway, I am sure they are around but we have not yet picked them up on the hydrophones. We just had a little dip below to listen on the phones, screws are churning 45 degrees off our starboard, exactly where they should be. Looks like he is doing 8 knots, that gives us a nice little edge to play with.


-6:10 pm
We are at action stations, ship sighted 5 kilometers away, our plotting has been extremely accurate and we are still well in front of her. I shouldn't be in here, scribbling away, and these will be my last notes of the night, but I thought I should write this down because it is a special night. Happy new year, happy hunting in 1940!




January 1st, 1940. U-2, grid AN73


-4:00 am
The party has long been over, it's the end of my watch, I'll have a sip of schnapps and go to bed. Oh, we sunk the merchant at 18:20 but it went down without a fuss. A single torpedo, a flash and rumble through the shrouds of fog that had begun to float eerily across the water, and she went straight down. We were looking for a lifeboat or some other sign of survivors, to at least give them some food and spirits as we had given them the worst possible new year's party, but we found none, it just went down too fast I guess. It wasn't an anti-climax though, we got one after all. Now I am tired.


-10:30 am
What a mess. We picked up a sound contact, intercepted it, ran a surface dash to get into firing position and lined up tubes 1 and 2. It was yet another small English merchant. Suddenly she started to zig-zag. So much for our firing position. We were still the faster though and we ran around her just to prove the point. Periscope depth halfway through the flanking manouvre, she now had no idea where we were. Turned round, and went for a quick launch while she still showing us her full port flank on her zig. This is the 'conversation' as far as I can recall:


1...fertig...1....los! 1 los! I yelled 'Verdammt Udo, los!' At last, a hiss and the eel was gone. 'Udo we were still coming around, that one is going to miss, line up 2 straight away! 2...fertig...2...los! Los! Udo what are you doing down there!'


The torpedoes had been set to run fast and were both past their estimated impact time and we were not seeing any great explosions. It did not surprise me as they had been fired on the setting we'd been on 5 seconds previously and we were still coming around to port. 'Udo line up 3 and make sure it runs true or I will personally come down there and manually can every last sardine in there! Nonsense of course as I am quite small but I am still the captain of this tub. Rudder amidships, line it up, fertig? I heard the yells coming up through the the hatch: 'Why the hell is it closed? Well open it up again! Now!'


Udo, fertig? Jawohl Herr Kaleun, 3 fertig. 3 Los! 3 los, Herr Kaleun. That was a new one, he never called me Herr Kaleun while we went through the quick salvo of orders which is typical for hectic situations, there just isn't enough time. As we later found out, the tube doors had all been closed before we launched the torpedoes and only the nco who had to hit the firing switch noticed this as he was ordered to hit that switch. He quickly cranked open the relevant door but it was already too late for an accurate shot. This was bad enough but it happened again, 10 seconds later on the second torpedo.


This time I was the shopkeeper and the crew were the naughty schoolboys, but they weren't grinning.
'Well, all of you miserable sardines. At least we got her in the end and we are still alive, that's what counts. There will be no keelhailing just yet. Now let's figure out how this happened and make sure it won't happen again. 'Maybe it was the schnapps, Herr Kaleun'
I roared 'Schnapps my sterntube! What are you laughing at!'


Bad call, I was losing authority here. (mental note: don't use any running gags while you give the crew a tough talking to, everybody knew about me and my sterntubes. The ones found on fleet submarines, that is. I desperately wanted my commission of a Type VII and on our last patrol I heard more than one crewmember announce they were gonna fire one from the sterntube as they went to the head)
It was as much my own fault as it was theirs, both the s****** during the reprimand and the bad shooting. And it was new year's day. 'Well men, I trust our last torpedo will suffer no such embarrassing fate?' 'Nein Herr Kaleun!' 'Very well, get out my sight. Udo, get me some coffee and bring it to my bunk, will you?' And he did.


As it turned out, we were so cocky that when we found ourselves thwarted by this little merchant and her zigzags, we were all so surprised that nobody thought about opening the tube doors in the pandemonium. Here endeth the lesson, I suppose. Better shape up from now on, after all it's only a thin bit of tin around us sardines.




January 3rd, 1940. U-2, grid AN98 (just off Wilhelmshaven)


-8:00 am
We are almost home and the grin is back on my face. We sunk another small freighter with our last torpedo and went home in good spirits and good weather. This patrol has been a lot different from our second and third patrol. The weather was horrible throughout both patrols, which is why I have not written in this journal on either of them. We have sunk a handful of merchants and one small patrol craft in total, while trying to keep the boat in decent shape in the storm which seemed to just always rage around the English coast. You can never see beyond 600 meters and you are wet, cold and miserable all the time. I tried to write an entry in this journal on our second patrol but everything was just so wet I decided against it and keep the journal safe and dry in my locker. Oh I got the Iron Cross after the third patrol, the crew made a fuss about it but I'm not impressed to be honest.


Leutnant zur See Vom Bosch,
KaptanLeutnant Type IId U-2

[Jimbuna]

You are developing quite a talent for writing Kaleun http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/pirate.gif

http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/read2.gif http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/read2.gif http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/read2.gif

[Bosje]

thanks :) feindfahrt 5 journal entry coming soon

[Bosje]

February 5th, 1940. U-2, grid AN48 (North Sea, north of Doggersbank)


-6:00 am
We have finished our 24-hour patrol of grid AN48 on this, our 5th Feindfahrt. No contacts with any English vessels so far. We are relocating closer to the English coast now, it has proven a great hunting ground for us on our previous 4 patrols. The RAF is still not much of a threat, we hardly ever see any of these airplanes which are continually putting so much pressure onto the other boats, or so we are told. We've been transferred: our flotilla is the 7th out of Kiel now. As the tonnage war is growing in intensity, several boats have already been lost at sea but the yards are building new fleet boats at a good rate. I am scheduled to commission one, probably before the spring is over, or so the rumor goes. Finally!


We have had some mutations in the crew as well; as we docked in Wilhemshaven a month ago, Adolf my 1. WO got his promotion and he is now back to school for his final training as kaleun. Standard practice is that a new captain takes one of these coastal subs out on a couple of short patrols to get comfortable with commanding the boat and then we are sent to the Atlantic in a fleet sub as 'veterans'. I am so far the most successful Type II rookie in the flottila and together with my officers and men we make a good team. We always have been by the way, we've known each other since we were roommates in the Academy.


Otto, Fritz and me. I am terrible at math and all the technical stuff but I seem to have an instinct for taking the right course of action when the game is on. Fritz could drive a ton of bricks as long as it has propulsion and steering, Otto will find anything anytime, whether it is something exotic from the supply depot or a precise location on the charts. The three of us graduated in the same year and between us we got the trophy for most successful completion of the wargame exercises. I call the shots, Fritz gets it done and Otto will tell you where you are and where everything else is, without having to look at the map. I got my commission as Kaleun of U-2 in 1938 after serving as 1.WO for a couple of years on an old boat left over from '14-'18, the brass were obviously aware of our academy achievements and I found Fritz and Otto welcoming me when I first inspected the boat.

Udo joined us a week later as the expert in destroying things with the weapons we have at our disposal, he has his torpedo officer qualification now and the house of lords has become a lot more efficient since our first patrol. And now the most recent addition to our staff is a new watch officer after Adolf left. The file on this guy was not very promising but we didn't have much choice in the matter and after 5 days at sea, it turns out he is actually not so bad.


Freiherr Beckman is an aristocrat from a nest of military tradition, some decades ago he would have been career officer in command of the noble cavalry charge, now he is just a 3rd grade lieutenant with no chance of a career unless he get his chest covered with medals. He applied for a position on an aggressive and successful combat unit, dreaming about a destroyer or schnellboot racing across the sea and raiding enemy shipping. Instead he is 'demoted' (as he sees it) to sardine and has to report to the U-pens. He walked up to the boat with an arrogant but very authoritative look in his eyes, giving the tub a demeaning glance. This was a man who has authority and power before he is even born, and he knows it. Until the party took over, of course. He hates the national socialists and he never took the trouble to hide it, he sees his placing on my boat as a personal dispute between himself and the brass which he insulted. 'This ship smells' were his first words and he was greeted with a choir of indignant voices: 'it's a boat!' I told him to never insult our sardine can again and he got his living quarters sorted out after a correct salute. A bit too correct in fact. We did not get off on the right foot, I must say. But I have a feeling we will get along very well when push comes to shove, he looks like a good man to have when under fire.


He is arrogant and, like me, quite cocky, so in that respect he fits right in. He knows little about the submarine war yet but he is very smart and he has the best pair of eyes I ever encountered. Hunting and commanding men comes natural to him, now he just has to get used to living in a can of sardines, which is a far cry from his family estate. I'm sure he will make a brilliant kaleun some day but with a little luck, his political views will prevent his promotion for a long time to come which means that until then, I have a brilliant 1.WO. We call him the Duke, which he doesn't like. But then he doesn't seem to like much at all.




February 6th, 1940. U-2, grid AN47 (inside the shipping lanes off the English coast)


-7:15 am
Well, we are waiting once again so I am killing the time with my pen as the crew keeps the rooster in check. I say the rooster because that is now our unofficial name. We are of course still the can of sardines and the boat and the tub and the rest of it, but we have an identity and a personality now. As most boats do. It's all because of that stupid grin of mine, acting the cocky boy part whenever the enemy is in range. Udo and his lordships have painted a white cockerel on our conning tower. They did it last night while we were charging our batteries in perfect clear weather. Very risky, very cocky, very much in style. It was the first time I saw the the Duke display a hint of a smile and I just grinned and gave the boys ration of gin. The gin is our current drink of the house which we recovered from a sealed box among the wreckage of our last kill, on new year's day. Obviously the sea dogs took is as a great reward from higher forces and I can hardly tell them it's just a lucky find. Most of us don't even like the taste but we all say we love it because we took it from the English as spoils of war. Otto is our official keeper of the gin-key and it is to be saved for special occasions.


Anyway we are The Rooster boat and we are going to sink our spurs into their shipping very shortly, because Karl reported a sound contact which we are now intercepting.


-7:40 am
The Duke was the first to spot her. It looks like a coastal merchant and he claims he can see a polish flag but nobody else can confirm and personally I doubt it's humanly possible to have that kind of eyesight. We'll get a positive identification soon enough as we are in AK pursuit. We were expecting her to the starboard but the Duke calmly reported a silhouette through the morning fog at 260 degrees. I wonder how she managed to slip past us but never mind, we can outrun her. It won't be long before the sun comes up and it looks like it's going to be a perfect day for flying so we are going to action stations and I have a ordered a full watchcrew to keep an eye on the skies, the game is on!


-2:15 pm
I have found out how to get the Duke smiling. Get him into a fight! At 8:00, at the first hint of daylight, he reported a plane on the horizon. Coastal Command is pretty green though, they took a dive at us a couple of times but our flak was giving them the good news. Bombs were dropped but they never even got close while we raced straight for the merchant which was still at 5 kilometers distance. Standard operating procedure is to crash dive on an airplane sighting but they have not impressed me yet and I wanted to sink this Polish freighter (the Duke was right about the flag, I'm impressed). As I was fixing a solution through the uzo for a spread shot with fast running torpedoes, he was guiding the flak gun to keep the hurricanes from landing a pill on our boat. He was clearly in his element and so was I.


Nobody expects a submarine to attack on the surface while aircraft are attacking it so instead of zigzagging, the polish ship just ran a straight course out of the area. Either that or she never even knew we were there. A little hard to believe with all the shooting and bombing going on but perhaps the lookouts were just getting a cup of coffee from the cook. Either way my 3 degree spread missed because she did not zigzag. Can't have been more than a couple of meters but the torpedoes ran past her, just off both the bow and stern. She sailed on entirely unimpressed. I launched the third eel right at her smokestack and that did the trick. She went down and so did we. Enough excitement for the day, I think. The Duke had never really believed a word of the crew's tales of the cocky kaleun but as we climbed down the ladder into the control room he turned to me and said 'I like your style, Herr Kaleun'. 'I'm glad it meets with your approval, Einz WO', I grinned and I added: 'You seem to enjoy the hunt, well you are in luck because hunting is our game. Welcome aboard U-2, Freiherr Beckman.'


February 7th, 1940. U-2, grid AN51


-2:30 am
I am somewhere between miserable and happy. It is a beautiful clear winter night, all the stars are out and it's freezing cold but there is also a tremendous gale blowing which means we are all covered in ice from the spray. We just got down from the bridge in a bad state, frozen to the bone and now the warm blood starts flowing again which hurts like hell. All the same I was thoroughly enjoying the ride, plowing through the monstrous waves, ducking down each time the bow launched a fountain of ice shards onto us as it crashed down. However entertaining though, we can't expect to see a thing if we keep our heads down so we just took the boat under to give Karl a chance instead. And he got something immediately, a merchant coming our way directly south of us and a patrolling warship on our stern. The warship is moving away so we'll just have a go at this merchant instead. We still have 2 torpedoes left and I am going to listen to the screws again.


-3:30 am
After an hour, Karl and Otto are pretty sure she is going due north, about to pass us some 8 kilometers to our west. So we are going in for the kill, all hands at action stations once more, the Duke is getting ready for some more fun on the bridge and the waves are still enormous. The Duke has just spotted her at 7,5 kilometers, we are still ahead of her so we will charge in on the surface, running at flank speed as Otto is putting us straight abeam.


-4:20 am
A great example of teamwork. Otto and Karl had been spot on the mark, the Duke called it and Udo got the torpedoes in right under the bridge. She was a big one, classified as C-3 Cargo. The only thing that went wrong is that she did not go down. She just sat there, dead in the water but still afloat. The crew were abandoning ship but I spent my last torpedoes and did not have the means to put as much as a dent in here except if I rammed her. As she outweighs us by god knows how many times, that is not an option either. Getting a man on the flak gun is impossible with the heavy seas and after I smoked my cigarette, pondering our bad luck, I came to no conclusions other than to simply send off a radio message on her position and on our plan to return to Kiel after having spent all torpedoes. We set off on a course straight home when Karl shouted he heard bulkheads collapsing. She was out of sight behind us but is sounded like she was going down after all. We'll get confirmation later, I am sure, from BdU who monitor all the English communiques to confirm our reported kills. The Rooster crows and proudly strides home, or something like that.


Leutnant zur See Vom Bosch,
KaptanLeutnant Type IId U-2

[Penelope_Grey]

I do believe it was Bill and Ted who said something like

"EXCELLENT!!!" *Que quick plucking of the guitar*

[Brag]

Wow! Another budding scribe. Keep at it. :D

[Bosje]

March 23rd, 1940. U-51, grid AM38 (35 kilometers NE from Loch Ewe)


-8:00 pm
This is our 7th day at sea on the 6th Feindfahrt but only now do I find the time to scribble in this journal. It will not be a long entry but I just want to say that the crew are reloading the sterntube. U-51 is a Type VIIB fleet U-boot and I am her commanding officer. More soon, we are very close to the 'secret' Royal Navy base of Loch Ewe and we are surrounded by patrolling warships. They still do not know where we are even though we sunk a merchants and a destroyer this afternoon.


-9:45 pm
We are heading back out to sea. We have spent 6 torpedoes already on this patrol and we still have 8 left but Loch Ewe is well defended and I dare not risk the boat on her first patrol. After all, we still have to get fully familiar with how she handles, the only similarity with the old U-2 is the rooster on the conning tower. Otto has set a course for the western approaches and we will see if we can intercept a convoy there.




March 25th, 1940. U-51, grid AM29 (western approaches northern route)


-2:30 pm
Convoy contact report. Interception course set for contact in about 8 hours, the plan is to set up a night surface attack. Which gives me some time to talk about our new boat. She is big and she is beautiful compared to our old U-2. Twice the number of crewmen, thrice the number of torpedoes, we have an 88 mm deck gun, a 20 mm flak gun, an improved KDB hydrophone and a sterntube. A machine truly fit for war. I loved her on sight.


I got my first look at her a month ago, me and my staff went to the sub pens like an excited group of boys who are about to inspect the new sweetshop in town. We climbed in and around her all day, pressing all the buttons and working all the handles to see how it all fits together, we had to get to know her very quickly because it would not be long before we took this baby out on war patrol. A couple of afternoons cruising around the harbor was all we had time for, the rest of the time was spent loading her up and getting her ready for combat. I have a new boatswain who served on Type VIIs before, he is my walking manual and he showed us all the gadgets and dials, I have a new officer on the staff as well, Gert is the chief engineer who keeps the diesels and electrics in working order while Fritz is learning all about the trimming and driving controls. This boat can go all the way into the Atlantic and patrol there for over a month, a far cry from the weekend trips we had on the U-2.


Patrol orders came through on march 14th, we were to be the kriegsmarine ambassador in grid AN28, off the Norwegian fjords. On the way to the patrol area we would be able to take the boat for a full test drive and get to grips with all her peculiarities but this was no pleasure cruise, we are still at war. The boat is brand new so chances were that we'd run into the odd malfunction or construction flaw but we would simply have to deal with them as events unfolded. We left Kiel 2 days later, march 16th. On the 18th we took our test runs shortly before reaching our patrol grid. The boat can do 18 knots on the surface, 8 knots submerged and we took her down to 200 meters without any water coming in through major leaks. The crew did not like that little adventure but I want to know what she can hold before we are being forced into the cellar by the enemy. So far she is holding together perfectly.


We spent 2 days cruising the Norwegian coast but all we ever came across were Norwegian fishermen. We set off for more dangerous waters, sank a large cargo north of Scotland and then we had our previously mentioned killing spree near Loch Ewe. A successful patrol so far, the plan is to engage this convoy, not take too many unnecessary risks with the new boat and get back home to celebrate an excellent maiden voyage.


-7:55 pm
Otto has come through true to form. We do not see any smoke on the horizon yet but we just went in for a quick dip and Karl got more screws than he can count at 25 degrees. The sun has just set, it is still a little too bright for my taste but it also means the Duke will get a fix on them from many miles away. The last contact report we received was an hour ago, I don't know who the shadowing boat is but the report says a large convoy traveling 9knots SSE and we are going to action stations.


-9:05 pm
Typical, as we got into attack position, submerged because it was still quite bright, we saw a frigate on the horizon which can only be the convoy picket ship. After 5 minutes it suddenly changed course at high speed and Karl reported all screws fainting away towards the northeast. The convoy changed course 10 kilometers away from us. They are not getting away from us that easily so we are running at full speed to get into a new position. It is good news, really, because the sky is getting darker with each minute, we will be looking at a surface attack after all.




March 26th, 1940. U-51, grid AM29


-0:30 am
Running due east at 15 knots, 4000 kilometers from Kiel unless we go straight through the Orkneys which we will certainly not be doing. The boat has taken some serious damage but we sank 3 C2 merchants. To summarize I can say that I am grinning again but the puddle under the observation scope which is my personal ashtray is full of cigarette butts. We still have 2 torpedoes but going back in for a second run on the convoy is just too much of a risk, the chief says the hull can not be trusted anymore at great depth and I am sure he is right. We just spent an hour at 110 meters and she was moaning and squirming so much we all felt sorry for her. It worked well though, the depthcharges never really got close, according to the boatswain. I wouldn't know, it's the first time for all my old U-2 comrades. The boat wobbled a little at the first run, after that they clearly lost us because the kept trowing the cans half a kilometer behind us, where we had dived. Being cocky does not work quite as well on convoy attacks. That is today's lesson.


I still don't know how they did it, but the gunners on that little corvette sure earned their pay. Their fire was bracketing us straight away and we took 2 hits under the waterline in quick succession before we got the boat into the cellar. Of course it was only their retaliation, I had drawn first blood. 1 torpedo for each large freighter in front of our bow, all 3 came to a stop as the rest of the convoy made a sharp turn to port. Tube 4 finished the closest cripple and we turned away at flank speed, finishing the second cripple with our sterntube. I ordered immediate reloading for the three remaining eels because the escorts were still quite far away but as I turned the boat back into the convoy, the little corvette opened fire from what must have been at least 3 kilometers. Before I knew it we were all swept from our feet on the bridge by the severe shock from the first impact, we crashdived but before the hatch was closed behind me we took a second hit. Initial damage reports revealed no mayer system malfunctions, we still have propulsion, steering and the leaking seems to be minor. After a quick inspection however the chief was increasingly worried about the effect on our pressure hull and fuel tanks. Both seem to be holding together so far, thankfully. The corvette was going after us but the other escorts, which we had only heard, not yet seen, seemed more keen to protect the rest of the convoy.


After the shells and the crashdive and the most urgent repairs we immediately went quiet and took a hard turn to port, the corvette followed us to port and as the first pattern of depthcharges splashed in the sea I ordered hard to starboard and flank ahead for 10 seconds. They exploded aft to our port, we went silent again and after that they never got close. It was scary enough from where I am standing but Hasse says he's seen worse. We submerged after an hour of making sure the corvette was back on his way to the convoy and then we surfaced, finished the third and last crippled merchant and ran the hell out of the area. Now we are going home for some well deserved rest en recreation while we get the boat ready for her second patrol.




March 29th, 1940. U-51,grid AN26 (North Sea)


-2:30 pm
We are 1500 kilometers from Kiel, no further incidents after our encounter with the convoy. Aircraft were spotted on the horizon as we cruised around Scotland but I agreed with the Duke that we should give our flak gun a try before immediately diving from them. They never got closer so that was the end of it. If the RAF are getting their stuff together just like the escorts seem to be doing, our days of charging in with a grin will soon be over. The rooster is proudly crowing on our conning tower but the war is savage and serious in the Atlantic. U-boots are not reporting in and presumed lost, convoys are getting through to England and the army are sitting quietly back home. I really wonder where this war is going, so far we are the only ones doing any fighting.


We just turned away from a Norwegian merchant. Too bad, she was a big one, but we are not at war with Norway and I don't like the Rooster becoming an indiscriminate murder party. The Duke agrees, we hunt for specific targets, not just any old schooner which happens along our path. It's almost a sport as far as he is concerned.




March 30th, 1940. U-51, grid AN35 (Skagerak)


-8:30 pm
Well we certainly found a good use for our last 2 torpedoes after all. A contact report came in on a large merchant steaming westbound from the Skagerak. I was sure she would be Scandinavian and I almost turned away when we saw a red flag but the Duke was convinced it was the red ensign. We came in close, the weather is rather miserable, but he seems to be right! We fired our last eels at her smokestack and she went up with a big bang. Almost identical to my first ever kill, but this time we blew her out of the water after a quick and accurate setup. We are certainly improving our skills.


That is it, all torpedoes expended and we are 2 days sailing from Kiel. The journal is going back in my locker and I am going to sleep for a week. Rooster signing off.




Leutnant zur See Vom Bosch,
KaptanLeutnant Type VIIb U-51

[Jimbuna]

BE MORE AGGRESSIVE!! http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/pirate.gif

http://imgcash3.imageshack.us/img412/4774/thumbsuplargeon1.gif

[Bosje]

May 28th, 1940. U-51, grid (Pas de Calais)


-10:00 pm
The Rooster is out on patrol again, itching to live up to its reputation. Our last patrol was as much a testrun as it was a war patrol and the boat needed a lot of work when we made it back home. After a month of welding and tinkering, she is good as new. Hasse, the boatswain, is satisfied with the work done by the boys from the yard and together we inspected her before we set out, 4 days ago. She no longer smells like a new piece of oily machinery. The first patrol left its mark. A remnant mixture of diesel, rotten food, sweat and tobacco fumes linger all throughout the boat. It smells like home, which is good. We are all confident about this boat now and it is time to get cocky with her.


A lot of crews on other boats have good luck talismans and superstitions, their boat is always 'the lucky boat' because they need to believe the boat will pull them through if they get in trouble. I sense a different approach from our boys: as long as we behave like the naughty schoolboys which we are said to be, we will come out just fine. Well we will soon find out because we are about to run straight through the Pas de Calais, at full speed on the surface. Straight through the patrol areas of the English guard dogs. Our orders are to patrol St George's Canal which is sure to be target rich and extremely dangerous. The boys are joking about the rooster taking a peck in Churchill's backyard and the staff join in the joking, if only to keep morale up. I am grinning while stand in the control room or on the bridge, but deep inside I am scared.


We could of course go all the way around Scotland and Ireland but that will cost us most of our fuel, besides it does not seem to be the thing to do for a proudly impertinent rooster. Well, it is time to make the run. It's as dark as can be expected this time of the year and thankfully, visibility is poor. We will just need a sharp lookout so we don't get a nasty surprise from a destroyer running straight at us from close range, but I have the Duke to take care of that.




May 29th, 1940. U-51, grid (just off Cherbourg)


-12:00 am
We can see the Cherbourg docks to our port, the channel dash has gone well so far but there are plenty of aircraft and destroyers about. As long as the weather is terrible we will stay on the surface, getting as much ground covered as we can. The crew are feeling miserable and the boat is an absolute mess, we are thrown around something awful by the heavy swell but we will simply have to deal with that later. If we get to our patrol zone we will likely spend most of time submerged, listening out for enemy shipping. They can all sleep then and so can I.




May 31st, 1940. U-51, grid AM97 (St George's Canal)


-5:30 am
We are here, the boat is sitting quietly at 25 meters, we are doing 90 rpm on both electrics just to maintain our heading and depth and now it's all down to Karl and Martin, the sound room boys. The rest of the crew are resting and cleaning up the mess after the storm but they have to be quiet. The sea is still very rough but the sky is quite clear. Good conditions for a submerged attack, our periscope will be pretty much invisible in the waves while we have the advantage of decent visibility. Now it is just a matter of waiting for a ship to sail along our path. My bed is in the soundroom so I'm sitting next to Karl as I am writing this. I have to be somewhat careful, they must never get to read this stuff; if they know how many times I've had doubts or been scared, the magic of the cheeky Kaleun who gets away with murder will be instantly forlorn.


-9:40 pm
Being cocky paid off and the crew are happy and proud. We sank a destroyer. This afternoon Karl reported fast screws closing, most probably a simple patrolling warship. We listened for a while and then did a quick surface run to a projected interception. Again we got it right, I'm gonna put Otto up for a medal for this. Smoke on the horizon, a destroyer at first glance and heading towards us. I could save our torpedoes for the big fat merchants but I reckon BdU will be just as pleased if we rid the Royal Navy of their anti submarine capabilities. Our positioning was excellent, I fired 2 shots for magnetic detonation with electric eels and we still had some headway to shoot our remaining torpedoes as things developed. Good call because the destroyer increased speed and started to turn as one torpedo exploded before even getting close, what happened to the other torpedo I will never know but it certainly did not hit the enemy warship. I had taken precautions for exactly this eventuality and immediately fired a fastrunning steam torpedo set for impact detonation, it could not miss from 600 meters and it didn't. The destroyer was classified as V or W class and the Duke took some photographs of her trough the observation periscope as she went down. If we make it back to Kiel I might be able to add them to this journal.


This was about 5 hours ago and we had a nasty surprise afterwards. We surfaced to get some fresh air and to charge the batteries but most of the staff was off-duty, getting some rest before our next action. All of a sudden it was pandemonium, ALAAAAAARM and the watch crew came scrambling down the hatch as the boat took a nosedive and I ordered hard starboard rudder at a wild guess. Konrad stood panting before me in the control room as he reported an MTB coming at us fast, bearing 30 dergrees port. The MTB won't give us any trouble while we are submerged but I can picture the commander giving an excited contact report of a U-boot diving 1000 meters in front of him. We are going to run away from here fast before the hunters get to us. Karl is keeping his ears out for fast screws and I am sitting beside him, scribbling away once more.


Today's lesson: constant vigilance while on the surface! We don't all have the Duke's eyesight. Being cocky is one thing, letting them creep up on a sleepy watchcrew is quite another. I gotta come up with a tighter watch circulation to keep the 1st, 2nd and third watches organized and sharp.




June 2nd, 1940. U-51, grid BF11 (western approaches, south)


-11:00 pm
Tankers are flying into our mouth today. This morning we sank a small tanker and just now we put 2 torpedoes in an American T3. They are officially neutral but this oil would have gone straight to the RAF I am sure so tough luck for the Amis. Besides, we got orders from BdU at the start of our patrol that all shipping from the western approaches down to the Bay of Biscay is fair game.


Gert is constantly expressing his worries about our fuel situation. We have been running at full speed through the channel and over the past couple of days we have constantly relocated in search for a nice fat convoy. It is at least 4000 kilometers back to Kiel and if we have to make another dash through the channel we need to save enough to make the run at high speed. But then, we have 8 torpedoes left and I am determined to put them to good use.




June 11th, 1940. U-51, grid AM73 (Irish west coast)


---
U-51 to BdU
110640 AM73
convoy NNW approx341 6kts 3 escorts
sunk 2x 6000tons 1x 5000tons
damaged 1x 5000tons
be advised escorts detect U-boot above 100rpm regardless schleichfaht
1 torpedo remaining, course set for return Kiel through Channel
---


-2:00 am
Above is an excerpt of the message I just sent off to BdU. The staff, Hasse and me just sat at the table in the officer's mess for an hour, discussing the possibilities and we can come to no other conclusion than that the frigate must have heard our screws as we were getting to 2 knots. We were silent as a mouse and Udo insists he and his boys in the stern torpedo room were absolutely quiet once the boat went silent.


We survived the attack, thankfully, because the frigate started pinging us. It served as a warning signal. But before the first ping caused everyone's heart to miss a beat, she was sailing in a straight line on the tail of the convoy which continued it's journey after having left behind 4 large merchants. This is what happened:


Finally after days and days looking for targets, we got the contact report on the convoy. We set on an intercept course but they must have changed their heading during our pursuit. Either way, we could not find a trace of smoke on the horizon, nor a whisper of screws on the hydrophones and we had a discussion with the staff. Gert insisted we head back home but we have a little fuel to spare yet and in the end, I call the shots. Fritz and the Duke agree with me anyway, we need to get out there and do all we can to hurt their shipping. We can really use something to grin about once more, morale is low after days and days of playing the floating cork in the empty ocean.


We took up a position along the most likely course the convoy was taking, sailing up along Ireland's western shore. 3 hours ago, we struck gold. Karl gave an excited shout and we went to action stations. We have all tubes loaded and 2 spare eels in the forward room, I deliberated with Udo for a while and he claims he can get both torpedoes loaded in under 15 minutes. I think the rooster on our conning tower agrees that the plan is quite stylish: We stay surfaced and launch 2 torpedoes from 2500 meters at the nearest fat boys. We then speed up and get to periscope depth by the time the torpedoes are due for impact. This should bring the escorts in looking for us but we will be almost inside the convoy while they search the empty seas from where we first launched. Meanwhile the house of lords is doing a lot of very un-lordly sweating and swearing as they get the tubes reloaded. Now inside the convoy, we use all four bow tubes to pick off the biggest targets which come through my periscope view while we use the sterntube to either finish off a crippled ship from the first strike or we pick out any opportunity targets. After having fired 7 torpedoes in 15 minutes, we dive underneath the convoy, go silent and we'll just go from there.


The plan worked like clockwork, unlike the torpedoes and we only sank 3 ships for 7 eels. Still, it is better than nothing and we can be proud of our daring and successful attackrun. An estimated 17.000 tons off the list and one large merchant heavily listing but still keeping up with the convoy, last time I saw her. We went deep and quiet, 2 escorts were searching the sea way off in the distance, where we had launched our first shots and a third escort stuck with the convoy. It was this last escort which came quite close to our position as it followed the stricken convoy but out of the blue, a terrifying PING went through the boat. We were not making any sounds at the time, Udo was now working in the stern torp room to get our last eel ready and we had been getting deeper and deeper very slowly, engines creeping along at 90 rpm which should effectively be silent.


Karl reported the fast screws of the trailing frigate and I ordered schleichfahrt but standard operating procedure for this is to sneak at a speed of 3 knots. I failed to take this into account and Gert had his boys very gently increase the rpm to meet the schleichfahrt. This is when the pinging started.
It's not Gert's fault, he just followed my order to the letter. Next time we are being hunted, I am sure everyone will keep a sharp eye on the revolutions. Other than accidentally detecting us, the frigate crew was rather clumsy. Their first pattern tossed the boat around a bit, but Hasse reported all compartments uncompromised and the ping had given him away so it was AK voraus, hard steuerbort und tiefenruder auf tauchen before the first charges went off. After an hour of dropping the cans at the same spot, he took off after the convoy. And now we are going home, back through the channel. Otto reports enough fuel for 4500 kilometers at slow speed and we have 4000 to traverse. This is going to be a tight run and it is going to take us a while but the grin is firmly stuck on my face.

Leutnant zur See Vom Bosch
Kaleun Type VIIb U-51




June 20th, 1940. U-51, Kiel.


-8:30 am
I usually do not write in the journal unless we are at sea but this is a special occasion. France has surrendered 2 days ago and we have promotions and medals to celebrate. Tonight there will be a party but after almost a month at sea, we are all completely exhausted. The Duke had the pictures developped first thing when we docked and they look good.

(September 23rd, 1940, Brest
The photos have suffered a bit from the heavy flooding after we hit that mine, especially the second one, but Naval Intelligence reports they intercepted a communique from the British Admiralty that HMS Wild Swan of the V&W class has been lost in those waters on may 31st so we can safely say that these are her last moments)


http://img91.imageshack.us/img91/8691/vwgoingdownms8.jpg



http://img183.imageshack.us/img183/893/vwsinkingln9.jpg



Photographs taken by Freiherr Beckman, Oberfahnrich zur See U-51, may 31st 1940 16:01

[Bosje]

September 24th, 1940. U-93, grid BF13


-1:00 pm
We are running full speed on the surface in broad daylight with clear skies and a smooth sea. The rooster hasn't lost his brass balls just yet. We hope to intercept a convoy before the waters get too shallow and we'll be in attack position at nightfall. A big convoy according to the report, and only minor protection. I will test our theory from the 7th patrol convoy attack. Fire 2 bow shots and then close in while reloading, sinking as many as possible with remaining 5 shots. While we are running after them, I have a story to tell. The short version is that we sank a destroyer and then hit a mine. The long version is, well, long.


U-93, that's right. A new boat again. We had only completed 2 patrols with U-51, the Type VIIb which I liked so much. Then we had Feindfahrt 8. It started out well, we departed Kiel on July 6th and were assigned to patrol the entrance of the channel to catch anything that emerged into the North Sea. Before we got there, a report came in on an enemy taskforce cruising between Scapa Flow and the Norwegian coast so we took a small detour to see if we could get in range to take a potshot at it. After a couple of days hanging around their projected path, Karl found them. Multiple fast screws coming right at us! Heavy seas but broad daylight so we got at close as possible under the waves. 5 destroyers, no capital ships as far as we could see. I sent a torpedo at 4 different targets and then we turned tail. 2 minutes later we heard an explosion and the eerily collapsing bulkheads of a ship being eaten for lunch by good old Neptune. BdU still has to confirm it but The Duke simply put a destroyer kill in the log.


We then moved on to our patrol grid and after a day of not getting any contacts we decided to get closer to the English coast and perhaps have a look at the port of Lowestofte. As we were underway, a merchant appeared on the horizon. While we were setting up for attack, Adolf, my most experienced lookout who has been with us the entire year, called out a fire spreading on the merchant. She quietly went down as we got closer. This was of course a clear warning sign but instead of giving the whole thing some thought, we just joked that our mere appearance was enough to have the enemy scuttle their ships. As I was planning our approach of the harbor together with Otto, someone or something smashed me on the head and I made an involuntary flying trip through the control room. Next thing I remember I am lying in a bed in the aft crew compartment, along with a score of other men, all either bleeding or laying very still. I got to my feet and stumbled back into the control room to find Fritz (who is now Leutnant zur See and wearer of the Iron Cross) and boatswain Hasse shouting and working like men possessed, alongside 10 crewmen who looked like they were not injured. They were all up to their knees in water. I asked Hasse for a quick summary and this is what he told me:


'Hull integrity intact but heavy leaking and heavy flooding. All deck and conning tower vitals destroyed, batteries gone, radio room gone, compressor and engines damaged but probably not beyond repair. We are running on the surface and if we dive we will probably never come up again. Watchcrew gone except for Beckman. Gert is running the boat backwards because we have all forward compartments heavy with flooding. Must have been a mine, Herr Kaleun'


I let them all get on with their work while I tried to get my head organized. We were in a minefield which had caused the merchant to sink in my binoculars. We were running backwards the way we came and we had to just keep our fingers crossed that we wouldn't hit another one. We were still afloat and we still had propulsion but that was about the only good news. I had Otto set a course for both his best guess out of this mess and then for the shortest way home to Kiel while I went in search of Freiherr Beckman. I found him on the bridge, putting out a fire which blazed on the backend of the Tiergarten. He was taking care of things in his usual calm fashion. After a lot of hard work we managed to get the boat somewhat secured. All fires extinguished, all flooding stopped except for a valve in the control room which refused to stop spraying water onto the charts table. All pumps working again and the boat was holding together, doing 12 knots now back to Kiel.


The Duke (presently Leutnant zur See Freiherr Beckman) told me that he and the first watchcrew had been standing on the bridge, keeping an eye out for the RAF, when he was thrown several meters up into the air. The boat, he said, was actually lifted out of the water by the exploding mine, he saw this because he was flying alongside her. He landed in the sea and immediately swam back, dragging Gustav with him who had landed in the water close to him. Gustav was one of our new crewmembers, he was injured but still alive. Adolf my senior nco on the bridge, Robert our cook and Hans, my old hand from U-2 were never found. They will be sorely missed and wrathfully avenged, so I hereby pledge.


We limped back into Kiel, the boat and Gustav were taken care of by the relevant professionals and I was ordered down to Flotilla HQ to receive the due bollocking by the boss. Would I care to explain why I completely wrecked my brand new boat? I told him it was him who suggested I be more aggressive and that did not go down well at all. After the shouting he gave me a pat on the back for at least bringing the boat back. We had not lost a single U-boot that month and he was glad I kept it that way. I told him he needed to thank Fritz and Hasse, and the other officers and men who pulled us out while I was lying unconscious in some sailor's bed and that was that.


Repairing the boat would take a lot of work and we were getting started with the organization when I was called to HQ again. I was one of the veteran Kaleuns and my crew were considered to be among the best in the U-boot waffe. We have, after all, been out on war patrols for a year now. Instead of waiting for the boat to get fixed we were all transferred to France. Back to first flotilla which was now stationed in the beautiful Atlantic port of Brest. A brand new Type VIIc was docked in the pens there and we were to take her under our charge. They wanted every able crew to get stuck in to the Atlantic convoys as soon as possible and so, here we are. Aboard U-93, the rooster on the tower still smelling of paint and a decorated crew of veterans, still busy to get settled in the new boat.


Sailing from Brest is a wonderful thing. I love France, what a beautiful country. It would be the perfect country if only the French did not live there. But I guess I would be a bit arrogant and hostile too if someone just waltzed over our army and told us we were their private wine cellar from now on. The best thing about France of course is the direct access to the Atlantic. All we have to do is avoid the RAF in the Bay of Biscay and we are in the convoy lanes after just 3 days of comfortable sailing! Quite a diffent cup of tea altogether, compared to our 7th patrol which consisted of 3 weeks of dangerous traveling for 1 attack run on a convoy.


That was the story of Feindfahrt 8, our last adventure on board U-51 and the death of 3 of my men. I have not had much to smile about and we are all determined to make U-93's maiden patrol, our 9th Feindfahrt, something to remember for a long time. Both by us and by the Royal and Merchant Navy.


To that end we are now doing 18 knots and Otto tells me we are now just 2 hours steaming away from the convoy. I can not remember him ever being wrong so I am just going to go up the bridge, smoke a cigarette and tell the Duke to keep those excellent eyes of his peeled.




September 27th, 1940. U-93, grid BE31 (North Atlantic)


-5:00 pm
Horrible weather, visibility practically zero. Convoy very close, Karl hears them spread out to our starboard but we can't see a thing so we'll keep shadowing it until this weather clears up.


Before I told the story of U-51, I said I was writing that as we were running in broad daylight. I want to keep things slightly organised so I first have to finish my account of that run, the first attack in U-93.

We engaged the convoy in the Irish sea 3 days ago with some success. They slowly emerged out of the setting sun and we got off a contact report before going in for the attack. It was a bit too clear for a surface run so we crept in from long range and executed our 7-shot-plan which is now becoming our standard attack procedure. As we got closer at 4 knots submerged after the initial launch, I noticed a peculiar silhouette among the merchants on the far side of the convoy. An auxiliary cruiser! Not exactly the Prince of Wales but still a capital ship. The Duke confirmed my identification and gave Udo the good news, the house of lords worked like I never saw them work before. This one was going down, all 13000 tons of her. For Adolf, Hans and Robert. As soon as they had an eel ready I sent it after her from 2000 meters, it exploded on magnetic trigger under her bow. That must be where they keep the ammunition for the forward guns because she went up with an enormous bang! Excellent results. 2 large merchants went up as well but the big tanker and the third merchant we hit managed to stay with the convoy. 3 ships for 7 torpedoes, it could have been better but we are all pleased about the cruiser. Fritz gave a faint impression of a grinning cockerel and Gert came out of the engine room, looking like a transparent corpse, to join us in a shot of gin. Here is to the Royal Navy and to Adolf, Hans and Robert, may they all rest in peace.



September 30th, 1940. U-93, grid


-8:00 am
Out of fuel, that's a first. We are covering the last miles into Brest on the last fumes that linger in the bunkers and I am not overly worried because we have some batteries left as well to take us in on the electrics if it comes to that. Gert is giving me grumpy looks all day and he swears he will apply for a transfer if I keep mistreating his beloved diesels like this. I know that's just a bluff, he loves to show off and inside he is swelling with pride. Rightfully so because he and the engine room boys kept it going for days, plowing through the storm as we kept in contact with that convoy, hoping for the weather to clear up. We kept a close eye on the fuel situation and when we had absolutely nothing to spare for the return journey to Brest, I assembled all the staff for deliberation. We were just going to charge right through the convoy at first light. Visibility was no more than 500 meters so it wasn't going to be a good one. The Duke loved it but he was the only one. Time to put on my cocky grin.


I stood next to him on the bridge, at the uzo while he scanned through the horizontal rain for silhouettes coming out of the miserable grayness that engulfed the boat. There! A bow crashing into a huge wave just off our starboard. A huge mass of ship followed the bow and it took some quick manouvering to set us up. Emergency reverse and hard port rudder did it, we got off 2 shots at 300 meters and the torpedoes managed to arm in time. 1 down. Flank ahead again, into what should be the second column of the convoy. Another shape emerged off our port, running away from us. I took a quick guess and had Udo change adjust for a magnetic trigger at 12 meters. It was a good guess and she exploded in a ball of flames which looked entirely out of place in this wet, gray, terrible storm. It must be hell for those poor sailors but we were not exactly having an easy ride ourselves. We got off our remaining 2 eels as well but nothing hit its mark as far as we know. Then we bailed out of the convoy, having running straight through it and we disappeared into the storm again. I did not go down to listen to the escorts, I just walked away. If we can't see them, they sure can't see me, right?


That was 3 days ago and ever since we have been biding our time, waiting for the boat to cover the 1000 kilometers that separated us from Brest at a rate of 13 kilometers an hour. 2 torpedoes left but no fuel to find a target for them. Either way this has been a good patrol. U-93 is worthy of the rooster.


Leutnant zur See Vom Bosch,
Kaleun Type VIIc U-93

[Sailor Steve]

Good stuff!:rock:

Playing the stock game? I ask because of your early reference to a "British C2 cargo vessel". Back when the game was released several of us pointed out that the ships used were somewhat irritating, because the C and T types were specifically American and didn't enter the war until 1942. Somebody who knew where to look very quickly changed them to "Medium Cargo", and so many new ship models have been created that I forgot about it until I read your note.

Still, great writing. I can't wait for the next installment.

[Bosje]

thanks for the positive comments, people :)
i've been playing stock for a couple months, getting hooked and losing interest on and off...
then i found these forums, started playing hardcore at high realism and got firmly backed on 'hooked'

decided to keep a little journal to give some character to my crew, makes it even more interesting because I was devastated when I hit that mine :huh:

This career is 84% realism and DiD (map update allowed with RuB mod, free camera for eye candy and Udo does my calculations coz i am complete crap at math)

the journal got a bit out of hand as you can see, but I really like writing it

i installed SH3 commander and the Real U boat war mods in between patrols 6 and 7
my pc won't pull GWX though, unfortunately.

[Bosje]

13-02-1941
BdU to all boats concerned
regret to inform U-93 has failed to report in after last report 3 days ago
U-93 now officially missing presumed sunk by convoy escorts vicinity Gibraltar

[Jimbuna]

Sorry to hear that Kaleun.....Good luck with your next command http://img522.imageshack.us/img522/9708/piratebf4.gif (http://imageshack.us)

[Bosje]

took the opportunity to delete SH3 and get GWX, works like a dream :D

maybe LzS Vom Bosch has a brother, we shall see

[Jimbuna]

took the opportunity to delete SH3 and get GWX, works like a dream :D

maybe LzS Vom Bosch has a brother, we shall see

Ah GWX....now your cooking http://img120.imageshack.us/img120/9026/wolfthumbsuprw5.gif (http://imageshack.us)

[Brag]

Well written account. Congratulations Bosje :up:

[Bosje]

thanks everyone

Freiherr Beckman was fished out of the gibraltar straits by a Spanish fishing boat and he has been promoted. on the way to his first command, he too purchased a small writing journal...

[danurve]

Neat journal Bosje. :up:

[Schwuppes]

I love your Journals Bosje! :rock:

[Bosje]

Summer 1942, Norway


The train is shaking violently all the time, much like U-93 used to do. It makes writing quite hard. I wonder how Bernard managed to write in his war diary all those times he retreated to his quarters. He was my friend and I miss him a lot, Oberleutnant zur See Bernard Vom Bosch. All that remains of him and his boat are me and the worn-out old journal in my pocket. It has suffered greatly from the salt water and rough treatment it received since I found it among the debris as I was looking for survivors. There were none. We had been tracking a convoy near Gibraltar in very bad weather when suddenly shells started hitting the water around us. Before we could dive, the destroyer came charging out of the heavy rains, guns blazing. How he found us was a mystery to me until I recently started hearing spooky things of this new radio waves location device, called radar. Whatever caused him to find us, our boat got shelled intensely by this bastard, bodyparts of the watchcrew were flying all over the place as I was hurled out of the open bridge into the heavy swell. By the time I came to my senses, the boat was gone along with all my comrades. The destroyer was nowhere to be seen either, he vanished as quickly as he had appeared. All I found was my Kaleuns journal, stuffed it inside my jacket and started to swim for the Spanish coast.

Several hours later I was picked up by a fishing boat which dropped me off at their home port in Spain. There I was, on my way back to the fatherland. Shaken and distraught: Leutnant zur See Freiherr Beckman, known to his mates as 'The Duke'. First Officer and sole survivor of The Rooster. Now, 6 months later, still alone in the world and on a train to the Norwegian port of Bergen. After half a year of waiting, training and more waiting, I am now being given my own command. I am officially a veteran after the war patrols under Kaleun Vom Bosch so everyone has full confidence in my abilities, but it is an entirely different war now. Radar and far extended air cover as well as improved asdic have made life very unpleasant for us, the gray wolves of the Atlantic. But we are not defenseless and I was always one to enjoy the hunt. I do admit I am scared and I purchased a small writing journal of my own when I arrived in Oslo last week. It seemed to help my old Kaleun deal with his fears and I guess it won't hurt to vent my emotions through my pen, even if I am already well established as a cocky and arrogant but also aggressive and capable U-boot man. We shall see.

A brand new type VIIC boat, U-735, is waiting for me in Bergen to take her into commission. Our first testruns are scheduled for september 1942 and after that I will take the boat to war. This journal will be on board.

The Duke

[Bosje]

Autumn 1942, North Atlantic


War is hell, of course. Always has been, always will be. But at least in the old days there was kind of dignity about it. There is no dignity in washing the blood off the Flak guns and finding bits of flesh lodged between the working parts. I learned a lesson at the expense of my first watch crew.


Now, I am not enjoying the hunt anymore and the crew would be on the verge of mutiny if they had not been brainwashed into fanatical young idiots who know nothing except to blindly follow orders. My 1.WO is the only one who displays any level if independent intelligence and it is he who has lost all confidence in me, more than anyone. I am catching up on the new U-boot war but too slowly, men are dead and the boat has taken a beating. The enemy are miles ahead of where they were in the happy times and I need to learn the basics all over again. The boat is full of weird and wonderful machines and gadgets, we have a thing called the Biscay Cross which is supposed to tell us if radio detection rays are emitted towards us. I don't quite understand how it works but I do know it seems to work only half the time. Those bombers are often on us without warning and they need very little time to attack us after being spotted by the crew. Damn this, we are 2 weeks into our first war patrol and we can not even reach our patrol grid without having to dive every other hour.


The patrol started out quite well: we sailed from Bergen on a beautiful autumn morning, the boat performed wonderfully and morale was very high. The crew seemed to revere me as a god because I lived through the first year of the convoy battles under one of the aces. Our exploits are the very reason these kids joined the U-boot waffe. They are the new brand of warriors, straight out of the Hitler Jugend. My second officer is their ringleader and role-model, blinded by the faith in the final victory and desperate to get a piece of the glory. The good thing about that is that they are physically supremely fit and able. Even though they are inexperienced, their training must have been excellent. They can reload torpedoes faster than I ever saw before. I hope they will show the same discipline and toughness when we come under depth charge attack. The downside is that the boat sports a hideous swastika on the conning tower and all I ever hear inside the boat and on the bridge is propaganda-inspired nonsense which oozes from all of them. I am an aristocrat, my family were fighting Germany's wars long before national socialism was even conceived. I am proud to be a soldier for my fatherland but these nazis are driving me mad with their ignorant hollow words. Still, I am their commander and as such responsible for them. And I messed it up.


The alarm woke me up with a start, as I stumbled out of bed into the control room I saw that it was 5:45 am. Air attack during the night? I will not stand for that. 'DON'T DIVE!' I yelled. 'Hans, what have you got?' My 1.WO quickly reported as he was climbing down the ladder into the control room: '2 bombers, coming at us straight ahead! We need to dive immediately, Herr Kaleun!'
I did not even consider thinking about it. We had 2 twin 20mm guns on the wintergarten after all, and I still had to see the first plane put as much as a dent in a U-boot. Despite what I had heard about the recent RAF exploits I ordered my second officer onto the bridge: 'Kurt, get up there and get those guns manned and ready! Show those flyboys who's boss around these parts!'
He followed the watchcrew back up the ladder with an enthousiastic 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun' as Hans, my 1.WO, grabbed me by the shoulder. 'Are you insane? We need to dive NOW or they will kill...'


He never got to finish the sentence. All the boys in the control room involuntarily ducked as a huge roar grew louder very quickly. I could hear machine guns rattling and then a very sharp metallic staccato as bullets were finding their mark all over the hull of the boat, between the automatic firing a sickening scream. Kurt tumbled back into the control room, his face very white underneath all the splattered blood. 'Are they still alive?!' I roared as I made my way up the ladder. He wobbled his head, clearly in shock but otherwise unharmed at first glance. I took it as a 'no', closed the hatch as fast as I could and then, finally, I ordered the crash dive. It was not the end of the boat, water was coming in through all compartments but they were only minor leaks. My oberbootsmann got the boat all secured by the time I ordered the LI to level off at 40 meters depth. Then it was silent, I did not know what to say. I sent those boys out to be executed on the bridge and they were still out there, probably dead but even that I did not know for sure.


So that is how I learned to fear the new Royal Air Force. Day or night, they can find us. Sometimes we are warned about them in time, sometimes not. The crew are quiet and subdued, the officers do not revere me anymore and the boat is damaged. I need to know a lot more about the effectiveness of their radar sets, I need to know how deep my boat can still dive after that terrible attack, and I need to know if my officers will execute my commands the next time we are close to the enemy. The LI reports all systems operational but he is sure the hull is weakened and I decide on a very risky move to test the boat, the crew and myself.


'Oberbootsmann, get your damage control party to stand by. LI, take her down to 100 meters, but slowly.' Discipline has been thoroughly stamped into these boys; 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun'. But they are clearly scared. 'Steady boys, we need to see if she holds together at depth. Better to find out now than when the bombs are going off around us, eh?' That prospect doesn't help much to improve their spirits but at least it reminds them that I am the veteran here.


As the boat gets close to 100 meters she starts to complain. Creaking and squirming in a way that she should not be doing yet. I know we are already approaching critical depth for the battered hull. The LI is sweating as I tell him to go deeper but prepare for emergency manoeuvres. The Obersteuermann stands rigidly with his back to the charts table and the only one who seems relaxed is the 1.WO. He simply looks at me with an inquisitive stare. 'Deeper, LI'


As we pass 120 meters the boat lets out an eerie scream. I hear the boys in the bow compartment, some of them answering with a scream of their own. 'Hold her at 130 meters, LI' But as he starts to level her off at 130 meters, the boat sounds another scream, then a loud bang and then I hear water coming in.'Emergency reverse! Planes up for surface!' This should pull the boat back up but the hull is being slowly crushed by the pressure and the lights start to flicker. 'Blow all ballast tanks, NOW!' I have my eye fixed on the depth gauge while the oberbootsmann and his crew rush to secure all the leaks. The boat rises back up to 100 meters and the lights are working properly again, all compartments are reported secure, albeit in shaky voices and I clear my throat before I get onto the speaker. 'Well done boys, now we know what she can take. You all earned yourself a beer after your next watch, now let's find us a convoy.'


So after that adventure I know U-735 is still operational as a combat unit. Now the hunt is on, I need to strike hard at a convoy to show the crew what kind of commander they are blessed with, in spite of yesterday's tragedy. Hans is in control, I am getting some sleep. Until the next alarm, upon which we shall immediately dive.



The Duke

[msalama]

Thank you Bosje. Brilliant stuff from a talented writer this here. TBH I think you should have a crack at going pro if you're not one already, because judging from these excerpts you really seem to have what it takes :up:

Thanks again Herr Kaleun, eagerly waiting for the follow-ups. S!

[Bosje]

A week later. Hans has the bridge watch and I join him to smoke my pipe. It's the middle of the night and there is a decent swell. Perfect conditions for a night raid on a convoy, if only a convoy would be near. We have not received any contact reports for a week and we ourselves have not had anything to report. We are in our assigned patrol area, south of Iceland, diving every 2 hours to listen on the hydrophones or diving away from radar signals. Those radars give me the creeps, their range is said to be some 10 kilometers, depending on the conditions, and I want to learn more about them. After all, you have to know your enemy to defeat him. I think if we keep our hull down in the waves, we can get closer than that on a night like this. Our wizard antenna can pick up their signals before they should be able to detect our boat, we usually get a nice early warning and we have not been attacked since that first terrible encounter. But that is not enough, we need to be able to run on the surface if we want to have any chance of intercepting the convoys. The days of surface charges into convoy columns are well over, of course, but the cat and mouse game is still there. Even if it is played at a new level. A plan starts to formulate in my head, as Hans tells me what he has learned of RAF radar. Then Jakob calls up from below: 'Radio message, Herr Kaleun, contact report!'


We sit in the officer's mess. The LI, Hans, Kurt, Obersteuermann Petersen, Jakob the radio operator and me. It is early in the evening of October 8th, 1942. The convoy is reported steaming outbound, more or less towards our position. Petersen has the interception plotted in 4 or 5 hours, depending on what speed we can maintain.
'Also, meine Herren, we are going to attack this one. Full speed interception. If we pick up radar signals on the way, we will keep running on the surface until they come close to 10 kilometers, with the decks awash but maintaining a speed of at least 10 knots, turning our tail directly towards the signal. We dive only when they get even closer than that. The sea is our friend tonight, the waves are as high as the bridge will be. Watch crews will be relieved every 2 hours. Let's make the most of our headstart. Jakob agrees they will have a hard time spotting us and he is the radio wave expert here', I smile, 'Any comments?'


There are none, they simply get it done. Only Hans seems less than happy but surely he realises that we are here, after all, to sink ships. 'Herr Kaleun, what if they have their radars turned off to surprise us? That is how that first bastard was on us without warning.' 'We'll just have to take it as it comes, 1.WO.'
Thats the best I can come up with. I hope to God that I am not horribly under-estimating my enemy. 'Ok boys, prepare for a long night. That is all.'


I am scared. They should just make a big flying bomb with a radar, which flies itself into the enemy ships. Yeah, like that will ever happen. It is down to us to sink them: stinking bearded boys inside a small steel cigar, trying to stay hidden from so many eyes. To hell with it, we are going full speed ahead.


Sure enough, after an hour Jakob reports a signal to our stern. We get low, keeping the signal right behind us as only the bridge sticks up out of the sea. We maintain a decent speed this way. Jakob constantly gives me his best estimate of their range. At around 9 or 10 kilometer away it seems to turn away to the east! 15 minutes later Jakob does not get a signal anymore. That's it: a first inclination of their restrictions. 10 kilometers in mediocre waves. Back up on top of the waves, full speed once again.


An hour later: another or the same radar is registering on our wizard tool. 7 kilometers, Jakob says. We dive, we are not attacked. Half an hour later we let it get as close as 5 kilometers. The entire boat is rigged for an emergency plunge down into the cellar on my command. I am still on the bridge, together with the third watch. 'Aircraft! Bearing 170!' 'ALAAARM!'
The boat takes a nosedive and drops down in seconds, I barely have time to close the hatch. The crew are doing an excellent job. 'Hard to port, level off at 40 meters, ahead 2/3'
Bombs explode somewhere off our starboard bow, where we would have been had we maintained speed and heading. Heh, these guys should learn to take a gamble every once in a while and drop their bombs anywhere but on the observed position, that's what I would do. 15 minutes later the plane is already gone and we are back on track.


The crew are visibly affected by the action. The excitement of the hunt starts to increase morale: they are being taken by it. Just like me, so very long ago. Hans is affected too, he is not as calm as I would want my 1.WO to be. But he seems to regain some of his confidence in me as we get ever closer to the convoy without a scratch. He served on coastal boots for about a year but he never saw much of the enemy, except the planes which he learned to fear so much. The rest of the crew are completely green, even if well-trained. I hope they don't fall apart when things heat up.


Midnight, we are at 20 meters and it is now down to Klaus on the hydrophone to find the convoy. Yeah there they are, a cacophony of screws, very long range but getting stronger. Back up to the surface for the final approach. Verdammt! Those escorts have radar too. Of course. 10 minutes past midnight, we are not yet where I want us to be. At least 4 radar sets are transmitting, still at very long range. God knows how many more escorts without radar. Decks awash, we creep to our attack position. First estimate on convoy speed 9 knots, coming straight towards us, the closest picket escorts about 15 kilometers away. Conditions are brilliant: a nice swell to hide our periscope and to mess with their asdic, visibility is quite decent despite the overcast. The hunt is on.


In spite of all his new tricks and toys, the enemy are still just guys, like us. I play the game of cat and mouse and the crew are executing my orders to the letter. This is still my territory, my game. We sneak into the convoy, slipping right through the escort screen. Things are happening very fast now: doubleshot on that fat merchant, range 2000meters speed 7 knots 20 degrees port. Fire tubes 2 and 3 on a 3 degree spread. LOS! Fast running torpedo impact depth 3, medium merchant bearing 10 starboard 1200 meters. LOS! Fast running impact depth 3 on the fat one right in front of us. LOS!
As the fourth torpedo leaves the tube, the first two find their target. A chain of enormous explosions rumbles across the waves, through the convoy, and as if a giant switch were flicked, dozens and dozens of searchlights suddenly turn night into day.
'Down periscope, 20 degrees starboard rudder, full speed ahead, maintain periscope depth. Mister Speaker! Start reloading tubes 2 and 3!'
As the obermechaniker of the forward compartment gets his crew together to reload the tubes, the men in the control room look at me in horror. Hans is the first to speak: 'We do not dive?'
'No we do not dive,' I say and I turn to Klaus to ask him what the escorts are up to. Before anyone can say anything else, 2 more torpedoes find their mark. A crack and a rumble and I start to grin. 'This is my turf, boys. Trust me.'
Christ I hope I am right on this.


The Duke

[Brag]

Ghasp. :huh:

[Bosje]

The escorts are running around like crazy but none of them are coming straight for us. This is the tactic I watched my old Kaleun use many times: stay close to the surface and run through the convoy. They will have a hell of a time finding us between all the merchants and we might be able to sink one more if the tubes are reloaded. Of course, that was back in 1940. These days we receive a radio message every other day of how BdU regrets to inform U-so and so lost at sea. But I have no time for such contemplations. Periscope up for a quick glance. No destroyers charging in, good. There, a gigantic shadow comes out of the shrouds of smoke and mist. Looks like a converted whale factory ship, must be tens of thousands of tons, right in front of us. To the port I can see a bow sticking out of the waves, our first kill. To the starboard fires are blazing on two more ships. All torpedoes found their target. I swing the periscope around, 'Flood tube 5.' A small merchant shows me her portside, perfect for a sternshot. 'Speed 8 knots, bearing 190, range 900, set depth 3 meters for impact pistol' 'Tube 5 ready' 'LOS!' A hiss and it is on its way. 'Steer starboard 20, ahead 2/3' As I line us up for the massive tanker in the distance, she is slowly but surely turning away from us. What is keeping the boys in the House of Lords? And shouldn't that last torpedo have hit by now?


I am doing mental arithmetic at a frantic pace to deduct where this girl will be in 2 minutes. 'Tube 2 reloaded and ready, Herr Kaleun' Excellent. 'Set for magnetic pistol, depth 11 meters. Range 2300, bearing 35, speed...6 knots' This is a longshot. 'Flood tube 2, fire when rea....'
It sounds like someone plunks one of the higher note strings on an enormous grand piano. My heart misses a beat and the whole crew goes perceptibly rigid. Asdic!
-PING- again. It feels like the soundwave alone can damage the boat. Klaus shouts out 'we are being pinged, Herr Kaleun,' which is quite redundant but he learned to do so. Discipline above everything.
'Fire that torpedo! AK voraus! Rudder zero!' I swing the periscope around, this is the price I must pay for my gluttony, I failed to pay attention to my surroundings while setting up the last shot. 'Cancel loading tube 3, close all doors, Alfons get your crew ready!' The boys jump back into action, the Oberbootsmann assembles his damage control party and I hear the torpedo leave the tube while I desperately scan the waves for our musical friend. My periscope is coming around to the stern and then I am suddenly blinded by a searchlight. Slightly port abaft, coming up through our baffles. No idea what class of ship, all I see is the piercing searchlight and a sharp bow splitting the sea underneath it, but I can be sure it is the type of class designed to kill us. 'Down periscope, get us deep as quick as you can, LI, maintain zero rudder.' I hear the LI calling all spare hands to the forward compartments, to make the nose heavier, while I leave the conning tower and join my horrified crew in the control room.


Now all we have is our ears. No exploding torpedoes so far, it was a waste of precious time after all. Chug chug chug chug chu chu chuchuchugugugu. You instinctively look towards the sound, which is pointless. But it means everyone is looking straight at the ceiling of the control room. She is right on top of us. A destroyer on her attack run, accelerating as she drops the depthcharges. 'Launch the bolt, hard port rudder, LI get us deeper!' The depthgauge is passing 60 meters when Klaus calls the splashes. 'Rudder zero, brace yourself boys!' The depthcharges explode behind and above us, but very close. The stern is pushed down by them and I hear all kinds of stuff falling to the floor or rattling in their racks, throughout the boat. The boys look terrified, eyes wide open, but this is nothing, they haven't got us yet. 'Ahead 2/3, LI level off at 100 meters, hard port rudder, damage reports!' 'All compartments secure, Herr Kaleun!' Now the destroyer is swinging around, we are presenting her our flank but the decoy should be a little distraction for her, somewhere behind us. This is going to be tough because I dare not take the boat below 130 meters. 'Silent running, port 20, LI keep it below 50 rpm.' I want to complete the turn to port, to present her our arse, but we are turning very slowly to stay silent. I stick my head through the soundroom hatch, only to see Klaus turn towards me, his face a ghostly pale complexion in the red lights. 'Fast screws closing rapidly from all directions, at least 4 warships, Herr Kaleun.' The Obersteuermann has put 7 marks on his mini blackboard, the depthcharge count. I expect the blackboard will prove too small tonight.
And so it begins, the hunter hunted.



The Duke

[Bosje]

Two tin cans take it in turns to blow the hell out of the decoy behind us. The blackboard is getting crowded with all the chalk marks. 30, 40 and still more are being dropped. But nowhere close to us, it seems we are slipping away. 2 more destroyers are circling around the site, we have to stay very quiet. I am building a mental picture of what is going on above us, based on what Klaus can whisper from his shack and I imagine the escort commanders up top doing the same. We do hear the occasional ping, out of spite I guess, but so far we are just all here, doing our thing. Waiting for the other guy to make a mistake.


'Screws closing fast, bearing 200' I can hear them even through the hull: a propeller churning through the waves behind us and getting louder very fast. Verdammt! Have they found us? 'Klaus, track him for me'
'Getting louder, coming up through our port side and closing. 220 degrees..235 degrees, 240 degrees, 245 degrees, 246, 247...248...249...now coming straight at us, getting very close!'
I close my eyes. He is going to be above me in seconds. But he did not come in a straight run. It was a big turn, a semi-circle ending exactly above me and starting somewhere behind us. Behind us where they are still bombing the empty sea, the decoy has long since died. Either this bastard is at the beginning of his attackrun and he already found us, or he is at the end of his run and turning to listen for suspicious sounds. He is now very very close, my mind is racing, the crew around me are closing their eyes, their faces tensely screwed together and their bodies involuntarily crouching, to make them feel smaller and somehow less vulnerable. The LI whispers urgently: 'Herr Kaleun?'
I make my decision: 'maintain 50 rpm, port 20 rudder, planes on dive.' As an afterthought: 'and don't let her slip below 120 meters.' I watch the needle of the depthgauge creep down, very slowly. Too slowly if the charges are already on their way. Any man would have ordered insane speed ahead by now, to get the hell away from under this bastard. The enemy, now almost on top of us, suddenly slows down, then stops. He is listening. Then he leaps forward once again, accelerating very fast and passing directly over us. Verdammt verdammt verdammt. No splashes though. I tell the LI to double the rmp to 100, getting us going at 2 knots for a couple of seconds. It will hardly move us at all but our position will at least change a few meters deeper and away to port. The needle slips past the 120 meter mark. 'Hold her there, LI!' Death awaits a few meters below my feet. If a bomb explodes near the hull now, we will probably be crushed instantly into oblivion. But nothing happens. I was right about the bastard above us, his turn ended above us by coincidence. '50 rpm, LI'


I turn towards Hans to explain my decision, he has to make the same calls some day when he gets his own command. But he is standing in a small puddle and a sharp smell of ammonia reaches my nostrils. He has pissed himself. The rest of the crew are huddled near the forward and aft hatches to the control room. They should be lying in their bunks now, being very quiet, but I let them be. 'Don't worry boys, they are just trying to scare you. Don't give them the satisfaction, we will pull through just fine.' But it took just one look to see that the enemy were, in fact, succeeding admirably. I give them a wink and continue my lesson to Hans, ignoring the piss. 'They are trying to push us, press us into making a mistake. If we had gone to full speed ahead just now, he would probably have heard us as soon as he stopped. And those other boys around would have heard us too. They lost us after the first run and we have been silent ever since. Always remember this: when you get below 100 meters, think first, then think again, and only then: act. Never give away your headstart unless you are absolutely sure that they have you. And then, once committed, give it everything you have: as deep and as fast as possible.'
The LI turns his head for a second, grinning. 'Genau wie Bumsen'. Some of the boys display a hint of a smile, then Klaus calls out: 'Fast screws closing, bearing 150 coming up on our starboard.'
There we go again.



The Duke

[Bosje]

We lost count of the depthcharges and it was a nerve-wrecking night. But it is over now. All the boys are sleeping, except the second watchcrews in the engine- and control rooms. U-735 has held together and the escorts have finally passed beyond the range of our hydrophone. I am convinced we are safe for the time being. The boat is floating at 30 meters and doing a modest 2 knots. It will not get us very far but our course is east, which means home. We will need a week to reach Bergen still but we can afford to take it easy, diving away from any contacts and running on the surface at night. We still have half our torpedo load but the boys have really had enough for this patrol and the boat is too beat up to go after this convoy again. I only attacked it to prove a point and I pushed it far enough. But I am feeling much better for it, at least there is something familiar still left in this war: the mind game with the escorts is as I remember it, although we both have improved toys to aid us.


The LI and Oberbootsmann agree that the boat will need at least 2 months in dock and it will be winter before we set out again. Most importantly however, the crew are combat veterans now. Less ideology and more common sense has been reaching my ears from their quarters, they are rapidly becoming U-boot men. Just as well because I doubt the enemy are sitting still. This war is getting tougher by the day. Now I too am going to sleep.


Oberleutnant Freiherr Beckman
(The Duke to his friends)

[Jimbuna]

Cool http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/thumbsup.gif

[Brag]

You've been busy, nice style :D

[Bosje]

Everyone is miserable. Our muscles constantly ache from the shivering. Cold cold cold. All I can think is cold, all I can breathe is cold. The food cold, the drink cold, my tobacco cold. No sign of the enemy for an entire month, while we are freezing our arses off in the Arctic. I was under the impression that here, at least, we had air cover and surface units roaming around, sending the Murmansk convoys to the bottom and informing us of the positions of the remaining ships, so we can finish them off. But there is nothing here, just cold. We are sailing up and down through an empty sea. Smooth as a mirror. Void of life. Cold, bored, colder still, balancing on the edge of insanity. What the hell are we doing here? I am actually hoping for a storm, just to give us something to do, something to take our mind off the cold. Morale is at an all-time low, hardly any fuel left: we go home tomorrow.

Contact! Finally our routine peek below the waves pays off. Just when I wanted to vacate this hell of ice. No merchants, only fast screws. We close in at flank speed. Radar detected. We go below and sneak our way to a position that will hopefully prove adequate, they are moving fast though, we will only have one shot. Now we must slow down or they can hear us. Through the periscope: a large superstructure. Later: A hull to go with it. A sleek and beautiful hull. A German hull. Heavy cruiser, Graf Spee or something similar. I consider killing it but I find I am not completely insane. Yet.


We are on our way home but I am still desperate for something, anything. We take the slightest detour with the last drops of fuel: The Faeroer, the waters are fully controlled by the enemy. I have probably gone mad, I don't care.


Radar contact. Dive, listen. No merchants, just warships. Deja vu. If they are German again I am going to shoot them with my Luger. I can see the officers start to worry about me. They think I lost my wits and they are right. I should be relieved of my command but Hans is nowhere near strong enough to carry this boat on his back. Certainly not after the past couple weeks. I slide over to Klaus in his shack and listen with him on the earpiece. Fast screws, lots of them. Old and worn out engines, still working like crazy long after they should have been scrapped. I recognize that sound, vintage destroyers. My enemy. I wake up out of the madness: this is actually it! The enemy! I need some coffee and I need to kick the crew into action. Battle Stations! Hans on the observation periscope, I on the attack periscope. Let's have a look at our prey. It is the first morning of 1943. Happy new year, mister Churchill.


Klaus breathes from his shack: 'Capital ships, heavy units!' A second later I see them: Battleships. I do not recognize them. They are not English, I am sure of it. What the... 'Hans, can you identify them?' He flips through the pages of the ship identification book frantically, but he is taking too long. They are steaming very fast and they will be almost on top of me in seconds. 'To hell with it! Flood tubes 1 through 4! Down periscopes.' I make a quick estimation: 'line up tubes 1, 2 and 4 for a 3 degree spread, impact pistol depth 5 meters, target speed 21 knots.' A second later: 'Up periscope.' The attack periscope shoots up and down for half a second, I only catch a glimpse but it is all I need. A fourstacker is headed right for me and the rest of the image consists of an enormous battleship, begging to be destroyed. 'Range 800 meters bearing 340, fire NOW!' I am afraid I am too late, the torpedoes need to make an very tight turn to port to even catch this big old lady, the taskforce is steaming so fast. The destroyer is going to pass over our heads any second but I am sure they are not yet aware of us, the taskforce was on a straight course. A perfect keel formation on the battleships. 'Full speed ahead, go deep!'


We dodge under the destroyer and then pop up again to periscope depth as the torpedoes strike home. Two explosions followed by a roaring crescendo: we must have hit her rear turret magazines. The fourstacker drops depthcharges like a startled dame drops her purse: a reflex, not even close. Periscope depth, hard to port! I still have two torpedoes left, let's make the most of them. No point in staying hidden now. Up periscope! A quick full scan. The battleship is already gone, nothing left except burning water. Complete annihilation. Then I see the fourstacker and I see the flag she is flying: Yanks. Strange, I never even considered we would encounter an American battlegroup here, that's why I failed to identify the battleship. Ah well, it doesn't matter now. A light cruiser presents herself squarely to my sterntube. It will be an impossible shot but I try it anyway. Tube 5, LOS! One torpedo left, tube 3. This is a new torpedo, it can run in a ladder pattern, nobody knows if they even work. I make a complete mess of the calculations which have to be done inside half a second, I set the eel loose so that it will hopefully catch one of these escorts in the flank while they go after us. If it actually works it will be pure luck rather than skill. And we dive.


I am not comfortable, I do not know this enemy. This is the first time I get anywhere near them and they know exactly where we are. But the boat is ready for the game: she has been fully repaired and we have a new toy. Something called Alberich coating, it is supposed to mess with their Asdic. 'Starboard 30, ahead 2/3, dive deep!' A quick word to the boys: 'We got her: a big old battleship. Now it is their turn. Be ready for it.' Nobody cheers just yet. The next series of depthcharges explodes. Roughly where we launched our first eels, we are nowhere near there anymore. 'Schleichfahrt, level off at 100 meters.' Obersteuermann Petersen gets the chalkboard ready, Alfons prepares the damage control party and the rest of the crew go and play dead in their quarters. Let's see how the Yank plays this game. Whomp! And another series of rumbles. The cruiser? There is no way to tell. Intelligence will confirm the kill, perhaps. Some day. For now, I must focus on getting out of here.

[Bosje]

Strange, we made an awful noise after hitting that battleship. But the escorts insist on depthcharging our initial firing position. We are slipping away, deep and silent, slowly passing 100, 120, 160 meters. No hurry, let them waste their amatol behind us all they want. I can't believe the Yanks are this incompetent. Maybe we should reload the forward tubes, turn around and engage them. But no, let's not tempt fate too much. Fifty marks on the board so far, all behind us. As we are listening to the cracks of the depthcharges, the boys start to relax. Already they are getting used to it. Suddenly the boat is pushed to the right and down. What the hell? A single depthcharge exploded quite close. Are we about to be exterminated? No screws are heading for us on an attackrun though. Alfons reports all compartments secure and for now, I put it down to pure luck on their part.


Indeed, that single explosion was the closest they ever came. Perhaps a stray charge out of a K-gun. Half an hour later Klaus reports all contacts sailing away to the north at high speed. We stay submerged for the rest of the day and we begin the short stretch home at nightfall. Three days later we dock at the Bergen pens, heralded as heroes because BdU has already received confirmation that two American capital units have been sunk near the Faeroer on new year's day. As the crew are lined up on the deck, waving and cheering, Hans turns to me on the bridge and whispers: 'You are a mad fool, stubborn as an ass, those wild attacks of yours will some day get us all killed, but you are one hell of a hunter, Herr Kaleun. Congratulations.' I take it at face value as Alfons chimes in, s******ing: 'Maybe we should paint an ass on our conning tower.' I grin and say: 'I don't mind, anything but that damn swastika will do just fine.'


Oberleutnant zur See Freiherr Beckman
(aka The Duke)

[Jimbuna]

Well done....a nice read http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/thumbsup.gif

[msalama]

Man, you write good. Please keep them coming. S!

[Jimbuna]

Looks like we have a spam bot folks http://img98.imageshack.us/img98/1817/thinkbigsw1yo4.gif

[Bosje]

The boat gently splits the mild swell as we navigate our way out of the fjords, which are rather beautiful this time of year. A layer of ice and snow covers the world and it takes some effort to remember that there is a dirty war going on. I turn around on the bridge and the spell is broken as I see the wintergarten. New guns. C38 20mm rapid firing automatic anti-aircraft cannons, on 2 mounts. They sport a steel shield to somewhat protect the gunners and we are supposed to have a better chance of fighting it out with the enemy planes. Enthusiasm still fails to register with me, I suspect I am still hungover.

It was a great party we had on our return in early January, celebrating my Iron Cross and the safe return and the kills and the American incompetence and the birthday of Hans and being alive and everything. The next morning I was dealing with the aftermath, forcing down hot coffee and catching up with some paperwork, when a knock on my door distracted me. I grumbled something and Hans came in. 'Yes, 1.WO?' 'Excuse me, Herr Kaleun, but you are going to want to see this.' I followed him out to the sub pens and when we arrived at our berth we immediately saw the yard workers in overalls doing all kinds of things to U-735. I walked up to the supervisor as proudly and purposefully as my hangover allowed and inquired just what the hell they were doing to my beloved boat. He replied that we were being issued the latest in active radar, air defense and active sonar systems, flotilla orders, priority assembly. We were to sail again as soon as possible and as well equipped as possible. I assembled my staff and we spent the rest of the month drinking some more.


The war in the Atlantic is reaching a climax. We are suffering heavy losses and so are they. The convoy battles these days are horrible engagements, involving dozens of U-boats and dozens more escorts. The merchant navy is gradually decimated, everyone realizes they can not take much more. Likewise the price we pay is too high, we can not sustain our losses. The next months will probably decide everyone's fates. Meanwhile they give me new guns which is futile, I will still dive from the big two- or four engined monsters which roam around the British Isles. They give me active sonar which will immediately give away my position to any escorts, if I ever use it. They give me active radar which will also give away my position if I ever use it. Utterly useless toys, therefore. Except perhaps in rare circumstances when I am going after a lone fishing boat through heavy fog. Since we are here to go after the biggest convoys, not lone fishermen, I am less than enthusiastic about it all. I am also unhappy with our patrol orders. We are to sail all the way around the British Isles to grid BF42, south of Ireland. That is where the convoys from Freetown and Gibraltar pass through on their final stretch to England. Fat targets and even fatter protection from escorts and aircraft. This is not going to be an enjoyable ride.

The Duke

[Bosje]

Our regular dip into the cellar resulted in a sound contact. A single ship, slow screws. We are going to have a look. Jakob is the man responsible for our radio waves. Not only the radio but now also the radar. We are going to test this device. I am curious who picks up the contact first: the human eyes of the watch crew or the electronic eyes of the radar.


Before long, Jakob gets a signal. Shortly after that the watch crew spot her. It is a beautiful clear day, I am pleasantly surprised by the effectiveness of this radar device, even though we can not use it all the time for fear of enemy radar detection devices. We approach the contact, it is a small fishing boat. I feel sorry for her. I feel even more sorry for her when I order Karl to open fire with the new 20mm cannons. We issue a warning salvo to allow the crew to abandon ship and then we sink her. The two barrels can spray an amazing amount of good news into the fisherman in a matter of seconds. She starts to burn, fuel bunkers go up with a bang and she is gone. I get the uncomfortable feeling we are going to be paid back for this savage-ish act. But the log reads 'Radar and guns highly effective against small single targets'.


Later that afternoon we get a contact on the radar warning receiver. Aircraft. We do not further test the guns, we dive. As we go down, Klaus reports fast screws to our west, spread out far between and all of them getting closer. No merchants, just warships. What is this? Did the fisherman get off a radio message? Did a destroyer force find the survivors? Payback already. We do not take any chances, we go deep and silent. They never find us, we stay deep all through the evening. Around midnight we surface and continue our way towards Rockall Bank. My intention is to hang around the bank for several days in the hope of catching inbound convoys from Halifax. I still can not believe they want us all the way south of Ireland. Surely the boats from Lorient, Brest and St Nazaire can take care of that area? Surely we are of more use in the North Atlantic? But BdU are using all available boats in a concentrated effort. As the Iceland-Greenland airgap is being closed they want us to try our luck on the southern convoy routes. Orders are orders and I am going to make my way there, but not before sinking my share of ships in the North Atlantic where I am most at home.



The Duke

[Jimbuna]

Keep it coming Kaleun...rivetting stuff http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/thumbsup.gif

[Bosje]

Rockall Bank used to be Gefundeness Fressen but these days the Allies are playing it tight. We got a contact report on a convoy but after searching a 60 kilometer area for an entire day after what should have been an accurate interception... we got nothing. A day later the convoy was found, probably by a Condor. We missed them and they were now well within the heavily protected waters of the Northern Canal. Shallow waters, too much of a risk. Besides we can't afford to burn the necessary fuel for another interception, we have a long way to go still. Verdammt. We deliberate in the Officer's Mess. How did they slip past us? For now, we put it down to sheer luck.


Four days later, we are leaving Rockall Bank and heading for our patrol grid, sailing south and keeping the airbases as far to our east as possible without actually going all the way out into the middle of the Atlantic. Fuel is an issue on this patrol. We get another contact report on a convoy. We turn around and go in pursuit. We reach the projected path of the convoy, they should sail through this area somewhere in the next couple of hours. Every hour we dive at the end of a 40 kilometer leg, as we zigzag across their path. Every hour I join Klaus in the sound shack and I feel he is getting increasingly ill at ease as he is forced to repeat: 'No sound contacts, Herr Kaleun.' My already icy manner is getting terribly cold over the next hours. Where in the hell are these bastards? Have they increased speed and are we already far behind them? Have they changed their course so drastically that they are passing us far to the north or south? Have they slowed down and are we actually sailing away in front of them? All we can do now is travel along what is hopefully their course and speed, waiting for perhaps a contact report from another of our boats or aircraft.


Nothing. We can not afford to waste any more time and fuel here, we have lost the convoy. Back on course towards BF42 and the crew take extreme care to not get in my way. This morning, Robert tripped and spilt burning hot coffee over my legs as I was glossing over the charts with Petersen. I gave him an unfair bollocking and he is now doing two consecutive shifts in the bow torpedo room, greasing the eels. Jakob calls out: 'Radar intercepted!' We dive away from the airplane long before he has any chance of picking us up in this lovely swell and I am more agitated still for being forced to flee while not causing my enemy any trouble. Then, finally, thankfully, Klaus gives an excited cry: 'Sound contact, very long range and moving away! Merchant, quite fast!' I hit my shin on the hatch as I race over to him but ignore this painful reason for further grumpiness. This is what I needed, the hunter in me quickly awakens and silences the icy hardcase with the horrible mood. I join Klaus as he happily tracks the contact for a couple of minutes.


Ok, this girl is sailing away from us, moving fast and at a very long range. Aircraft are about, radar sets turned on. It is early in the morning of February 14th so we are looking at a daytime surface interception of a contact in enemy controlled waters. Hans is not going to like this but he is not in charge. I hope that this girl turns out to be a straggler from that convoy, perhaps catching up after engine trouble. If so she will deliver us neatly onto the convoy's path. We start our run, catching up while running around her out of sight. Even at full speed this is going to take a while. We dive from radar contacts every so often and we keep our own radar turned off. We also maintain radio silence. I am not about to give away our position now that we finally made contact. Every time we dive I give Klaus a chance to listen out for any sign of the rest of the convoy. He never gets anything. Looks like this is just a lone merchant after all, traveling at high speed. Still, better than nothing.


The hunt is far from easy, she is doing 14 knots and heading straight for the Southern Canal into the Irish Sea. We are burning a lot of fuel while running after her and we are getting awfully close to the heavily guarded and shallow waters as we get ever nearer the English Ports. After hours and hours we are alongside the girl and we get our first look: A small tanker, Dutch flag, low on the water and running at what must be her top speed. As soon as we get our first proper fix on her, she messes it up as she suddenly starts on a zigzag. Hans mutters a curse at this but I tell him to relax. It means she effectively slows down by covering a lot more ground than necessary, making it easier for us to get ahead of her. We have all the time in the world to get a good fix on her exact zigzag pattern so it should not be too much of a problem to get a couple of torpedoes in her side either way.


An hour later we are out of visual range, ahead of her, and we dive. Now we simply listen and have the odd peek through the periscopes while she has no clue as to what we are doing. The zigzag translates in a speed of 8 knots, reaching the end of the northern leg every 3 or 4 minutes. We simply put this data into the vorhaltrechner as if it were her actual speed and course and we check the settings 15 minutes later. They add up, she is exactly where the instrument says she should have been. The fix is accurate and we launch 3 torpedoes on a 5 degree spread from what will be 800 meters by the time they all meet each other at the edge of the northward leg. Two of the eels hit her exactly abeam at the bow and stern, almost simultaneously and a rather horrible fire starts to postpone the darkness which should be covering the sea by now due to the approaching dusk. Klaus has never got any hint of the convoy during all of this, I give up on finding them while Hans puts the 4000 ton kill in the log.


The next day we are almost at our assigned patrol grid. We still have enough fuel to make it back to Bergen, provided that we do not chase after any other ghosts anymore. We spend the day submerged. Listening at the odd patrolling warship and waiting for any merchants to sail into the hydrophone. The majority of the boys are sleeping or hanging about, we are not getting any abuse from aircraft of warships and I am pleased to find out that The Irish Sea is so far proving a lot more peaceful than I had anticipated it to be.


The plan was to surface at nightfall and cross the final stretch to our patrol area but at 15:20 the boat is rigged to action stations. A convoy has steamed into Klaus' earphones. I listen with him as an incredible number of screws get ever louder, spanning an increasing arc to our southwest. They are heading right for us, all we have to do is sit very very still.



The Duke

[sunvalleyslim]

great story with a lot of effort on your part thanks..........:up::up::up:

[Schwuppes]

I can't wait for the next chapter! :up:

[Bosje]

'Oh wow, look at that frigate.' Hans has his eye on the observation periscope. I am looking through the attack scope and I see what he means, I'm not even sure it is a frigate. That is one amazing paint job. 'Oberbootsmann to the control room,' Hasse joins us in seconds. 'Take a look at that closest escort, Hasse.' He has a look and whistles through his teeth, 'That is quite gucci!' 'Hmm, isn't it? I want that for our boat, take care of it when we get back to Bergen, will you?' 'Very good, Herr Kaleun.' I keep looking at the frigate for a bit longer before I finally lower the scopes. We can't let them know we are here until after the torpedoes are launched, but I find it hard to stop looking at the ship's camouflage. Broad diagonal bands of a murky black cut across the hull which is otherwise the exact same rainy gray as the Atlantic. Your eyes just keep on being tricked as the ship moves in and out of the waves. Highly effective camouflage and, as my Oberbootsmann remarked, highly stylish too.


First things first, however. We are in waters no more than 200 meters deep and we are about to engage a heavily guarded convoy out of Gibraltar or Freetown. Alright, time for business. Up attack periscope, I get a range and bearing on the nearest fat target, an Empire type freighter. We get more data on the same target over the next couple of minutes and we put the convoy speed and heading down at 8 knots on 50 degrees. The Empire will be a priority target, a large cargo ship is right behind it and one column further north I select an ore carrier for destruction. Another ore carrier will pass our stern once we get inside the convoy and I have the stern tube loaded with a pattern running torpedo. We work out the details for the ladder while we position ourselves for the first 3 targets on the bow tubes. The ladder is a strange contraption but if it works, the ship will have no chance. The torpedo will just keep going across her path until it finds the hull. The picket ships look like they do not have a clue, the convoy lanes slowly come up and several minutes later, the bearing reads exactly 0 when I put the crosshairs on the Empire.


1 and 2 los! I turn the periscope a handful degrees to starboard. The ore carrier in the distance is being overtaken in my view by the Empire, a simple matter of projection. I should have fired one at her, first. Now I have to wait before I launch the torpedo, hopefully the first eels will slow the Empire down, leaving a clear path for this torpedo. Now, 3 los! I swing around to port, the large cargo is now almost in front of me. 4 los!


The periscope has been up for more than a minute straight, but we still have the rear tube with the pattern torpedo to take care of. Range now 2000 meters, fire on 30 degrees starboard rear angle, legs to the east at 800 meters. Fertig! Los! I swing around again as the boat starts to wobble a bit. The first two torpedoes have hit and the shockwave is strong enough to affect the boat. I am blinded by a ball of fire where the Empire used to be and swing the periscope further to port. Crack, whomp, rumble. The large cargo goes up in a chain of explosions after the torpedo hit what must be a hold full of ammunition. Almost time for the ore carrier in front of me. Nothing happens there. I swing around once more, the ore carrier behind me is being struck near the bow, on the far side of the ship, her starboard side. The ladder pattern worked, then. She quickly starts to dip her bows ever deeper into the swell. That is enough exposure, down periscope. Reload tubes 1,2 and 5 with our remaining pattern torpedoes.


The crew are used to my seemingly foolhardy tactics and they get to work on the torpedoes right away. Hans mutters something about being a fool but we have not really been given a hard time by any escorts yet. Maintain periscope depth, ahead 2/3, steer heading 50. We are going to stay right in the middle of the convoy and hopefully get 2 more with those fascinating pattern eels. Only the third torpedo, aimed at that far away ore carrier, seems to have missed. We have 3 ships going down around us and the escorts don't seem to be anywhere near yet. Maybe some day I will choose this time to dive deep and sneak away. This is not that day.



The Duke

[Bosje]

Two escorts are dancing a tango on the waves at the spot where we launched our first salvo, I can see them several hundred meters to my starboardside. The one I am worried about is the destroyer coming up behind me. Not heading straight at me yet but pretty soon he may be able to hear the reloading operation in the House of Lords. What to do, what to do. I keep having the uneasy feeling of being on a very long, very exciting, very fast wild ride. Something new awaits around every corner and unless you anticipate and adjust, you run the risk of dropping out of the ride. It is by no means an innocently safe ride. I still love it though, more so than the rest of my crew. They can not hide the despair as I give the order: 'Ahead standard, new depth 30 meters, maintain zero rudder.' We are not yet done with the convoy, 2 tankers are trying to run away ahead of me and I want them destroyed. 'Tube 1 reloaded and ready, Herr Kaleun.' 'Destroyer increasing speed and heading right for us, bearing 195' ''Tube 5 reloaded and ready, Herr Kaleun.' 'Fast screws increasing speed and turning this way, 2 escorts bearing 84'


-Ping-


'60 meters, LI.' 'New Depth 60 meters.' 'Hasse, get ready with the damage control party.' Klaus does a good job at conveying the urgency: 'Destroyer on attack run, Herr Kaleun!' 'Ahead flank, LI!'
The destroyer is almost above us now, I try a new move. 'Blow the tanks, planes up for surface, try to control the ascent at periscope depth, quick!' We hear the destroyer through the hull, Klaus calls splashes and the boat rises very quickly to the surface. The idea is that the depthcharges explode underneath us while we get ready to launch these ladder pattern eels at the convoy, before they run away. 'Full port rudder, hold her at periscope depth, LI!' 'Tube 2 reloaded and ready, Herr Kaleun.' The trick worked, the charges explode under us but they force the boat upwards even more, the depth gauge reads 9 meters which means the conning tower is sticking out of the waves. Verdammt! If these English boys are sharp we will get some incoming shells from their artillery. 'Periscope depth, verdammt noch mal!' Poor Anton is working like crazy to try and control the boat. Not an easy task, considering all the different forces which are now at work, the boat moans under the stress. 'Rudder zero.'


Still, it worked well enough. The destroyer was too surprised, I suppose. We were back under before the shells were flying. She is now ahead of us and has to make a wide turn before she can give us any further trouble. This is the bit of spare time I needed. 'Attack periscope up, ahead 2/3, flood tubes 1 and 2.' A second later: '1.WO, I want the eel in tube 5 to run a ladder eastwards, from this exact position after launch, work on it.' Meanwhile I take a look at the tankers which are now quite a long way ahead of us. '50 degrees starboard angle, distance 2500 meters, 800 meter legs to the starboard, torpedo speed fast, impact pistol 3 meters.' 'Tube 1 flooded and set.' '1, LOS!' This really is a pathetic longshot. '30 degrees starboard, otherwise identical settings.' 'Tube 2 flooded and set.' '2, LOS!' The bow doors are closing up again as I give the destroyer a courtesy glance. She is almost done swinging around, we do not have much time. '1.WO are you ready with the settings?' 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun, 60 degree port angle, 800 meter legs to starboard, depth 5 meters on magnetic pistol, slow running. If we turn to starboard we can stay under it for as long as it runs.' 'Very well, make it so.' I let Hans fire off my last high-tech torpedo while I concern myself with the boat. 'Ahead flank, hard starboard rudder, get us deep quickly, LI. 80 meters crash dive.' The torpedo leaves the sterntube as the boat takes a nosedive and I hear the boys in the control room breathe a sigh of relief as they realize that the Kaleun is finally done with his foolish acts of tenacity.


'Launch the decoy, ahead 2/3, steer due east, gradually take her down to 160 meters, Anton.'
The LI acknowledges and so the stage is set. With the added prop of a torpedo running around making sharp turns, like a hare in flight, right above us. Good luck with that one, mister English destroyer Captain.



The Duke

[Bosje]

The two escorts which were off our starboard bow have now joined the party. Minutes pass and the only thing exploding so far are the depthcharges. All torpedoes missed. It pisses me off. Time and time again I expose the crew and the boat to extraordinary danger, all to get the opportunity of firing two or three additional torpedoes at my enemy. But all it ever accomplished is some frightful depthcharge attacks. They can find us easily, even when we are running very close to the surface. In the old days, their sonar could not even reach that shallow. I remember those early convoy battles where we went straight into the convoy after the first salvo and had a good time sinking whatever crossed into our sights, an almost mocking attitude towards the escorts which never really had a clue. I miss those days. I am pulled out of my contemplations by some more pinging. They are trying to get a fix on us and they are trying hard. But we gave them the slip, the decoy distracted them long enough for us to slip down deep and we are now creeping eastwards at 1 knot, never doing more than 50 rpm. Petersen's blackboard is full with marks but none of them came dangerously close, all we sustained was some very minor leaking when a valve gave way in the diesel engine room, that bit of damage has long since been fixed.


After only two hours, the escorts give up. So another success, proudly written down in the log:
-3 merchants sunk, estimated total tonnage 20.000 tons. Two torpedoes left in the external compartments, one forward one aft. Heading to patrol area after nightfall for 24-hour (token) presence.-
A decent patrol so far, all in all. But I wonder how much more I might have accomplished if I still had those three last torpedoes, running around the convoy at night and setting up for another surprise salvo. Ah to hell with it. 'Secure from action stations, well done boys. A ration of rum for all hands after the first watch.' 'The boys cheer, I go to sleep.



The Duke

[Bosje]

A Week Later


It was only as a matter of principle that we proceeded to our patrol zone and spent 24 hours lying still in the water, listening out for shipping. I am saving these last two torpedoes for the best opportunity target I can find but no luck so far. The crew are pretty tired after the long trip and the constant trouble we get from airplanes and warships but the boat is still in one piece. At least this patrol is a lot more interesting than our recent mind-numbing cruise in the Arctic. On this one we are at least met with our purpose: to find and sink the Allied merchant navy (while staying alive if at all possible). Five ships sunk, totaling perhaps 25.000 BRT. Better than some Kaleuns manage these days but still nothing compared to the aces back in the happy times. I consider it a mildly average score and the crew are refreshingly calm about it too. I'm glad they are turning into U-boot men.


We are going back home now. Bergen is still a week sailing away and we have to cross between Iceland and the British Isles to get there, not a pleasure cruise but at least the water is deep. The deep, where we find shelter, comfort and calm. Amazing how far we have come since 1940 when the deep was a place where you only went as an extreme measure to escape the enemy. Now we blindly put our fate in the hands of U-735 and she always takes care of us. Our boat. Hasse and Anton are going to work on that beautiful camouflage pattern which we are going to steal from the Tommies. I hope FdU will give the green light for it. They allow a lot of freedom when it comes to messing with the boats, especially when it concerns successful commanders. Ah well, we'll see, first we have to make it home.



Oberleutnant Freiherr Beckman
(The Duke to his friends)

[Bosje]

Spring 1943, Bergen


Grounded. For a full three months after we came home. I can't believe they are doing this to me now, I was under the impression that the war has reached a critical moment in The Atlantic, the Brits are down to their last supplies and there have been some incredibly costly convoy battles between Greenland and Iceland. Costly for both sides, we have suffered horrible losses but we sunk an unsurpassed amount of tonnage in return. They need every boat they have, every able sailor they can muster. And what do they do? Transfer half my crew to France and dump my beloved boat in the drydock. 'We applaud your eagerness to join in the fight, Oberleutnant, but your time will come. New directive from BdU, all returning boats are to be refitted with improved anti air capability and we also want you to take a load of new recruits under your wing, your experienced men are badly needed in the flotillas sailing out of the French ports.' That's the gist of what they told me when I raised hell in FdU headquarters.


Hans is off to Lorient, can't say I miss him, but they also took Hasse, Kurt (my second officer), Mister Speaker the torpedo officer and half my engine and torpedo crew. Wonderful. Now I am stuck with a fresh platoon of fanatics and only my LI and navigator are still here to look glum about the revival of political talk from the crew quarters. One thing I am pleased about is my new first officer though. His name is, curiously, Hans Bremer. Another Hans but an improved one, so to speak. He is a veteran too but he is one of the old gang, he lived through the happy times and is just now returning to active duty after having spent a year in hospital. He knows his stuff and this time, I have to be the one to inform him about the new and improved enemy which we face. A curious twist.


Oberbootsmann Hasse is the one who I am really going to miss. He saved our skins plenty of times with his repair crew. If we ever get to go out again we will need to do a fair amount of practice drills, we have a whole new technical staff and I need them performing at least as well as their predecessors. Klaus and Jakob are still here, my boys in the radio shack. That's a relief because I know what to expect from them. As for the rest, we will just have to see how they hold up out at sea. They have been told their share of stories about me and they show my plenty of respect, but I can see in their eyes that they are not looking forward to being under the wing of a reckless Kaleun. I don't care, as long as they do what they are told.


Leutnant Anton Paukstadt, my old and trusted LI, came to see me last week. He was working on the camouflage paint job with the boys from the yard when the job got postponed. New orders, a complete overhaul: a new conning tower with three FlaK mounts. We went to FdU immediately and they told us about the new directives from BdU: U-boats are to engage the enemy planes rather than crash dive away from them. To this end we are given a very sophisticated set of guns on the wintergarten and one has to admire the amount of shells which we can now fire up in the air, but I still have a bad feeling about it all. Just when I had learned to fear Coastal Command. Orders are orders, etc, and I understand the need to have the boats out in the Atlantic quickly, without traversing the Bay of Biscay entirely submerged, but I feel inclined to stick to my newly acquired habit of diving the hell away from the RAF.


One good thing about the new conning tower is that we have a new emblem. The swastika that went with the old tower is gone. Instead, Anton took the liberty of doing some homework on his Kaleun and they came up with a rather wonderful version of my family coat of arms. A rearing unicorn. The old crewmembers are happy to identify themselves with what they see as a lucky charm and personally, I love it. I now truly feel one with my boat. The Unicorn. Lucky as long as she is bold.


Here is a picture taken after all the work was done. It is now very late in the spring, we set out tomorrow, U-735 is ready for war once again.

http://img207.imageshack.us/img207/4333/u735op1.jpg

Oberleutnant Freiherr Beckman
(The Duke to his friends)

[Bosje]

Explanation for the long wait and the overhaul: GWX 2.1 :arrgh!:

Had to mess around a bit with SH3Commander and a couple patrols with a new career, now we are back in full swing, Freiherr Beckman has his crew organised to satisfaction and we are sailing out of Bergen right now. The date is may 30th, 1943.

[Schwuppes]

....The date is may 30th, 1943.
I hope your death will be quick and painless. :rotfl:

[Brag]

Good luck, Duke :lol:

[Jimbuna]

Beware!!.....the Q Ships are a coming http://img522.imageshack.us/img522/9708/piratebf4.gif (http://imageshack.us)

[Brer Rabbit]

Hope you survive to see your journal published when we win.

[U-46 Commander]

This message just came in from the Fdu, Duke, The U-44 U-cruiser will be joining you in your hunting but will split for a cruise to the coast of Florida.

[Bosje]

The sun is setting as we leave the fjord. The bridgewatch should have a sharp eye out for threats, even this close to our home base, but I don't blame them for looking at the scenery. It's quite beautiful, the sea is calm and the setting sun, the sky and the fjord all conspire in a stunning color scheme to make me feel utterly out of place here. A machine of war. My machine of war. U-735 looks good in a gray autumn morning out in the Atlantic, stalking her prey, bringing death and sneaking away. We have no business being the centerpiece of this perfect scene for some French Impressionist painter. I pollute the atmosphere by lighting my pipe and shake any romantic thoughts from my mind. We have a job to do, a gruesome job. A job which I still love, despite the horrors that come with it.

Albert comes up through the hatch. 'Is it allowed, Sirs?' 'No problem, Schaefer, join us for a smoke?' He does and lights up his cigarette while taking in the scenery. 'Pretty, isn't it?' I hum in agreement and organize my thoughts around the new crew with which FdU has blessed me. Oberfahnrich zur See Albert Schaefer is one of them. Officially my third watch officer, he is one of the best gearheads I ever saw. His function on the ship is to replace my Oberbootsmann for the technical jobs as well as being the man in charge of the forward compartments. The House of Lords is his domain but during action stations he'll head up the damage control party. Meanwhile I have Leutnant Anton Paukstadt, my trusted LI, in charge of the boys in the control- and engine rooms. It effectively splits the crew in half. Anton's boys and Albert's boys, together taking care of every single bit of equipment on the boat. Me and my new first officer, Leutnant Hans Bremer, are above it all, making the decisions, while my second officer, Volkmar Vowe, is the gunnery officer. That leaves the boys in the radio shack, my eyes and ears. And my navigator, Hals Petersen, one of my old staff members. He is increasingly worried about what he calls the 'annoyingly fresh looking youths' that populate the forward crew quarters. This morning he complained that they could use a decent depthcharge attack to shut em up for a while. Hmmm, careful what you wish for, Petersen.


We'll do a lot of practice drills over the next couple of days, to test the overhauled boat and crew. I need them all operating like clockwork in good conditions, so that perhaps they'll not fall apart under fire. I've taken to a roster where we have a full watch crew on standby as the emergency damage control party because I've been hearing horrible things from those Commanders who survived the early spring convoy battles. Our comrades sunk a large number of ships but the price has been a tad high. Going out into the Atlantic these days is like transversing Dante's seven circles of Hell. Ghostly tales of new weapons and ridiculously accurate Allied detection systems travel around the crews and get ever more ghostly each time they are told. As tales do. I take it all at face value but I'm guessing some of it will turn out to be true. And now BdU kindly invites us to an old-fashioned shootout with our bane, the aircraft. Maybe I'll consider it. In calm, shallow waters. On our return home. If the boat is not even slightly damaged yet. When Hell freezes over.



The Duke

[Bosje]

I wake up and realize I have a cold coming up. Nasal cavity clogged up with slime, raspy breathing and a hurting brain. I sit up and cough, clear my nose and throat and am disgusted by the fact that I sound just like my grandfather in his last days. Not quite the well-behaved gentleman of noble stock. I clear my nose again and it makes Jakob turn his head. He is leaning back in his chair, his feet up on the compass in the radio shack, keeping half an eye on the radar warning receiver. 'Good morning, Herr Kaleun.' 'There is nothing good about it. Anything worth reporting?' 'Contact report on a taskforce in the vicinity, earlier this morning. That's it.' Hmmm I need some coffee but my stomach doesn't like that idea. I stand up, muscles and joints almost audibly creaking, and stumble over to the control room.


A few hours later I feel slightly better but my nose and throat still keep filling up with slime. The doc gave me some pills and I try to ignore the buzz in my head. We took a nice wide turn through the north around the Shetlands and the Faeroer, slipping into the Atlantic between Iceland and the British Isles. That's a 1000 kilometer wide stretch of ocean but it still feels like 'slipping' to me. The gateway is thick with Allied patrols. If we spend four hours without any incoming detection signals we consider ourselves blessed. We always dive when we do get those signals, screw BdU. We are now almost through, a couple hundred kilometers southeast of Iceland. Things will be slightly better once we get out into the wide hunting grounds which stretch out before us. Jakob gives a familiar shout: 'Radar transmissions, multiple sets.' ALAAAARM! Christ, Hans, no need to shout so hard. We level off at 70 meters, turn to the southeast, towards the contacts, the boat settles down a bit, the boys go quiet and I join Klaus who just got kicked out of his bunk to give those excellent ears of his a chance to once again earn their pay.


'Warships moving slow, 8 or 9 knots I'd say. Couple of destroyers, old ones.' I listen with him, I recognise them. 'Fourstackers?' He nods. And there is a wheeze. A high pitched wheeze. Like battleships or carriers have. This must be that taskforce Jakob told me about. A carrier? A phrase pops up in my head and I feel the hairs on my neck standing up. Hunter-Killer Group, an escort carrier accompanied by a destroyer division. One simple task: find and kill U-boats. I can't help myself, the idea of hunting and killing them strikes me as highly appealing. 'Coming more or less our way, Herr Kaleun.' I stick my head through the hatch into the control room. 'LI, periscope depth, silent running, make your heading 100. Navigator, in here. Hans, you too.' I give them my opinion, a hunter killer group has happened across our path by chance. They are not speeding up or changing course by the sound of things, they don't yet know we are here. 'How are we doing?' Hals doesn't have to check: 'Waters here are very deep, Herr Kaleun.' Hans chimes in: 'All systems functional, boat is battle ready, Herr Kaleun.'


Very well. 'We attack.'



The Duke

[Jimbuna]

This is really quite a good read....keep it up Kaleun http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/read2.gif

[nikbear]

Really enjoying reading this,gets me in the mood to do a patrol and inspires me when the ships are scarce,excitment is never far away:up:;):yep:

[Bosje]

Over the next half hour, we get a good idea of what the taskforce is up to. They are doing around 8 knots, on a northwest course. Roughly. There is a bit of a gale blowing and it is broad daylight. Not good. They will have trouble hearing us in this swell but our conning tower and periscope will at times stick out of the sea and make us very visible, if we are slightly unlucky. I should go deep and silent and let them pass, wait until they are out of radar range and either set up for a night attack or just get away from them completely. But our position is too good. We are here now and they will pass across our bow anyway. Might as well give it a shot. Hans and I climb into the conning tower. Up attack periscope. Smoke on the horizon. It is assumed their radar can even pick up on the periscope so we have to get the data from very quick glances. Range on the carrier 4000 meters bearing 59, mark, down periscope. I let the periscope zip up and down a couple of times over the next minutes and we have her number down. Bogue class escort carrier with four Clemson class destroyers lazily drawing circles around her. Yanks. The carrier is on a zig zag, translating into a heading of 308 at 6 knots. I have to time the shots so they hit her on the zag, at full port broadside. 'Action stations.'


We are running at 15 meters, 1 knot, heading 60. Quiet as a mouse, invisible between the waves. The periscope only gives me a periodical glance at them in between the wavetops, which is just how I want it to be. 'Tubes 1, 2 and 4. Spreadshot at an angle of 1 degree, impact pistol, depth 2 meters. Open tube doors' I still do not trust the magnetic pistols, especially in this swell. 'Target speed 6, angle on bow 30 port, bearing 40, range 2200.' 'Fertig, Herr Kaleun.' 'Standby, standby, bearing 38, range 2100.' 'Fertig.' 'Standby, standby.' The torpedoes need around 2 minutes to reach her... that means I launch them at the start of her turn to starboard...don't leave the periscope up too long, you idiot... Shoot a little early, not the best angle but I am confident about the aim... Leaves a little room to play with for a contingency shot from tube 3... 'Bearing 35, angle on bow 35 port, range 2000, standby.' 'Fertig.'
Now!...I think... 'LOS! Down periscope.' '1, los, 2, los, 4, los. Torpedoes in the water running straight and true, Herr Kaleun.' Alright, prepare the contingency while the scope stays down. 'Tube 3, fast running, ladder pattern to port, 800 meter legs, impact 1 meter, initial range...1500 meters. Target speed 5 knots, angle on bow 50 port at bearing 20. Open door and standby to fire.' 'Fertig, Herr Kaleun.'


Almost 2 minutes pass, those torpedoes should be getting close to the target. Klaus doesn't hear the escorts doing anything new. Good. 'Up periscope.' The carrier is right where she should be, bearing 25. But somehow I got my timing pretty much exactly wrong. She is on the zig, coming straight towards me. Or is the entire taskforce making a turn straight towards me? Have they found us? I mutter some random curses, the spread will probably pass her on both flanks. 'Bearing 25, Tube 3, LOS!' 'Tube 3 los.' That's all bow tubes empty, now it's their turn. I give the carrier a last look before we get down deep, when...whoom, torpedo hit! A wonderful bit of luck. The boys cheer and I find myself looking right into a big hole where the bow of the carrier used to be. Like looking a cyclops straight in the eye. I am not at all certain that it will sink her, but it will definitely cause her some trouble, at least. And the last torpedo is going to be running a ladder pattern across her path for a while. Good odds. 'Destroyers increasing speed and turning, Herr Kaleun.' 'Ahead flank, get deep as fast as you can, LI!' Hans and I climb down into the control room and the familiar game begins. Familiar for me, anyway. Half the crew have never been this close to the enemy before.

The Duke

[Bosje]

We are at 50 meters when one of the destroyers starts an attack run. 'Launch the decoy!' We hear the increasing noise as the destroyer picks up speed, coming straight for us. 'Deeper, LI! Deeper! Hard port rudder!' We twist and turn out of the way, depthcharges explode above and behind us. These old fourstackers just don't have what it takes to get the better of me. I immediately rebuke myself. Do not underestimate your enemy, sir. Even if they are American antiquities. We drop down below 100 meters. Silent running, rudder zero, maintain planes on dive. Now they have to find me again. No discernible damage from that run and we are slipping down deep. We hear no sign of the last torpedo connecting with the carrier, she got away from the ladder pattern and I can hear the high pitch scream of her propulsion, now to the north of us, making a turn around through the west and probably ending in a southeasterly course, but she turned the wrong way, doing a wide circle around us rather than away from us. That's an opportunity. Perhaps an opportunity too good to pass on. My poor boys are not going to like this. 'Klaus, what are the destroyers up to?' 'Two of them are going for the decoy, the other two are sitting still, Herr Kaleun.' Already they have lost me. Maybe they don't have what it takes, after all.


Navigator Petersen knows exactly what I am thinking. 'Herr Kaleun, please, it's not worth it.' He is right, perhaps. But the carrier is now to our port and still turning. She will indeed pass south of us on her way to a southeast escape. I don't want her to escape. 'Anton, ahead 1/3, planes on the rise, turn the boat around to starboard, make your heading 160. Albert, get to the House of Lords, reload tubes one and two with steam torpedoes!' He looks at me, puzzled, this is not what they learned to do in the academy. 'Verdammt! Do it man, quickly!' He learned how to obey orders, anyway. 'Jawohl, Herr Kaleun,' and he disappears to the forward comparments. In the control room, Volkmar and Hans are just standing there, keeping their mouths shut. They are the rookies. But Hals and Anton have been with me for a while now. They both give me a hard look. Anton only cares about the boat, but Hals has become a good friend over the past months and as such, he has the guts to stand up to me. 'One of these days you'll get us all killed, you know that, right?'


But I know how to fight, you have to keep one step ahead of them, surprise them. Besides, I am the boss. 'Look, these destroyers belong in a museum. They are slow, they turn less well than the Tirpitz. They'll be bombing that decoy for half an hour. They lost us already, they'll lose us again. We'll get a shot in before they nail us, trust me. Now do as you are told.' Klaus shouts out: 'Destroyer heading this way, Herr Kaleun!' Alright, here we go. 'Anton, full speed ahead, level off at periscope depth. Make your heading 90 for a while.' The destroyer comes up behind us, increasing speed while the depth gauge is creeping back up, now once again passing the 100 meter mark. I can hear the carrier screaming behind us, slightly to our starboard, that will soon be a decent shot at her port flank, if we make it back up in time. 'Tube 1 reloaded, Herr Kaleun!'


The destroyer makes her attack run, coming up from behind while we are gathering all the speed we can, heading due east. My plan is to evade this run by turning to starboard and maintaining our ascent, thus bringing us at periscope depth on a heading of 180, which will give me the shot at the carrier while the depthcharges go off in the void behind us. I get into the conning tower again. 'Prepare tube 1, target speed 4 knots, angle on bow 110 degrees for bearing 20.' I'll adjust the settings when I get a good look at her. 'Fast running, impact at 3 meters.' I have to make a guess for her speed, I bet she is slowed down from the water coming in through that hole in the bow. The destroyer has caught up with us, the charges will drop any second now. 'Hard starboard! Get us up there, Anton, periscope depth quickly! Steer due south.' The explosions are not far off, but far enough. No damage to report, no water coming in. She is leveling off on a course of 180. 'Up periscope' and I have a look. The carrier is driving her nose deep into the sea but still going quite fast. 'Tube 2 reloaded, Herr Kaleun.' My guesstimates were correct at first glance, we don't have time to figure it all out. 'Tube 1, bearing 355 range 800, LOS, tube 2 bearing 350 range 900 target speed 7 knots, LOS!' Both torpedoes leave their tubes without problems, the second one will hit if she is going faster than I thought. One of them is bound to be on target, I figure, regardless what speed she was actually doing. I swing the periscope around. The destroyer who just missed us is turning around and another one is heading right for us at high speed. Time to get back down there in the deep. 'Planes on dive, maintain flank speed. Launch a decoy.' Whoom, the unmistakable sound of a torpedo exploding on steel. We got her. Whatever comes next, it was worth it. I get down from the conning tower and join the boys in the control room. 'Come on, boys, lighten up, we just nailed a carrier!' They are too frightened to cheer this time.



The Duke

[Bosje]

Half the crew are still in the forward compartment after their frantic reloading operation so the boat is nose-heavy. That's good because she goes down that much faster. Seven knots and the boat is almost at a 45 degree angle. Destroyer on attack run, again. Those guys up there can not possibly get my position right while we are diving like this. But I pushed my luck enough for today, let's be extra careful now. 'Hard to starboard, make it 270.' Anton echoes the order. 'Splashes!' We will be fine, I know that. But the boys look like they are in bad shape after all the action. 'Easy, boys. We will be fine.' I cough as the depthcharges explode somewhere behind and above. The depth gauge reads 140 meters and still dropping rapidly. 'Ahead 1/3, level off at 180 meters, Anton.' Now we wait for the destroyers to pick us up again. Klaus finally confirms the kill: 'Bulkheads collapsing, she is going down!' I make my way to the House of Lords, I have something to share with their Lordships.


Albert, Hals and the boys are lying on the floor, panting, wide-eyed, pale. Exhausted after reloading two torpedoes in under fifteen minutes while under attack. They did great. 'Excellent job, boys. We got her. Our revenge for all those comrades we lost. You can all get into your bunks now, we'll soon go silent and deep. Albert and Hals, back into the control room please.' The boys smile at my praise and they should. After all, they did their duty and we got the kill. And we are still alive, for now. The officers follow me back to the control room, where the depth gauge reads 180 meters now. The boat is not even creaking yet, she is put together well. 'Albert, take charge of the damage control. Hans, you can go off duty.' So now the boat is at what I call dodge stations. A damage control team on duty and all non-essential crew are in their quarters, being quiet. 'Silent running, cut the engines.' And we become a hole in the water.


Now that we are silent I feel my headache slowly throbbing again. I felt a lot better during the action, you don't have time to think about your discomforts. I can't take another pill, that might influence my thinking. -Ping- chug chug chug chug. Destroyers looking for us, centered around the decoy. One of them is heading this way. Ah the familiar game. Trying to scare us into making noise. Or he already got us and the depthcharges are on their way. Klaus knows his job, he has his eyes closed and visualizes the tin can up top. I observe him through the hatch. 'Splashes!' Verdammt, that sonar operator up there knows his stuff. 'Ahead 2/3, deeper, LI!' The boat creeps down ever further. 'Rudder 30 port.' '30 port, Herr Kaleun.' Destroyer now more or less above us. 'Ahead flank.' Those depthcharges need a long time to reach us this far down. Our burst of speed will put us out of harm's way but the other destroyers will hear us now. That's the catch. That's why 4 destroyers operating together, even if only fourstackers, are so dangerous. Enough running. '50 rpm, LI, keep the planes on dive.' It is a good evasion tactic. We keep turning and dropping all the time. How much we turn and drop is dictated by our speed. But we never stay in the same place long, even one knot will make us slip away just a little.


Another destroyer homes in on the noise we just made. We have to pick up the pace again. 'Ahead 2/3, launch another decoy, rudder starboard 20.' I want to make it out of the area in a general southern direction, swinging between southwest and southeast on the twists and turns. We pick up some speed and squeeze out of the depthcharge pattern. But they also have K-guns on the decks, to widen their pattern for just this eventuality. I am listening to the soothing sound of charges going off in the distance when suddenly: a loud crash, all the lights go out, the boat is thrown aside, the glass on the dials around me shatters and half the men in the control room are off their feet, including me. I am being showered by seawater coming in through a sprung valve up above me. Swearing and screaming is the only sound for a second. 'QUIET!' I roar. 'Fix that damn valve!'


Two sailors get the valve to close up again while the rest of the crew in the control room get back on their stations. The valve is soon fixed, the men go quiet, the lights come back on and we all hear it: water rushing into the boat. Somewhere in the aft compartments. Accompanied by a cry from the engine crew: 'Wassereinbruch!' 'All ahead full, bring us back up, LI. Quickly, 160 meters. Albert, I want damage reports!' The charge was close, but not too close. A look across all the dials tells me the boat is still working pretty much as she should, pointing up and rising, though she is going a bit slow for 'all ahead'. I just hope we didn't lose any vital equipment or machinery from the explosion. I can still hear the water coming into the boat when Albert reports back to me: 'Minor leaking in the aft engine compartments, compressor damaged, port electric engine off line. But we'll get it fixed, Herr Kaleun.' 'Thank you, Albert. Get it done.' Several minutes later we are in shape again. 'All compartments secured and operational, Herr Kaleun.' 'Silent running, 50 rpm. LI, get her deep again.' My head is killing me and I am worried about the weight of that water we just took in.

The Duke

[Bosje]

Strangely, instead of picking up on all the noise we just made, the destroyers up top are running around like crazy, pinging everywhere except where we are. We slip away to the south, leaving the Clemson division behind us a couple meters more with every minute that goes by. They lost us for now. All we have to do is stay quiet and stay lucky. Keep it below 50 rpm, we creep along at a modest one knot. Our depth is 220 meters but we are still dropping. I am watching the depth gauge and I feel uncomfortable. Very slowly but very surely the needle is creeping down at the same pace with which we are creeping away from the destroyers. I urgently whisper: 'LI, keep her level, come on!'. Anton is sweating. 'She doesn't respond, Herr Kaleun. I can't keep the nose up.' Indeed, the bubble shows a very slight down angle. 'Planes on full rise.' 'Planes are already on the rise, it's not working, Herr Kaleun,' and he adds, ashamed: 'Sorry.' 'Well what's wrong then?' 'Could be the extra weight from that water, sir. Or the planes took a hit. Hard to say. But she won't listen to me, sir. More speed might do it.' 'Hmmm they just lost us, I have no intention of making things easy for them, Anton, let's try something else. All spare hands to the rear of the boat, but quietly!' I hope the weight of all the off-duty crewmembers will bring the tail down, allowing what little speed we have to push her back up. It takes several minutes for all the boys to find a place in the aft compartments but it doesn't do the trick. The bubble is mocking us, persistently showing how the nose is pointing down just a little bit. 'All stop' It helps. A little, too little. We are no longer propelling ourselves down but there is still the extra weight of the water in the boat, I guess. Either way, we drop about a meter every minute. Now at 230 meters.


We can stop the descent, of course. Well, probably, anyway. By increasing speed so the dive planes will have an increased effect. By blowing the ballast tanks to lighten the boat. By reversing while the boat is pointing down. All of these measures should pull her back up. And they will also be quite noisy. 'Albert?' 'Herr Kaleun?' 'Put some men in every compartment. Be ready for any damage, especially by rivets giving away. Report any leaks immediately.' 'Jawohl, Herr Kaleun.' These boats are put together very well indeed, many Kaleuns take them down far beyond the operational depth of 160 meters. I myself among them. But I've never been this deep before. The boat is doing fine, by the sound of things. But of course, when the sound of things indicates that the boat is falling apart, it is too late. She starts to moan now. Deep, booming moans. But all the valves and rivets are still holding. My LI knows her better than I do. 'Anton, what do you think?' 'I think she likes it, Herr Kaleun.' 'Can she take this?' 'She is moaning like a French whore, she'll take some more, I think.' 'That's disgusting, Anton.' 'Yes sir.' We both smile. The image stays with me. Our girl likes it when you treat her rough. 240 meters and dropping.


The destroyers are desperately trying to find us but I think their asdic can not reach this deep. As long as we do not make any noise we will be just fine down here. But it won't be long before we have to pull our girl out of this mad trip into the cellar. She is still holding together, nothing indicates she is about to give up. Anton and I stand silently in the control room. Fascinated by the depth gauge. Hals is behind me, looking over my shoulder. Volkmar lost it, he is sitting on the floor, sweat dripping down from his face. I am fine with that, as long as he doesn't cause a scene. The boys at the controls are trembling a little, but Anton has his hands on their shoulders. So far, we are actually doing quite well, considering the circumstances. I am getting curious and even excited, despite my headache. I want to know just exactly what kind of amazing feats our wonderful girl is capable of. I am going to let her have her fun.


Minutes pass. The destroyers are trying to listen for us now, instead of pinging. We stay quiet. Slowly sinking. No, not sinking, that sounds like we are in trouble. Slipping down, that's what we do. What the boat does, at least. Taking us with her for the ride. I keep watching the needle, hypnotized by what I see but can't believe. Anton should give me warnings about our impending pressure hull failure but he too is fascinated by what the boat is pulling off. Albert comes back from his round through the boat. Reporting in. 'All compartments still secure, Herr Kaleun. She is holding beauti...dear God.' His jaw drops as his eyes fix on the depth gauge. 'Yes, Albert. She is holding beautifully indeed,' I finish his sentence for him. 260 meters. The boat has departed the realms of reason and is now going beyond measurement. The fact that we now do not know what she is doing snaps me out of it. 'Ok that will do, give it 100 rpm, Anton. Bring her back up.' Our only indication is the bubble now. It is still showing a down angle and we are now propelling ourselves wherever the nose takes her. The boat gives a groan and something snaps with a metallic clang. Not good. '200 rpm!' Come on, sweetheart, pull yourself out of it! 'Get ready for emergency maneuvers.'



The Duke (badly in need of a cigarette and a stiff drink)

[Tombow]

(badly in need of a cigarette and a stiff drink)
If you manage to pull out of this alive, you have a box of fine Havanas and a crate of irish whisky on my expense!

[Bosje]

The needle is off the scale, we have no idea how deep we are. The speed gauge indicates we are moving forward, close to three knots now. We all have our eyes on the bubble. It moves. Going to zero, then further down. The boat is slowly, laboriously, getting her nose up. I can feel she is rising through the floorboards under my feet, too. The needle on the depth gauge starts to wobble, gives a shudder, then starts to rise. 'Boat rising,' Anton sighs. 'Quiet, boys,' I have to reprimand them as some of them start to cheer. Those destroyers are still near. We are getting out of the frying pan, so to speak, but we could be heading straight for the fire. 'Klaus, talk to me.' 'Warships moving away, Herr Kaleun, sailing off to the northwest.' I start to think that we are actually getting away this time, they gave up the hunt just as we were forced to make some noise. But we are not out of trouble just yet, if one of them decides to turn around for a minute we can easily be heard, now that we are doing 200 rpm. '240 meters and rising.' Now that the boat has the nose up properly we are getting back up there quite rapidly. '220 meters and rising.' '100 rpm.' As she drops her speed I can feel the floorboards under me changing aspect, along with the boat. The bubble goes back up. The needle on the depth gauge stops climbing. 'Verdammt, why can't she just keep going?' Ah well, we can afford to let her slip back down for a little while, just to make sure those destroyers don't come running back. 'All stop.'


We drop about a meter every minute or so, again. I let it go as far back down as 240 meters, now that I know she can take it. The destroyers are still moving away. Klaus can still hear them but he doubts they can hear us at all, anymore. Even if we get the engines going. Very well, I've had enough of this anyway. '200 rpm, get her up to 100 meters and keep her there, LI. We stay down for the rest of the day. Oh and well done, Anton.' 'Yes sir, well done yourself, sir.' We look at each other and that is that. We change the watch, all these boys who sat through this on their stations are relieved by the boys who had to lie in their bunks. They are no more rested than the crew they relieve. Everyone is shaken by the adventure as word of the depth gauge needle being off the scale immediately traveled throughout the boat, of course. But we pull through and an hour later, we lose all contact with the destroyer division. The log simply says: 'Engaged Hunter Killer Group, Bogue class carrier sunk after firing 6 torpedoes, evaded escorts by going beyond 260 meters depth, boat still fully operational.' But somehow it doesn't quite tell the story. U-735 is a remarkable girl indeed.


Several days later we are well out into the Atlantic, heading for our patrol grid. Anton tells me he figures that the boat got beyond 270 meters, maybe even close to 280. I still can't believe we made it. Everyone agreed that when we get back home, we will spend all our wages for this patrol on the biggest truckload of booze we can find and have that sent off to the Danzig shipyards. Those guys down there put our girl together a lot better than the official design requires. We do not think of our boat as 'lucky' or 'tough' or 'the good old boat' or whatever the other crews come up with. We simply think of her as the best damn boat that exists in the world because that's exactly what she is. Personally, I love her as the love of my life: demanding, fitful and cranky at times but always there to look after me and my crew when I need her to. I leave her in the hands of my 1.WO while I try to get rid of this damn cold that plagued me ever since the attack. Hans had better treat her well while I put my head to rest in her lap.

Several more days go by, uneventful which suits me just fine. I am feeling a lot better while we patrol our assigned grid. All the new boys on board have become proper U-boat men during the past two weeks and everything is running smooth as clockwork on the boat. We still have not fired our guns at any aircraft but that is also due to the fact that they are leaving us alone. That, also, suits me just fine. I suppose we are too far out to be in their overcrowded patrol zones. Hans has proven an excellent first officer. He did a fine job taking charge of the boat while I was busy being ill in my bunk. He already was a veteran, of course. We talk frequently, exchanging ideas as I tell him what I know of the modern day enemy. They are a lot better at finding and killing us these days, which is something he has to get used to, much like I had to, not so long ago. But we still have a good fighting chance, as we clearly proved on this patrol. All we need now is a convoy to spend our remaining torpedoes on. The unicorn is ready to sink her horn into the enemy, an image which I like and which the boys readily adopt. As my confidence in the boat and men has been growing ever since those first horrible winter patrols, I find myself rather enjoying the hunt once more, just like the old days.

Just don't get too cocky, Freiherr Beckman. It's what got your old Kaleun killed, remember.


The Duke

[Jimbuna]

Truly amazing stuff Bosje http://img120.imageshack.us/img120/9026/wolfthumbsuprw5.gif (http://imageshack.us)

[sharkbit]

:up: :up: :up:
Great story!
Keep it up.

The boat sinking down with destroyetrs around kept me on the edge of my seat.
Great work.
:)

[Dönitz_18]

My God… this is amazing stuff. Keep writing (and don't get killed… we'd have nothing exciting to read).

It is amazing how deep the boats can go… 280m or beyond; when they were rated for only 160m or so.

[Bosje]

'Two minutes now, Herr Kaleun.' As always, Obersteuermann Petersen has his stopwatch keeping track of the torpedo. His hushed voice reaches me easily from the control room, the boat is completely silent but for the humming of the various electrics and systems. Two minutes and still nothing, torpedo failed or missed. Unbelievable, the target was clearly stationary. 'Up periscope, prepare tube three.' The small merchant is still just sitting there, almost right in front of me. Listing heavily to the starboard, dead in the water. So dead, in fact, that the heavy wind and sea are playing with her, causing her to drift backwards. The torpedo must have missed her by a hair. Through the periscope, I can see the sailors up there still working frantically, trying to control the fire and repair the damage. 'Come on, you idiots, save yourselves already,' I mutter to myself. 'Warship turning around, getting louder, Herr Kaleun.' Klaus keeps an ear on the convoy's tail escort, good man. The escort has been making expeditionary turns this way ever since the convoy steamed off to the northeast. It will not take her long to reach us back here, if she decides to go for a sprint. We have to get this done now. 'Bearing 345, open tube door.' 'Fertig.' The boys on the merchant spotted my periscope or they saw the wake of the torpedo we just fired in vain. Instead of hasting to the lifeboats, they double their efforts to control the fire while some rush to the crude gun on her stern deck. The gun slowly starts to train towards us. Poor, brave, foolish bastards.


I am looking at them and I find myself unable to do it, I can't pull the trigger on them. 'Warship closing bearing 82.' I swing the glass eye to the starboard, smoke on the horizon. Another private mutter: 'Verdammt.' Hans is with me in the conning tower. 'Excuse me, Herr Kaleun, but if you're gonna do it, you better do it now. You know, get it over with.' I snarl back: 'I know!' Weapons, supplies and ammunition on board that girl, to be used against our comrades in arms. The gun on the crippled ship is almost trained now, they are actually going to fight me amidst the hell they are in. Damn this dirty war. 'Tube three, los!' Hiss. I aimed at the stern, she is still drifting away but I'm sure the eel will catch up with her. It does. An explosion erupts right under the bridge, extends throughout the ship, the ammunition for the gun goes up, taking the gun with it. Bodies and debris fly high up into the air. 'Down periscope.' I pull myself away from the scene, disgusted. This does not feel like hunting, it feels like poaching, murdering. It's our duty to sink ships, strike the tonnage off the charts, but I can only hope they understand that up there in heaven when my turn comes. Or more likely, down there in hell. Snap out of it, Duke! Worry about it later, you still have a boat and crew to take care of. Another snarl, aimed loosely at Anton down in the control room: 'Ahead 2/3, port to 200, go deep.'


Hans and I climb down from the conning tower into the control room and U-735 escapes before the destroyer gets too close. As the boat slithers away from the scene we can all hear the bulkheads giving way on the stricken merchant, the sound reaches us through the hull. I listen to the ship breaking up as she is crushed by the water pressure and I do not feel good about the kill. One of the ratings in the control room turns to me, elated, foolishly exclaiming: 'They are drowning like rats! You got those English swines good, Herr Kaleun!' Hans saves me. Before I get a chance he steps in, grabbing the rating by the collar and slamming his back hard against the ladder. 'Never say that again, you stupid boy! Those are just simple guys up there, just like you, now dying a horrible death!' Thank you, Hans, good friend. You saved my stature, I was about to beat the kid to a pulp. Now I get to act as arbiter. 'That will do, 1.WO.' Hans lets go. I turn to the boy who is shocked by Hans' outburst: 'You, report to the galley, you will do the cook's dirty work for the rest of the patrol. Next time, show your fellow seamen the respect which they deserve.' Hypocrite. I hate myself, as I am the one who just sent them to that horrible death without any respect for their brave efforts to save their ship.

[Bosje]

Thus ends our attack on the convoy. Two ships sunk and one damaged but keeping up, a bad score for seven torpedoes. We tried a new tactic, devised after a long meeting in the officer's mess. Running through the convoy, reloading tubes and going on a killing spree is all very good and exciting, except we usually don't hurt them that much after our first shots. And the escorts are giving us hell in return, catching us close to the surface. The risk is not worth the results and results are the most important thing, besides keeping the boat and crew alive. So we came up with a new plan. Slip into the escort screen but stay on the flank, outside the convoy lanes. Take careful aim at four fat targets, launch one eel at each of them. Go deep and silent, get away from the escorts by sneaking underneath the convoy and become one with the ocean. Afterwards, reload and finish off anything which is left crippled, unable to keep up as the convoy runs away. It sounded like a good plan when we came up with it. It still sounds like a good plan. But it failed. By my own high standards at least.


The getting away part worked fine, we slipped under the convoy, aided by the rough weather, and the escorts never really got close. Once we made it under the lanes, all that traffic above us messed up their hunt. By the time the convoy cleared the spot, leaving an empty patch to hunt on, we were long gone. The attack part was not a success, however. Only one of our eels hit the intended target, a large merchant which went down before long, as we heard through the hydrophone. The rest of the eels ran through the convoy. Two of them found a hull across their path. A big ore carrier kept on going, plowing through the storm despite the hole in her bows, a small merchant soon stopped, listing while the engine gave up. We launched a fifth eel from the sterntube before diving but it had to make too tight a turn, I presume. We did not observe its fate, we got down deep. No explosions were heard. The crew are happy about the outcome, not being depthcharged for hours after an attack makes a nice change. But I am not satisfied with the results, we shall have to do better on our next attack. That shall be on our next patrol, however. This one is over now. Only one torpedo left in the bow, two in the stern, one of them still in the external compartment. Not enough firepower for another convoy run, we start our journey back home tonight.


It takes us several days to reach the gap between Iceland and the British Isles, we run back home as fast as fuel levels allow, doing 13 or 14 knots depending on the weather. I want to get back and refit the boat as soon as possible. Get back out there to sink our horns into the enemy. We should test our new attack plan some more, it could be effective as long as we get our first shots fired accurately. That last attack was a mess. The crew are highly relieved that their Kaleun did not take his usual risks during the battle, but I am not happy with only 2 kills and I am definately not happy about the way that last merchant went down. It makes no sense, of course, it was a simple sinking just like any other, causing sailors to die as sinkings do. But if feels different. When running through a convoy, the escorts hot on my trail, pumping torpedoes into the convoy lanes, it is a hunt. Fair game, they go down and we have every chance of being destroyed in turn. Sneaking up on a more or less defenseless cripple which is struggling to stay afloat before we finally strike her down feels entirely different, feels dishonorable. That is a dangerous feeling, I can not afford such emotions, the crew and the boat are more important. This new style of attack will help us survive. But I wish those poor bastards would stop showing up in my dreams.


On our way home we become the hunted, as always. Radar detected, airborne. I have the urge to stand up and fight, but it means endangering U-735 and those on board. 'Volunteers to man the FlaK guns, report to the second officer!' I call. If nobody steps up, we will dive. But quite a big crowd lines up, eager for a piece of glory. Well, we have the order to fight against the aircraft. And we have all these impressive guns on the wintergarten. Might as well give it a try. 'Second officer, myself and gun crew on the bridge, everyone else below. Action stations, standby for damage control!' A couple of seconds of hurried organization, then the boat is ready to meet the RAF in combat. This time, we are the ones who don't really stand a chance, I expect. Even with all those guns. 'Let them close to 3000 meters, Volkmar.' I want the plane to come at us head first, on a straight attack run, before we let loose a dense hail of shells. Back in the academy, Volkmar trained especially for this: he calls out the elevations and then, when all guns have the chance to empty their clips simultaneously, 'FIRE!' As the guns are sending up an incredible barrage, I yell through the mouthpiece on the bridge: 'All ahead flank! Rudder hard to port!' By turning into the airplane I hope to escape his bombs. It causes the gunners to shoot less accurately, however, as the boat is swinging violently around to meet the plane head on. The attack starts and to my horror, instead of bombs which are dropped from the Liberator, it has rockets which streak straight towards me, arriving before I realize what's happening. We escape by the narrowest of margins, the rockets straddle us and big geysers erupt from the water off both sides of the bridge. We are all soaked and the heavy aft gun stops firing. The two remaining guns are now on target though, pumping shells into the tail of the plane as it roars away from us after the rocket attack, her tailgunner returning the favor. With all that metal flying around, some of it is bound to connect. I observe several hits on the Liberator while the boat also swallows her share of bullets.


The plane comes round again, to strafe us while we are still on the surface, but now she has to meet our defenses head on as she comes in straight behind us, the aft gun too is back in action. I am deafened by the strafing run and remember just in time to take some cover, as the straight line of splashes in the water runs up to us, straight towards the boat. I drop to the floor to join Volkmar who ducked down behind the steel sides of the bridge, hoping to avoid the bullets. I can see Volkmar has blood all over his face and he is clearly in pain. The boys on the guns have to rely on the plate of steel which is fitted to the guns for protection. After that strafing run, the airplane does not come back. I am amazed at the outcome: No damage except some leaking from the outer hull, no casualties except Volkmar who knocked out his own front teeth when he smashed his head into the periscope housing while taking cover. Apart from that, he is fine. He is being taken care of by the medic but he'll have a gaping hole where those teeth used to be, a souvenir of the fight. I'm putting him up for the Iron Cross, he did a great job before knocking himself out. The plane never returns, we scared her off. Maybe she even went down in the end from the damage she took. Either way, we do not see her again after she vanishes beyond the horizon. I am quite happy with the results and the boys joke about U-735 being a tougher battle wagon than the Tirpitz, which is after all still sitting idly in one of the fjords, like the one for which we are headed right now. Home in two days, maybe three. All in all, not a bad patrol.



Oberleutnant Freiherr Beckman
(The Duke to his friends)

[Jimbuna]

More honours and medals await you back at base http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/pirate.gif

[Bosje]

'That will do, LI. Take us back up to 30 meters, we'll stay submerged for the rest of the day.' I put my hand against the nearest part of the hull, which happens to be the bulkhead between the control room and the radio shack, as I whisper: 'Good girl.' The needle on the depth gauge reads 200 meters and U-735 seems to be in fine shape, we are still operational as a combat unit. Good, I would have hated to have to return to Bergen already. We belong out here on the open sea, not in some drydock, but another gunfight like the one we just had and it's curtain calls for this patrol. We were hunting a lone merchant in daylight, on the surface, in the gauntlet. Surreal foolishness, we have no business acting like a battleship, just like that merchant had no business sailing alone at eight knots. 'The Gauntlet' is really the Bay of Biscay, as all the French flotilla boats have a horrible time getting across the Bay through to the Atlantic these days. But for us, the gap between Iceland and Scotland has always been our own gauntlet, which we run every time we go out on patrol. The prospect of the open ocean beyond the horizon is all that keeps us going, we are never left unmolested for longer than two hours at most. Aircraft everywhere, always, day or night, rain or shine. If things stay like this, we will not be able to reach the Atlantic at all anymore. That means the battle will be lost. Well, it's already lost in a way. The days of the wolfpack are almost over. We have more boats available than ever, but they can not get through the enemy patrols. After the incredible convoy battles of March, when victory seemed within reach, the tables suddenly turned and we are on the brink of defeat. We are still not sure how, but the enemy can detect and destroy us like never before, and we are now all waiting for the next technical innovation to counter their new tricks. In the meantime, U-735 is out here all by herself, a token patrol to remind the enemy that the Atlantic is not yet safe for them.


We got this contact report when we were almost clear, one more day of careful sailing and we are out in the open ocean. But this lone merchant was too good an opportunity to miss out on, so we gave it a shot. All guns manned and full speed ahead. An airplane jumped us but we opened fire as soon as it came in range. The sea was very calm and the gunners were performing beautifully. The bomber kept a respectful distance and never even came in for an attack run. The boys cheered at this feat, but of course that bomber has a radio set on board. We will not have much time. Half an hour later, we saw smoke on the horizon. The merchant was sailing leisurely across the water, it almost felt like an insult to us. Those merchant boys used to have nightmares about us, now look at them! Steaming along at eight knots on a straight course. We went in at flank speed, I wanted to get this done as quickly as possible. Never mind a stealthy torpedo attack, let's blitz this one. We opened fire at 4000 meters, aiming for the single pea shooter on her deck. The third shot was a direct hit! Now that she could no longer harm us, we closed in fast to finish her off with a couple of well-aimed shots to the waterline. Aircraft spotted! Again we opened up on the bomber at the longest possible range, hopefully keeping it at bay long enough. It didn't work, the bomber came straight for us as we were charging towards the merchant. It was as exciting as it was incredible. Our tiny, if wonderful, boat: all guns blazing like a pocket battleship. The Liberator came screaming in on her bombing run and the boys all ducked behind their guns. Near miss! But close enough to make a mess of the boat. Damage reports indicated water coming in through countless leaks. 'Get her, GET HER NOW!' My second officer kicked the boys back into action now that the bomber was trying to climb back up to a safe altitude. The sound was deafening as we pumped shells into the Liberator and while her tail gunner was stitching a neat pattern of shells across the water, towards our boat, one of our 37mm projectiles exploded right under her wing. To our delight, an engine came crashing down into the sea, taking half the wing with it. The Liberator banked right, failed to recover and went tumbling down after the wing. A great splash and that was it. I could not believe my eyes.


'We got her! We got her!' The boys were wild with joy over their victory but we were not done yet. 'Get that merchant as quickly as possible, before the entire RAF is on our sterntube!' I yelled. Adrenaline got the better of me and I slammed Volkmar on the back. '*******ing brilliant shooting, Herr Leutnant!' The boys on the guns looked up, stunned at my profanity. Crack! Another shell smashed into the freighter's hull, below the waterline. She was already on fire, that will teach the Tommies to think the Atlantic is safe. It is not safe yet, Mister Churchill! After another couple minutes of shooting, Volkmar said: 'I think that should do it, Herr Kaleun, she is dead in the water and listing beyond recovery.' 'Very well, cease fire and keep an eye on the sky.' The 2000 ton merchant gave up, the crew got into the boats and we could hear and feel the fire blazing, even from 1000 meters. 'Aircraft spotted! Bomber straight ahead! No, two bombers!' Ok, that's enough gutsy combat for the day. 'Clear the bridge!' I gave the battleground one last quick look before I closed the hatch. Horrible though the scene around me was, my chest swelled with the victory we had wrought here today. An evil grin was on my face as I got down into the control room. 'Get deep and fast, and give it a knuckle to the starboard, Anton. Albert, get your boys organized and make a thorough inspection of the pressure hull.' And we got down deep to see how the boat held up.


As it turns out, the damage to the hull was nothing we couldn't handle and after our test dive, getting down to 200 meters without incident, I am rather happy about the whole adventure. Tonight, we will surface and run the final leg. By tomorrow we shall be well out into the Atlantic, the convoys better be careful around us.



The Duke

[Bosje]

My radio operator, Jakob. With all his 20 years he is really just a boy, but smarter than all the rest of us put together. Two years ago, he was being smart in some or other technical university. Now he is being smart in U-735's officer's mess. It's an amusing scene. Four decorated officers and two fahnrichs, huddled around a bootsmann. Crunching their brains, clinging on to his every word. Most of us can't follow his lecture, personally I consider all this radio wave stuff way above my head. But it is important that we get to grips with this material. Radio detection is becoming too much of a problem. During the past couple of days, we kept being jumped by aircraft without getting a warning from our radar detection set. So how did they find us? Our little conference in the mess today started when Hans recounted a whispered rumor he heard back in Bergen: 'They say that the radar detection set emits some kind of signal, which they learned to pick up. This comes straight from a British Intelligence officer!' I myself heard the same rumor and we were all busy talking like gossiping women, scaring each other with ghost tales, when Jakob overheard us and cut in: 'Absolute nonsense, gentlemen. They probably simply got their centimetric radar figured out. If they installed those on the aircraft then that in itself is scary enough to begin with, never mind those old wives' tales about the detector.' After that, of course, he had to elaborate on this to the staff, but I regret this conference already. It makes us feel as ignorant and old-fashioned as we really are, which is bad for morale.


It basically comes down to this, as far as I understand it: The detection set being a passive system, the enemy can not possibly detect the thing. This rumor got started by a British captive which is reason enough to suspect it's all a red herring. But still, we are not detecting their radars, so they found a way to pick up on us without their radar sets showing up on our receiver. Jakob explained that they must have finally found a way to get their short wave radar sets installed on smaller craft like escorts and aircraft. And we have no way to detect those waves. That explains why we are attacked by aircraft without getting an early warning, so it is back to square one for us. A sharp lookout and a crash dive on visual sighting. Wonderful. All the same, we are here. Well out into the Atlantic, beyond the heavily patrolled waters, but still within the grasp of their long range planes. Meanwhile there are Hunter-Killer Groups all over the place and no convoys to be found anywhere. But it's our job and we wouldn't want it any other way. Sooner or later, we will find our prey. To facilitate this, I tell Jakob to stop being a smart arse and get back to his radio, we need some kind of contact to find the Allied shipping after all.


On the last day of July, we finally get our long awaited contact report. Some French boats must still have found a way through and they made contact with a convoy. We can be there after fifteen hours of steaming. Ah, the hunt is on! I am in the best of moods while I make my round throughout the boat, all the boys seem glad to endure my little chats with them, while they make sure the boat is ready for action. The torpedoes are all checked, we have yet to fire one on this patrol, the engines are in excellent shape and Anton is beaming as he wanders around the compartments, sometimes giving one of the machines a pat on the back. As the sun sets, we are getting close to the calculated intercept point. We have a quick dip below to listen on the hydrophones every hour, the night is short enough as it is, we can't afford to miss the small window of darkness offered to us in this time of year. Our plotting came through true to form, the convoy steams into Klaus' ears early in the evening. Weary of their new radar, we try to keep well ahead of the leading escorts, but it seems they do not yet all have these new radar sets installed. We get radar transmission warnings at 21:20 and we get into the cellar. Sitting here, quiet as a mouse, we can simply let the convoy sail right across our bow. The escorts will not know we are here until our torpedoes slam into their charges.

The Duke

[Bosje]

I move back from the ocular and let Hans take a look. 'What do you think, 1.WO?' After a couple of seconds he too moves back from the attack periscope which is consequently lowered. 'Looks good, Herr Kaleun,' he says thoughtfully: 'Only one escort on this side, convoy running a straight course, nice and fat targets in the inner columns.' He is right of course, it looks excellent in fact. The boat is drifting soundlessly beneath the mild swell, a ghost in the sea at night. 'Very well, we launch from right here, one eel each for the fat ones as they cross our bow. Angle will be 60 but that will have to do. Dive as the outer column passes overhead, slip away through their own noise and finish off any stragglers later tonight.' 'Sounds like a plan, Herr Kaleun. Impact pistols for tubes one through four?' 'You read my mind, Herr Leutnant. Make it so.'


Ten minutes later we launch from tube one. Liberty ship, possibly the convoy commodore. The detonation rumbles into my ears while I line up tube two on the Liberty behind it. Now the Brits are awake, searchlights switch on all over the place while starshells add an eery atmosphere to the scene. The entire convoy makes a disciplined turn to port but then they lose their organization and it turns into a big mess. The Liberty I aimed for slowed down to avoid colliding with the burning wreck in front, our second torpedo is now overdue for impact. I send our third eel for it but that, too, fails to connect. By now she is getting ahead of us, not worth wasting our precious last shot on. I look for a new target. 'Large cargo bearing 340 range 2000, FaT for port turns.' 'Fertig' 'Los!' That's all bow tubes empty, I am annoyed with the missed shots and give the convoy one last sweep before we make our getaway. The escorts are going to take their turn soon.


We have a special surprise in store for them, a remarkable new invention sits in the sterntube. An acoustic homing torpedo which is supposed to home in on their screws. As I look around for the escorts, I am surprised to find they seem to hang back. Just one is coming our way, the rest are on the tail of the convoy, hanging around. Like they are waiting for something. Or guarding something. It's very dark but I take a better look and then I see it. A huge looming shadow on the horizon. Four slightly tilted smokestacks on an enormous hull. Very beautiful with its streamlined profile. With a shock I withdraw from the ocular and turn to my 1.WO. 'Hans you are not going to believe this. Take a look, bearing 260.' He does and I see his shoulders go rigid as he realizes what he is looking at. 'That's the Aquitania!'


'I know, we are going to have to go for it, don't we. Down periscope, ahead 2/3, full port rudder. Get Albert to work on those bowtubes.' 'This will not be easy, Herr Kaleun. They will do anything to protect her and they already know we are here.' 'I know, I know, but how can we not go for it? Get ready to fire the sterntube.' The boat is secured from silent running and the men start to hurriedly go about their jobs as we turn towards the 45.000 ton prize on the horizon. Meanwhile, I am looking for the nearest escort to send the acoustic eel after. There, a corvette. No longer considered a lowly auxiliary but much rather a fierce bugger which demands respect. Or which requires destruction for our present plan. I am not completely sure how to use this new toy but I can't imagine it being a bad idea to send it across the enemy's path. Bearing 220, fire when ready! The torpedo sets out on its path and we dive away from this shallowness. All we need is fifteen minutes to reload two tubes and launch them on this big Ocean Liner that's still just sitting there on the horizon. Begging to be destroyed.



The Duke

[sharkbit]

Thanks for the new installment. I've been going thru withdrawals for the last month. :cry:

Good read. :)

[nikbear]

Really glad that the story's back,been missing it;):up:

[bookworm_020]

Great story!:up:

Can't wait till the next chapter:yep:

[Bosje]

oh thanks, people

i dropped it for a while, holidays and some RL stuff and so on

gave SHIV a try too, but i just like writing this journal too much to quit, and I realise it has to go on as long as Beckman lives, anyway

reading comments like that keeps me going, cheers!

Bosje

[Bosje]

The boat is taking a nosedive while turning slightly to port, damage control party ready to leap into action while the Lords are sweating like crazy in the forward compartment, reloading tubes one and two. I sit by Klaus as he tries to gather what is going on up top, with the homing torpedo and the escort. We took the slight turn to port, knowing that the escort would most likely follow us there. The torpedo is definitely turning, following the escort in it's wake. This is very discomforting for me, I feel detached from the goings-on, I do not fully understand both how the escort and how the torpedo are working their magics. Unbearable to not know the how and why. If we make it out of here, I will have to learn a lot more still. Stay with the program, as they say, or forever lag behind, at the bottom of the sea. 'Torpedo converging with the screws... torpedo hardly distinguisha...' BOOM! The explosion crudely interrupts Klaus while he was wording what he was hearing. 'QUIET!' I roar across to the control room: 'Hard to starboard, maintain speed and depth.' The boys started cheering but we do not yet know if the explosion had any effect. Still, the urgent sound of fast screws moving overhead has gone. Always the subject of our nightmares and now we have struck back. 'And?' I ask Klaus.


'Engines stopped, some rumbling going on, I think she may be on fire, Herr Kaleun.' I dare not yet declare it a victory but we are definitely looking good. 'Back to heading 285, maintain three knots, maintain 90 meters.' Slowly I start to grin, getting ahead of myself. And then we all hear the bulkheads giving way. 'She's going down, Herr Kaleun!' Now I allow the boys to cheer. Their elation releases the agony from all those long hours we spent trying to get away from the escorts, now we have a terrible weapon of our own, something to return the favor. The Ocean Liner is still surrounded by escorts of course, but we are no longer in immediate danger. Klaus tells me that the Liner and the warships are all sitting still in the water. I can't imagine why, but I am sure we will get a clear shot to punish that behaviour. Klaus listens to the Liberty and the other large freighter, somewhere aft to our starboard, struggling to stay afloat while we get ready to deal our next blow.


Two hours later, it is all over. My Second Officer is positively beaming as he finishes the entry in the log:


July 31st, 22:00 Engaged convoy grid AM41. 22:20 Large merchant, Liberty, sunk shortly after one hit each. 22:23 Engaged Corvette with Falke Torpedo. Sunk, torpedo detonation after running towards propeller for approx. 30 sec, homing device surprisingly effective. 22:30 HMT Aquitania identified within torpedo range, already listing and on fire. Cause unknown. 2 torpedoes fired, both hits. 22:35 HMT Aquitania sunk. No trouble from escorts.


August 1st, 00:14 convoy outside of hydrophone range. End battle stations, surfaced to outflank and re-acquire convoy for second attackrun. Interception plotted in 6 hours. Weather deteriorated, heavy seas and heavy rain. Visibility minimal.
-


And that is that, really. It all seems very dull and to the point when I read it back in the log, but I suppose it was not our most tense moment we ever had in this boat. Three big ships and one corvette sunk for seven torpedoes. Over 60.000 registered tonnes. And not once did we get the feeling we were in trouble, not once did the depthcharges come close. I am confused as I am washed over by a strange sense of anticlimax, even though this is our finest hour. Stupid how the mind works. All those poor soldiers on board the Aquitania, they were only doing their bit for their country. Much like us. I have the feeling that we were not sufficiently punished for what we just pulled off. And that feeling has no place at all in the head of a U-boat Commander. Straighten yourself out, Beckman! You have a boat and crew to bring back alive, so in actual fact this was a perfect attack! I guess I'll feel better about it once we make it back to Bergen. But for now, I feel like I am addicted to danger. Addicted to the feeling that, after hunting them, I become the hunted in turn. The navy backed away too easily and, stupidly, I have mixed feelings about that.


Maybe I simply feel insulted that those escorts did not give us a hard time at all. Hey we did just sink one of the biggest Ocean Liners in the world! And right under their noses, too. Whatever my personal feelings about all this, the crew and the staff of U-735 are looking at their Kaleun with a new sense of admiration in their eyes. They are all doing fine, the boat is doing fine, we shall undoubtedly be showered in laurels and medals. First things first, however. The boat is doing a decent fifteen knots, crashing into the heavy seas as we are running a wide turn around the convoy. This is not over just yet, I am putting us into the Royal Navy's sights once more. Maybe they will put up a better fight this time. Cocky and aggressive is good, Freiherr Beckman. Too cocky? Only time will tell.



The Duke

[Bosje]

How many soldiers in a Division as it is carried across The Atlantic in a converted luxury Liner? Around five thousand. How many navy personnel on your average corvette? A hundred? Sailors on a 7.000 ton freighter? Thirty? Fifty? A lot of souls to answer for when your time comes. Verdammt, Becks, stop this useless train of thought and just go to sleep, will you? I know, I know, but I can't. Idiot. With an annoyed sigh, I throw the blanket off me and sit up. I feel like a smoke. And a drink. And a lay. I wish I was home, where the latter was easy enough to arrange. Not so on U-735 while she rolls and pitches and thunders her way across the North Atlantic. Unfit for command, Herr Oberleutnant. Getting soft, getting old, getting worn. With that thought, I am completely awake and still more annoyed with myself. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Another sigh and I get up, the flimsy curtain is all that separates my place of refuge from the smoothly operating killing machine and I rip it open with a muffled 'scheisse'.


'Morning, Herr Kaleun.' A surprised rating greets me an hour after he wished me goodnight. Morning, Fritz. Nothing new, I suppose? Nope. Fritz is the guy who mans the radio shack when Jakob takes his well earned naps. I offer him a cigarette after I light one up myself. Smoking inside the boat, completely against regulations. But a nice draft is passing through my girl, as the hatches up to the bridge are all open, despite the water. We are laboriously making our way back home through horrible weather after having spent all but one of our torpedoes. I allow smoking inside, but only in the radio- and control rooms when we are not at action stations. I shouldn't really allow it but I tend toward hypocrisy as I myself frequently use the butt of one cigarette to light the next one. My pipe is reserved for treasured moments on the bridge, at sunsets and the likes. But I have taken to smoking ciggies like a chimney in between those rare few seconds of beauty and peace. I sometimes suspect it comes from a great feeling of unease, somehow induced by killing too many people. But I was never one for retrospecting analyses of the self. Who gives a damn, anyway. It's my job.


'Morning, Herr Kaleun. Can't sleep either, eh?' 'Morning, Hans,' I mutter. What is wrong with us? Sleep is a priceless commodity on a war patrol and we are both off duty. The boat is in the sufficiently capable hands of 2.WO Volkmar Vowe who dutifully stands his watch. But here we are, the Commander and the First Officer, unable to sleep but not having any business in the control room either. 'Join me in the mess, 1.WO.' 'With pleasure, Herr Kaleun.'

[Bosje]

I doubt I will have the benefit of his abilities much longer, he is getting ready for his own command at an annoyingly swift rate. He'll probably make a better Kaleun than I ever was. You won't catch him agreeing with that, though. All the men under my command radiate an ever-present sense of newness, freshness, ignorance. They hold together perfectly and they do their jobs very well indeed. True and proper U-boat men, but only as long as their old Kaleun is there, watching over the whole thing. Arrogant, yes. Unbecoming, even. But that's how it is. Whenever I am ill or off duty, there is the sense of dread. It clears up as soon as the comforting sound goes through the boat: Duke on deck, they call it behind my back. And I can't help enjoying that. And I can't help worrying about it whenever I have one of my whims of lacking confidence. Still just a bunch of kids, in need of their leader.


'I've been thinking, Duke. I think we were very very lucky with that Liner.' Hans pokes my wandering mind back to reality. 'A French boat must have just attacked that convoy, that's why those escorts were sitting idly around that stricken old lady.' I suppose he is right, she was listing and, judging by the modest plumes of smoke which rose from her forward decks, suffering from some kind of crippling fire in her bowels. Our two eels finished her off quickly enough, kicking her to death while she was already down. Probably a complete surprise to those escorts while they were listening for whatever U-boat struck the first blow. Maybe we will learn what exactly transpired, maybe we won't. It will also depend on whether the other boat got away. 'Ya, I was thinking the same thing. But why in the hell did they let us get away so easily? Why not go after our arse for hours and hours and hours? That's their usual thing, after all.' Silence again for a couple of minutes as we both ponder this. 'Maybe they spent all their depthcharges on that other boat? They simply didn't have any ammunition left for us?' Hmm.


All the same, it was we who sank her in the end. A great victory. But if Hans is right, the Navy let us get away with it only due to a stroke of sheer luck, we have no real reason to think they suddenly became incompetent or lazy. Of course I knew that all along, deep inside. Always fear those bastards and simply consider yourself lucky if you get away with apparent ease. We never engaged the convoy again, fate was very kind to us once more that night. As we started to get close to the convoy for our second run, we got down to listen in. While we were plotting out their course and speed, Klaus called me to the earphones. An incredible bit of luck, two merchants were sailing towards us, very close to the same path as the convoy only outbound, going the other way. We tracked them for a while and it seemed they would be crossing right in front of us. Two merchants, no warships, all bow tubes ready. It was a natural call, I let the convoy escape while I went after the easier undefended prey. Visibility was still terrible but we surfaced and used our own radar to get our firing solutions. This was the second time we ever used our radar, I never use it normally because I assume they can detect our signal at least as easily as we can detect theirs. Well, could, anyway. We launched our eels, we witnessed faint explosions through the squalls and when we got closer to have a look, two merchants were seen to be burning and listing. Estimated 3.000 and 7.000 tonnes, to be added to the score for this patrol. All but one eel expended, apart from the two spare ones in the external storage. But with this weather and the constant air threat, we have no chance of loading those eels into the torpedo rooms.


We ran away in a southerly direction, hiding deep inside the horizontal rains. None of the distant convoy's escorts turned back to give us any bad news, it was all ludicrously easy. Later that afternoon, I ordered a course back home. That was a couple of hours ago. We really did earn some sleep after doing an incredibly good job. But, like stupid idiots, we fail to seize it. Too much to ponder. I lean back on my seat in the officer's mess and start thinking out loud.


'So here we are, going home, an estimated 75.000 tonnes in the log. My most successful patrol. Ever. Even more praiseworthy than sinking that Ami battleship. So why the hell can't I sleep, Hans? Why the hell does it feel unworthy?' He looks at me, thoughtfully. 'Don't ask me, sir. I should feel pretty good about it myself. Still I can't sleep either. Maybe it's all those souls on board the Aquitania. Then again, maybe you are right, maybe we are just too accustomed to hell and damnation, maybe that's why it seems too easily won. But you were there in the happy times, surely you didn't feel bad about it then?' I consider this for a while, I guess he is right. I distinctly remember loving it all back then. 'No, no of course not. You're right. It's like the happy times. We simply got lucky and I should be glad. In due time, I will be glad.' I pour us both a glass from the last bottle of Dutch gin. Hals will need to produce a new secret stash. 'Prosit, Leutnant Bremer. Here's to being lucky bastards.' 'Prosit, Duke. Lucky bastards indeed.'




Oberleutnant Freiherr Beckman
(The Duke to his friends)

[Bosje]

The office smells like peace. Nonsense, of course. Peace has no smell and neither has war. But the contrast with the usual mixture of diesel, sweat, rotten food and excrement on board U-735 is so great that I forget the war for a few minutes. Through the windows I can see the sun shining onto the iced tops of the mountains far away, while the valley of the fjord is a cheerful mesh of green and deep blue. Here I am, in a clean and well-ventilated office. The war seems to be a million miles away from Bergen's FdU Headquarters. I hear him talking to me but I'm not listening too intently, the view distracts me. Until he tells me that I will play host to a reporter from the Ministry of Propaganda. I scramble to the defensive: 'What? That is madness! It's no pleasure cruise out there, you know. We can't be asked to babysit some damn civilian, we have enough on our minds as it is.' 'Calm down, Beckman. The people back home need their heroes, things are not going well for us. So you will welcome this man on board and you will like it.' 'There is no room, he will be in the way, he will distract the crew during action stations. With respect, Herr FregattenKapitän, I will not do this.' 'Stop there, you do not get to have a say in this, it has already been decided. Besides, this man is a junior officer in the Kriegsmarine, he will do fine on your boat. He just happens to to be attached to the ministry and so he will be taking pictures and writing an article during your patrol. Besides, he is well connected. Some family member high up in the party. Don't make this difficult.' This is what happens when politicians decide that they know what's best for the armed forces. I want to protest more but I guess there is no point. FdU continues: 'Fahnrich Ringelmann will report to the pens later this afternoon. That is all, Herr Oberleutnant.' Fine. I turn on my heels and prepare to slam the door behind me when the commodore calls after me: 'Oh and Becks, be sure to bring U-735 back in one piece, won't you? We've had more than enough losses for one summer.' 'Of course, Sir. Don't I always?' I salute and leave his office. Not in the best of moods.


The U-boat pens are ugly beasts among the surroundings which are even more beautiful than they were this afternoon. These Bergen sunsets always make me feel better. I enter the building to check on our boat. She is once more in fine shape. Men are crawling all over her, hauling supplies into her bowels and stowing every square centimeter of free space with fresh food. It won't stay fresh for long but at least the eating will be good for the first week. Albert is overseeing a welding crew who are tinkering with the 8.8. Hals is standing guard over the gangplank, ticking off items on a list as the boys bring them on board. We will set out this time tomorrow. I check with Hals: 'We will be host to a reporter on this trip, some guy called Ringelmann. Has he reported here today, Obersteuermann?' 'Not to my knowledge, Herr Kaleun. Haven't seen anyone I didn't know.' 'Yes well, if he does show up, tell him to report to me in our lodgings, will you?' 'Will do, Herr Kaleun.'
Our lodgings are the big seaside hotel which is reserved for U-boat crews as they come back from patrols. We always get several weeks to unwind, bathed in luxury and alcohol, before we get sent out to meet our enemies again. It's all just a show, a facade. These days the odds of coming back are well below fifty percent. But that doesn't stop the boys from having a disgustingly good time in the hotel. And I like to think that we earned that.


Fahnrich Ringelmann doesn't show up the next day either and I am not planning on waiting for him. We have a job to do and, frankly, I am quite happy to leave port without some nosy Party-highflyer on board. At 17:00 on September 12th, U-735 releases herself from the safety of the U-boat pens and we are underway. Just the 46 regular crew on board. Volkmar is now officially Leutnant zur See Vowe and some iron crosses have been approved. My first officer has been promoted too, Oberleutnant Hans Bremer. The same rank as I have myself, in fact. Getting ready for his own command. Veterans are hard to come by these days, I guess it is only fair that he gets his own commission. But I will miss him when that time comes. It is another wonderful late-summer day and I lean back on the wintergarden to have an enjoyable couple hours with my pipe before we get out to the open seas.

The Duke

[Bosje]

http://img117.imageshack.us/img117/4831/siegfried1yw6.jpg

We pass the lighthouse on the end of the quay and we wave, as always, back at the crowd who have come to see us off. Then I spot a Kriegsmarine uniform among the crowd. I raise my binoculars and now I can see the man is taking pictures of us. Look! Volkmar smiles and says: 'Could be a spy, Herr Kaleun, I bet I could hit him with the 3.7' 'Very funny, Number Two. No, I fear that this is our guest for the trip. Look, he is beckoning us to come closer!' Indeed, after having taken some pictures he started waving, his hand signals seem to indicate that he wants us to dock right at his feet. 'Who does he think he is?' 'Never mind him, maintain course and speed.' 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun.' I light my pipe which has gone out during all the waving and we continue on our track. Half an hour later we are getting caught up by an E-boot which starts to signal us with an aldis light as it gets close. It orders us to heave to. I ponder for a while if I should obey orders given to me by an E-boot's commander but then I find I am too curious not to find out what this is all about. Through the mouthpiece I give the concession: 'All stop.'


When the E-boot is alongside our boat, the young man I saw through my binoculars comes out of it's cabin, a kit-bag and a very expensive-looking camera slung over his shoulder. He jumps onto U-735's forward deck while I see the commander of the E-boot making a meaningful gesture with his hand: good luck with that one. The boy climbs the bridge, drops his kit-bag and gives me a lazy salute while he opens his mouth: 'Hiya, Cap. Fahnrich Ringelman reporting for duty. Didn't you see me waving for you to come pick me up at the lighthouse? Anyway, I'm here now, that's the main thing.' He then turns around, takes a couple of pictures of Bergen and disappears through the hatch with a casual: 'Don't worry, I'll sort myself out somewhere.' During all of this, Volkmar's face had turned slightly red. 'What the...' he started. 'Never mine, Number Two, I'll deal with this. You just keep an eye on the sky.' 'Sir.' And I follow the boy down through the hatch.


I find him in the control room, looking a bit surprised by the smells and inspecting all the handles and dials like an excited child, I see Anton looking at him with an annoyed frown. I decide to take the boy to the mess for a little chat. 'You, follow me.' 'Ah, ok Cap.' I lead him to the officer's mess where my 1.WO and navigator are playing cards. 'Sit down and show me your file and your orders.' He produces both from the top of his kit-bag and hands them over, I start reading. After gathering the essentials, I summarize them out loud for the other staff members to hear: Fahnrich zur See Siegfried Ringelmann, Academy graduation 30-7-1943 with only mediocre grades. Attached to the Ministry of Propaganda on August 1st, due to a recommendation by a certain Undersecretary Ringelmann. Requested duty on a combat unit, approved for 11th flotilla September 1st, due to recommendation by same. Orders: join the first boat to leave port, write inspiring article during patrol. 'So that's it then, is it? You are going to write an inspiring article about us?' 'Yes sir, that's the idea. And I hope to take a few good pictures. Look, This camera can hold color film, it's great!' 'Right. Well, Ringelmann. You are a junior officer and the youngest on board. As such, you will do your share of usual duty. This, (while I point him towards Hals) is Obersteuermann Petersen. You will serve as his aid. You take four hours of his daily watch and in the remaining four hours he will teach you how we do things on this boat. That leaves sixteen hours of free time for you to sleep and to write your thing, which should be more than enough. You will report to Oberbootsmann Schaefer to be assigned your quarters. I suspect you can find him in the forward torpedo room. Is that understood, Ringelmann?' During all this, the boy had started to lose some of the bright-faced innocence. He muttered: 'Understood, Cap.' 'You will address me as Herr Kaleun or Herr Oberleutnant. Furthermore, you are free to go anywhere on the boat but if I catch you interfering with operations, I'll re-introduce the good old-fashioned practice of keelhailing. Understood?' 'Jawohl, Herr Kaleun.' 'Good.'


I stay with Hans and Hals in the mess while the boy goes off to find Albert. Hans kicks it off: 'That kid spells trouble.' Hals joins in: 'Great, Duke. Thanks for making him my responsibility.' 'Sorry about that, Obersteuermann, but would you rather have him serve as watch officer or weapons officer? His Academy record is poor, I feel he can do the least harm at the charts table, be sure to keep an eye on him. The boy seems well-connected, so some discretion is called for. Don't mess up your careers over this, you know, leave that to your already ill-liked Kaleun.' 'Fine, fine. But I have a bad feeling about this patrol.' 'We'll pull through, just be sure to stay sharp.' With that, I go back to the bridge to enjoy the last moments of wonderful cruising through the fjords. During the course of the night we will be in Coastal Command's territory already.


The Duke
Pictures added later, courtesy of Fahnrich Ringelmann



http://img182.imageshack.us/img182/245/siegfried2vy1.jpg

[Bosje]

Sorry about the fact that it reeks of a familiar theme (Das Boot) but I have some screenies I wanted to justify and the patrol will turn out to warrant my own version of Bernard von Unfall

more later

[bookworm_020]

If you can get a photo of him being lauched from the stern tube, that would be excellent!:up:

[Bosje]

The boat is in the strange void of the Arctic once more. We were here about half a year ago and I remember hating it then, but during the summer it is hardly any better. Temperatures and conditions are less cruel during the summer but it doesn't get dark. The best we can hope for is a kind of enduring twilight with the sun sitting forever near the horizon, very faint but always there. We are occasionally treated to the spectacle of the Northern Lights and all in all, I find the Arctic quite beautiful. But we are not here to enjoy the scenery, we are here to bleed the Bolshevist life line. The Norway Flotillas are no longer in a position to annihilate an entire convoy, like PQ17 one year ago, but we can still deal a blow. If only it wasn't so light and clear all the time. Intelligence reports a returning convoy from Murmansk, not as valuable as an inbound convoy full of tanks and planes and oil but still, a convoy. Shipping which needs to be destroyed. I intend to find this convoy and we establish a patrol line while every man on the watch and the sensors is waiting for a sign of the enemy. If we are lucky, the level of protection for the mostly empty ships will be mediocre at best.


As the boat waits for any contacts, Fahnrich Ringelmann is getting on everyone's nerves while he takes photographs and interviews for his report. One evening, I am in my quarters trying to read up on radio waves. My attempts at reading are disturbed by voices from the officer's mess. The boy is interviewing Volkmar, my second officer. 'How would you describe the commander?' 'Hmm?' 'Come on, I'm trying to create a picture, a character. The Kaleun has a reputation as an eccentric, a misfit in modern day Germany but all the same, covered in decorations.' 'You want to watch your mouth there, son. Insulting the commander on his own ship is not a good idea. The commander is different, yes. But you see, that's what keeps us alive. That, and the boat.' 'I'm afraid I don't quite understand. Being weird brings you luck?' 'No no no, it's about staying ahead of the enemy, about doing the unexpected. When we expect to dive, The Duke stays shallow. When any man would run, The Duke stops dead in his tracks. And he is still here, after almost a year of fighting. Every man on this ship knows it, do what he says, he always pulls through.' 'So we have the crazy eccentric aristocrat, defeating the enemy by being mad.' 'Well, whatever. But all those fresh kids out of the academy tend to never come back from their very first patrol. They die from being predictable and stupid. Personally, I'm quite happy to be here on U-735 under Kaleun Beckman.' 'Thank you, Leutnant, that was very useful.' 'Yeah alright.'


What do they know? I turn around in my bunk and try to fall asleep, but I can't help smiling at the image which got painted there. The next day, operations carry on as usual, we are still looking for the convoy. The staff sits in the mess at noon, lunch is served and we are treated to the last remains of the fresh meat and vegetables. It is our ninth day at sea and as always in the early stages of a patrol, the motto is 'enjoy it while it lasts'. It will be dried and canned foods before long. Hans engages in some after lunch conversation with the others while I rest my head against the upholstery. 'The convoy should not be far away now, why aren't we hearing anything from the other boats or from the Luftwaffe?' Petersen cuts in: 'Maybe the escorts got those Trondheim boys already.' 'Nonsense, we would have at least heard something on the radio.' 'But the convoy can't be that hard to find.' 'True, well all we can do is wait here.'
The chatter continues for a while but then Jakob produces a coded radio message. It turns out to be our coveted contact report on the convoy, heading west at five knots. 'Obersteuermann, join me at the charts table, please.' We plot to intercept the large convoy at between 21:00 and 22:00, so as to make the most use of what little night there is. That evening, we receive another radio contact report at 21:11. The convoy is very close, they should steam into our visual range within the hour, we go to periscope depth, the hunter is ready to pounce.

The Duke

[Bosje]

'Forty plus freighters, one flat top, at least five escorts on this side, mostly frigates.' Hans whispers the details down to the control room, he is alone in the conning tower for now while I am at the charts with Hals, planning our attack. Hans continues to report what he just saw through the periscope: 'If they maintain course, our position will be favourable, Herr Kaleun, outer column will cross close to our current position.' 'Thank you, number one, keep the scope down, I'll join you shortly.' I look down on the map as Hals draws another line. The line extends right to the edge of the bearing ring which represents U-735. Volkmar enters into the log:


September 21st,, 1943
22:30, Boat evenly trimmed at 13.5 meters. Engaging convoy bound for Iceland heading West by South-West speed approx 6 knots.


He is grinning, as are most of the men in the control room. Morale is good, the boys are always in high spirits during the early stages of an attack. They simply do not think about the aftermath and I do not blame them. After all, it has been almost two months since the last depthcharge was dropped down on us, you tend to forget the fear and I suppose your mind does not want to think about how terrible it can be. Enjoy it while it lasts, you can worry about it later. Alright, time to earn our next month's worth of luxurious shore leave in Bergen. 'Action Stations! You know what to do, men.'


Ringelmann enters the control room, his camera in his hands. 'Permission to take photographs during the action, Herr Kaleun?' 'Very well, if you must. But don't get in our way.' 'No sir, thank you sir.' He has started to act more professionally and more like a U-735 man during the past week and the crew are tolerating him, for now. Good. I join Hans in the conning tower, Anton, my LI, is on his usual post and Hals is busy calculating angles and drawing lines at his table. The boat is ready to strike and the damage control party are casually leaning against the bulkheads, they have nothing to do for now and we all hope that it will stay that way. Over the next half hour we wait silently at periscope depth, we stop the engines to be quiet as a mouse. Anton is able to maintain our depth with slight manual trims for a while in these conditions: the sea is very calm. 'Up periscope.' A quick glance at the convoy as it keeps on steaming home. No starshells, no searchlights, no racing escorts. 'Down periscope.' Periscope exposure must be kept to a minimum. I look at the bearing ring, do a quick mental calculation and whisper to Hans: 'Target speed five, course 250.' Hans passes it on down through the hatch to the navigator, who whispers back: 'Angle 70 port on zero bearing.' Teamwork is everything, the boat and crew are operating like a Swiss watch and I am confident about the attack. 'Flood tubes one through four.'


I stick the periscope out for five seconds to take a look at my prize for tonight. The lead escort has passed us, the flank escorts are well ahead and aft of us and the convoy is about to present a solid wall of hulls to my bowtubes. I have seen it all before, but my heart is racing with anticipation. Our positioning was so good that we could let them steam into our sights without having to run the electrics at all. Anton is able to keep our bridge under the surface by manual trim manipulations and the enemy are oblivious of the killer which is ready to strike. 'Open bow caps, set all torpedoes for 3 meters, impact pistols as usual.' Silent, deadly, I feel the familiar rush of being the hunter, ready to spring the trap.


Suddenly there is a commotion from the control room and, to my horror, the electrics come to life. All the hairs on my neck and arms stand up and I jerk my head around to the conning tower dials. There it is, I see it but I can't believe it. The engine telegraph indicates 'Ahead standard' for both electrics. These engines are relatively quiet but after spending an hour in complete silence, the sound seems to roar through the boat. As loud as a thousand engines opening up on full throttle. I am unable to move, to think. A shout reaches me through the hatch. 'Nein! Verdammt!' Followed by the smack of flesh hitting flesh, then another thud. Before I can even give the order, the telegraph is already back to 'All stop' and then everything is silent once again, except for a few muttered curses. But I fear it is too late, the damage has been done. 'Hans, stay here, keep the scope down.' I scramble down the ladder into the control room. Most of the boys are just standing there, palefaced, frozen. Fahnrich Ringelmann sits slumped against the forward bulkhead, his left eye closed as the flesh around it is visibly swelling up, tears dripping down his face from his right eye. Anton stands over him, his left hand rubbing the knuckles on his right fist. 'He tripped and grabbed the telegraph, I was too late to stop him, I am sorry Herr Kaleun.' His report is brief, concise. Cold efficiency but the expression on his face is scary, unnerving.


A voice in my head says: This can not be happening. But I see the pipe near the floorboard, the valve on the pipe, the shoelace still stuck on the valve, the shoe still on the boy's foot as he is sitting there against the bulkhead, one hand clutching his camera, sobbing. He was taking pictures of the crew as they were preparing to destroy the enemy and he tripped, reaching out for anything to hold him up. It might have been funny in other circumstances but obviously, nobody is laughing. I feel sad and exhausted, my grip on reality slipping away, but I can not afford to show it and I start barking orders: 'Volkmar, this man is under arrest for violating silent running, I want him tied and secured in the warrant officer's quarters. Anton, maintain periscope depth, keep the engines down to a maximum 50 rpm if you can. Albert, get ready for trouble. Pass the word, absolute silence from here on.' The officers get it done while I squat down at the hatch to the radio shack. Klaus knows what I want and he turns to me, whispering the bad news: 'Nearest escorts all cut their engines, convoy slowing down and turning away to the north, Herr Kaleun. No asdic yet, they are listening.' Of course they heard the noise, but instead of charging straight at us, it seems they are waiting for us to make more noise, to run away so they can home in by passive sonar. I look up at the ceiling and I force myself to grin. 'If you want to kill me tonight, Englander, you'll have to work for it.' Gunner's mate Wellenberg is the nearest sailor and I give him a wink. Acting the part of Fearless Leader. He smiles back, but very faintly. I'm not fooling anyone, the boys know what is going to come.


The Duke

[Bosje]

Yes, I had the engines stopped when i drew out a new course line, completely forgetting that it automatically goes to ahead standard :o
:gulp:

[U-46 Commander]

So you blame the photoghrapher for it!:nope: ? Its your story, Getting better by every tale!

[nikbear]

Bravo,More,More:up:

[Bosje]

Some five hundred meters, that is the distance. Quite far, if you have to run it on foot. Quite close, if the frigate has to run it before bringing death to us. She is sitting there, bobbing along, screws barely turning. Listening, waiting for us to make another mistake. She is slightly behind us, off our port, while the convoy steams across our bow on their northward leg, all ships now turning away from us, not worth a shot. I want to get them all, get rid of that escort and strike at the convoy but the angles are against us. To go for the escort, we must turn to starboard. But that means turning away from the convoy. Turn to port and our nose will stay on the convoy but we'll present our port flank to the frigate. 'LI, 50 rpm, rudder port 20.' I choose the convoy, desperately hoping that they are about to turn on a westward leg, hoping that they will soon show me their flanks. Seconds seem to last hours. Only fifteen minutes passed after Ringelmann stumbled but it seems like a hundred years, waiting. My only source of information is Klaus, his whispered reports are passed on to me in the conning tower. But I need to know more, I want to see what they are up to. I risk a peek, attack periscope up for two seconds, down again. I only got a glance but it was enough, all merchants are turning to port, back towards us. I made the right choice by going for the convoy. But the periscope gave the game away.


-Ping-


'Ahead flank! Rudder port 10! Set target speeds and angles for zero, fire on my bearings!' U-735 jumps forward while we hear gunfire. Gunfire? I do not stop to worry about that, they are not shooting at me, they are using starshells to light up the party. No use in trying to hide. 'Up periscope'. I take a quick look around. The frigate is off our port but she was facing the other way so she needs to turn around first, the other escorts are too far off to present any immediate danger. I look ahead and there is the wall of ships which I was hoping to find, the entire convoy has turned to the west as one in a disciplined and perfectly executed maneuver to prevent collisions and confusion. A fine tactic, provided that the submerged killer is diving deep to escape the escorts. But we are still here, at periscope depth, four torpedoes pointing right at them in the opened bowtubes. I do not have time to work out the speeds and ranges and angles, I'll simply have to aim ahead of them. I decide on a nine degree lead. If I miss the intended target there is every chance of another hull getting in the way of the warhead; the convoy stretches out before me, all the way to the horizon. 'Tube one, bearing 342, fire! Tube two, 356, Fire!' That was loosely aimed at two Liberties close to the center column. The flat top is right behind them, looks like a Bogue class. 'FaT slow speed, legs to port 800 meters...' 'Set!' 'Bearing 003, fire!'


The asdic pokes at us incessantly. God I hate that sound. I quickly look around at the source, the nearby escort completed her turn and is now coming straight towards me, bows pointing at me but no sign of a great foamy moustache to indicate the start of an attack run. 'Klaus! What is she doing?' 'Pinging the hell out of us, Herr Kaleun, but maintaining distance!' What? Why is she not charging into us? I had the order to dive deep already in my throat but I swallow it. The periscope has been up for far too long, doesn't matter, they know exactly where we are anyway. The pings are hitting the boat like bullets, sharp and urgent. Perhaps she maintains contact to guide in another escort? I make a full turn with the periscope but no escorts are about to charge in. So be it, I turn back to the convoy. Ore carrier in the next column. 'Tube 4, bearing 358, fire!' Four torpedoes on their way, I expect the first detonations within seconds. 'Klaus?' No need for whispers, we are running at flank speed, still slightly turning to port, making a hell of a lot of noise. Klaus calls back: 'Escort still maintaining distance, turning with us to port, she is keeping her bow pointed at us.' My eye tells me the same thing and I don't understand. Why is she not charging into us? Why is she allowing me the opportunity to strike at the convoy? Is this a trick? Some kind of new tactic? Am I running straight into a trap of some kind? Suddenly, a single word flashes through my brain and a shiver runs down my spine as I scream: 'Scheisse! Hard to starboard, dive! DIVE!'


Hedgehog, the word still lingers in my head while Hans and I scramble down from the conning tower. The needle on the depth gauge is quickly turning clockwise. As fast as the secondhand on the chronometer which Hals holds in his hand. 'Torpedoes one and two are overdue for impact, Herr Ka...' Whoom. Whoom. Two explosions rumble in the distance, some of the men can not contain an excited shout. Whoom. Torpedo number three, the carrier. The men are celebrating the hell which we unleashed on the convoy but I am waiting for another kind of explosion, much closer, an explosion which will destroy us. Sweat is dripping down from my face. 'Rudder starboard 20, keep going down as fast as you can, Anton!' We pass 100 meters, the boat is diving so steep that it is difficult to stand upright. Everyone is holding onto pipes, ladders, bulkheads, poles. 'Launch decoy.' 'Passing test depth.' 'Warship accelerating bearing 195. Attack run!' 'Hard to port!' 'Wasserbomben!' 'Passing 190 meters.' 'Level off, LI!' 'Passing 200 meters.' 'Level, come on, level off!' The commands and the feedback are shouted through the control room. The boat is sounding off a deep booming moan, we are going down too steep, too fast, too deep. But never mind that, we've been deeper than this before. The enemy is a bigger threat at the moment. The hedgehog did not get us, if it even launched at all, but now I am more concerned about the depthcharges which are on their way. 'Rudder zero' 'Boat is leveling.' 'Hold on, men!' The depthcharges start exploding, far away at first but quickly getting closer. And closer. The boat starts to shake as the sea is boiling up above us. The boat is thrown about a bit but I've seen a lot worse, no water is rushing into the boat, the lights are still on, she is still in one piece. 'Passing 220 meters.' 'Easy now, LI.' The needle stalls at 230 meters and the boat is straight and level. Good girl. 'Right, maintain 230 meters, rudder 10 port, 50 rpm.' Albert reports in: 'No damage, all compartments secure.' 'Thank you, Oberbootsmann.' Far away, we hear the fourth and last rumble of an exploding torpedo. Four torpedoes, four hits. And we survived, but this was only the start. Obersteuermann Petersen is marking the twenty-five or so charges, that first run alone takes up a quarter of the chalkboard. I put my hand on his shoulder. 'Never mind, Hals.'



The Duke

[bookworm_020]

Bring on the next chapter!:up:

[Steeltrap]

Yes, I had the engines stopped when i drew out a new course line, completely forgetting that it automatically goes to ahead standard :o
:gulp:


HaHa!! I avoid that by dragging the waypoint to the new course I want rather than deleting it/setting a new one. Even if you give manual orders so you're no longer following the plotted course, the Nav oficer can return you to course without changing your speed.

NYGM prevents you from sitting still - you can't maintain depth and slowly sink. OK if you want to go deeper, but useless for waiting in ambush.

Great read - really enjoy it!!

(on a final note, and I apologise for being picky, but this is a mistake I see all the time and it drives me nuts: IT'S means "it is"; ITS is the possessive.
For example: if a ship is facing you bow-on, it's (i.e. it is) showing its bow (i.e. possessive: the ship's bow) at a zero angle.
I know this is picky, but just about everyone who writes stories here seems to get this completely incorrect...stuffed if I know why!)

[sharkbit]

(on a final note, and I apologise for being picky, but this is a mistake I see all the time and it drives me nuts: IT'S means "it is"; ITS is the possessive.

"To" and "too" is always my pet peeve.

:)

[Bosje]

Yes, I had the engines stopped when i drew out a new course line, completely forgetting that it automatically goes to ahead standard :o
:gulp:

HaHa!! I avoid that by dragging the waypoint to the new course I want rather than deleting it/setting a new one. Even if you give manual orders so you're no longer following the plotted course, the Nav oficer can return you to course without changing your speed.

NYGM prevents you from sitting still - you can't maintain depth and slowly sink. OK if you want to go deeper, but useless for waiting in ambush.

Great read - really enjoy it!!

(on a final note, and I apologise for being picky, but this is a mistake I see all the time and it drives me nuts: IT'S means "it is"; ITS is the possessive.
For example: if a ship is facing you bow-on, it's (i.e. it is) showing its bow (i.e. possessive: the ship's bow) at a zero angle.
I know this is picky, but just about everyone who writes stories here seems to get this completely incorrect...stuffed if I know why!)
Its / It's... yeah I know, I try to make a point of reading and re-reading the whole thing before posting it but that type of error tends to slip past me. I usually edit that kind of stuff several weeks afterwards. English is not my native language, throw me a bone here ;)

As for the course change... I dragged it, didn't delete/set it, but it still caused the engines to go. Either way, realistic play requires propulsion even at silent running so it was my own damn fault.

next chapter coming soon :)

[Steeltrap]

Hey, if English isn't your native language then it should be, as you seem to write it better than many native speakers.

Just on that, it's interesting that many of the most 'correct' English users are those for whom it is a second language, especially some European nations. I'm guessing it's because they are taught 'correct' grammatical structure in their native languages and their tuition in English carries that over. Native speakers tend to learn all sorts of bad habits and aren't taught grammar (even elementary grammar).
Then, of course, we have our friends from the USA, who perpetrate all sorts of atrocities on the English language.
As Churchill put it (I think it was he):
"England and the United States are two nations separated by a common language" or words to that effect!

Either way, really enjoy your story and am in no way seeking to discourage you!!!

Cheers

[Bosje]

'Bulkheads giving way, something is going down, Herr Kaleun.' I look at the clock, it says it's exactly midnight. 'We got one!' The word is spreading fast, but there is little time to celebrate as the escort's screws are getting louder once more. Hold on, boys! The familiar game. 'Warship closing in at 200.' 'Rudder 20 port, AK voraus!' 'Wasserbomben!' 'Schleichfahrt.' And yet another near miss. They keep it up for well over an hour but we are never in any real trouble, most of the boys are well used to it and before long, the boat is secure from action stations. While we pop back up to periscope depth, I finally get a chance to concern myself with Ringelmann. My First Officer joins me as we reach the nco quarters. Ringelmann is in his bunk, hands and feet tied to the bunk railing, his face and pillow soiled with vomit and a stained gag hangs around his neck, pulled down by the armed guard to keep him from choking. He had to endure the engagement without knowing what was going on, the overhead screws and the depthcharges must have been a horrible thing to endure. I start feeling sorry for him and the same sympathy registers on Hans' face. 'Are you alright, boy?' His eyes bulge as he snaps. 'YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS! You just wait till...' I put a premature end to the drama by looming over him, ignoring the stench of the vomit. I grab him by the chest and pull his upper body out of the bunk, putting us face to face. Fury is boiling within me, we were feeling sorry for him just seconds ago but now I can not control all the emotions which are flowing through me. This boy will be on the receiving end of a year's worth of frustrations and fears. Not many have ever seen me lose my temper and both the boy and Hans are taken aback. 'Don't even think about threatening me with your political connections, you swine. Do you understand your situation? I could execute you here and now on the grounds of sabotage and I would never hear another thing about it.'


His expression makes it clear that he does not understand it. He looks intimidated by my fury but underneath that, there is still a dangerous sense of indignant outrage, he still feels untouchable by an unpolitical lowlife such as me. Very well, 'You think about how much you value your life for another couple of hours, you idiot boy.' I put the gag back on and we leave him steaming in his own refuse. Hans and I make our way back to the control room and I am deeply troubled after that encounter. 'Hans, what the hell are we going to do with him?' 'Maybe he could have an 'accident' while out on the bridge.' 'No, I won't have that.' I had in fact been toying with that very idea but I dismissed it, it goes against everything I've been brought up to be. A stupid sense of honour and nobility still lingers inside me, in spite of everything. 'If we dispose of him, I will pull the trigger myself. I alone will be responsible, Hans, don't even think about doing anything stupid now.' He shrugs: 'It was just a suggestion, Becks.' I sigh and we enter the control room. The boys in there are oblivious to my troubles, they are simply glad to have struck the convoy and to be alive afterwards. Back to business. 'Periscope depth, I trust Albert is working on those torpedoes?' 'Yes, Herr Kaleun, tubes one and two already reloaded.' The convoy is sailing off to our northwest. We heard two ships going down with a third one struggling to keep up, we may get a shot at finishing her off. No escorts are heard anywhere nearby. The typical high pitch noise of the carrier is not heard anymore, I count it as sunk but we'll have to wait for BdU confirmation on that one. We came out on top, after all.

2 am and it is nowhere near dark. Damn this eternal Arctic twilight. The Liberty has no propulsion but she is still afloat, not 1500 meters away. Faint traces of smoke on the horizon are all that remains of the convoy. I move back from the observation periscope and make a few decisions. 'Hals, release that idiot boy and bring him here.' We don't have the facilities for keeping prisoners on board and I'm gonna set him loose. I drag the boy into my cabin before we go back to action stations. He cleaned himself somewhat up and put on a clean uniform. He has a different look on his face now, a quietly defiant expression, momentary resignation with a promise of payback. Despite this dangerous look, I still continue my plan: 'Ringelmann, you are demoted to ordinary seaman. You will serve as the cook's assistant for the remainder of this patrol and you are free to finish your account during your spare time, you're also free to go anywhere on the boat when off duty. I trust you learned not to get in anyone's way again?' 'Yes Sir, I will not compromise the boat again.' 'Good. Write whatever you want about me but if you diminish even one of my men I'll throw you overboard with all of your stuff. Consider yourself lucky for still being alive at this point. Do I make myself clear?' 'Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant. I am sorry about my mistake and I apologize for speaking out against you and your officers, Herr Oberleutnant.' His reply is very correct and I don't believe a word of it. We stand opposite each other and I get an almost symbolic feeling of animosity between the old and the new, between military tradition and newfangled politics. The look in his eyes tells me that it won't end well, this little rat can probably pull a few strings and finish me with just one phone call to Berlin. But I am not interested, we are a long way from Berlin now, this is my territory and I won't be bullied by some snot nosed ignoramus with a handful of ideals. I have no ambitions anymore other than fighting the Battle of the Atlantic for as long as the war allows me. I'll worry about anything else when we are back in the Fjords. 'Get out of my sight, seaman Ringelmann.'


He leaves for the aft compartments with a purposeful step. I shake any thoughts about him from my mind, it's time to do some more sinking now. 'Surface the boat! Volkmar, get your boys ready for the deckgun. Jakob, send off a contact report and status report as soon as we are surfaced.' U-735 comes up in an unfussed fashion. Everything is in shades of gray when I get up on the bridge: the boat, the sea, the sky, the faces of the men and the crippled merchant nearby. The only remotely colourful things are my dark blue woolen deck coat and white cap but even those are sallow after a year of hard service. We get into position and then it's all set: range on the freighter 1350 meters. Aim for the waterline. Volkmar and me are the only ones on the bridge while the boys are training the 88. Ringelmann is on the deck with his camera, it turns out he had a spare lens. Everyone simply ignores him, he is tolerated after I released him but the boys have taken to a scheme of acting like he isn't there at all. The boy reacts to this by having no expression on his face at all while still acting very deliberately and purposeful. It takes a lot of effort on my part to shake the worries from my mind. 'Open fire!' Volkmar goes to work on the merchant and I find myself startled by the crack of the gun. Dammit man, pull yourself together. I leave the Liberty to Volkmar while I scan the horizon, with special attention to where that convoy steamed away from us. A voice calls up through the hatch: 'Jakob reports an awful lot of chatter on the radio, Herr Kaleun, the merchant is calling for help.' That was to be expected, of course. 'Volkmar, get this over with quickly!'


A shell screams over my head and splashes into the sea behind us. This bastard is shooting back at us and he is shooting well. We only put two shells into her waterline so far and if this turns into a long gunfight, they will be at an advantage. As a gun platform, the drifting freighter is a lot more stable than our narrow decks. We should have just used a torpedo to finish her off. Another shell screams towards us, it throws up a fountain very close to our bow, showering all the boys on the the deck and throwing a few of them off their feet. This is getting too hairy. 'Secure the deck gun! Quickly, quickly!' The boys will need a few seconds to scramble back onto the bridge before we can open up the valves on the ballast tanks. 'Ahead flank, hard port rudder, prepare to dive!' I yell the orders through the tube for the benefit of Anton down below while the boys hurry back to the bridge. Then I see Ringelmann still by the gun, taking a last picture of the listing freighter as its two guns open up on us again. 'Verdammt noch mal, boy! Get back here now!' Two more shells scream in, one zips right past my head, causing a terrible ringing in my ears, and the other slams into the boat, in front of the conning tower, throwing the boat hard on her left flank. My head collides violently with the periscope housing as I lose my footing and a sharp pain erupts behind my eyes while Volkmar shouts 'FLOOD HER!' Someone drags me by my leg and I slide down through the open hatch, barely holding on to the ladder. Several bodies follow me down and the hatch is closed while the first gush of sea water already spills through it. The salt water stings uncomfortably on my head, I must have cut my head during the fall. I feel very hazy and dizzy, I'm only just able to keep myself standing on the the floor of the control room but I'm unable to take charge of things. Hans and Anton are shouting orders while the doc drags me off to my bunk. Warm liquid is flowing into my neck, I'm bleeding quite a lot and the pain behind my eyes is not going away. The doc spills alcohol into my wound, another violent sting and then I lose consciousness.


I awake with a start, bathed in sweat and with a great feeling of dread. I shiver and try to sit up straight but my body is not responding well and it turns into a slumped position, half leaning against the wood paneling. My head throbs so hard that my eyes fail to focus properly. Jakob is quick to get up from his seat and gently pushes me back down with a whispered 'We are alright, Herr Kaleun, but you must rest now.' I try to resist his push but I lack the strength. Instead, I whisper back: 'I am needed in the control room, man. Help me get up.' He smiles and says: 'Hans can handle things for a while, Sir. Doc says you have severe concussion and you need to rest.' 'I'm fine, help me get up. That's an order.' He smiles again but doesn't help me get up. Instead, he keeps talking. 'Two escorts came back from the convoy after we dived. Hans fired three eels at them from long range before diving. We have a bit of a hole in the outer hull but the pressure hull is still holding. Flooding was soon contained and we are fine up to 100 meters. The torpedoes didn't get them but the escorts didn't get us either. An hour ago, we finished off the freighter and we are now sitting still, licking our wounds and loading our last torpedoes into the tubes.' I need a minute to take all this information in. So the boat is still sort of in one piece and Hans nailed that Liberty with a torpedo. Good man. Then I remember the shooting. 'What about the gunners, Volkmar, Ringelmann?' Jakob smiles again. 'Volkmar got all the boys safely inside while the boat took a plunge down, they are fine, just some bruises. Your injuries are the worst we sustained, apart from Ringelmann. Volkmar says that the boy got swept away when that shell hit us. We dived without him, he is gone.' I feel a knot in my stomach, this is not how I wanted it to end: 'So Ringelmann is gone, is he?' 'Nothing could be done about it, Sir. We think it's for the best, don't you?' 'No, Jakob, I don't.'


The truth is that I was seeking a fight with the establishment, I wanted him to write about how one of Germany's more famous surviving commanders was an old-fashioned and bitter aristocrat, rather than a believer in the Party and the Final Victory. I wanted the people back home to read about how the war is lost on all fronts, starting here on the Atlantic. Of course, that was never going to happen. The truth is on nobody's list of priorities. I rest my head back onto the bloodstained pillow, the big bandage is not sufficient to stem the flow from the gasp in my head and I try to rest without much luck. The pain in my head, the fate of the boy and the urge to drink hard liquor keep me from falling asleep.



The Duke (sorry to have kept you so long)

[sharkbit]

Awesome story. :rock:

Keep 'em coming. I was starting to go into withdrawals.
:D

[nikbear]

Edge of the seat stuff this:up:Excellent:yep:

[Jimbuna]

Nice http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/thumbsup.gif

[bookworm_020]

Nice writing!:up:

[Bosje]

Someone shakes my leg to wake me up. 'Herr Kaleun?' I need a while to remember where and how I am. 'Ah Christ.' My dream involved a pleasant, peaceful life with money, cars, alcohol and women. I close my eyes, desperately trying to hold on to the image but it is too late, I am awake. Navigator Hals Petersen stands by my bed, handing me a cup of coffee which smells like something more than coffee. 'If you are feeling better, Herr Kaleun, we would like to discuss our next course of action.' I sit up and take the coffee. There is a good helping of rum in it. 'Doctor's orders.' Petersen smiles. I start feeling better, but only just. With the coffee, my body begins to desire nicotine too but my stomach does not agree and contracts. I gag and am barely able to contain the reflex to throw up. 'Are you sure you are alright, Duke?' 'I'm fine, give me a second.' I get up and my legs are now able to support me. I need some help with the hatch but then I am standing more or less upright in the control room. 'Well, look who we have here! Morning, Herr Kaleun.' I force a relatively cheerful: 'Good morning, Sirs. So how are we?' 'No contacts for hours, boat and commander in bad shape. Maybe we should go home now, Herr Kaleun.' Have we really done all we can on this patrol? 'Yes, maybe we should.' I give in, I too am longing for Bergen. 'Course 170, take us home, Hals.'


We will need just a few days at full speed and we have plenty of fuel to maintain that speed. U-735 turned its tail and the boys are both sad and relieved to abandon the convoy. I talk the cook into giving me some more of his upgraded coffee, doctor's orders, and I spend the rest of the morning in my hut. Back and forth between miserable and relieved. A bad headache is reluctant to go away. I fear that a lasting migraine will remind me of this patrol for the rest of my life. Only twelve hours have passed since we first made contact with the convoy but it seems so much longer. I try to sleep some more but every time I put my head down I get sick. This concussion is really messing me up. Then Volkmar comes calling. 'We were clearing out his bunk and we found this, Becks. We thought you might want to see it.' He shows me a notebook. Ringelmann's notes. I flip through them and come across the first draft of his article:


'The boat cut through the waves like a silver dagger. Sharp and lethal, yet so vulnerable and fragile. All the odds were stacked against them but the bearded men were not concerned. They fought for their country and were prepared to sacrifice even their own lives. Anything for their fatherland, their families, their Fuhrer. Life on board was tough but these brave warriors were used to it. The men worked hard in the cramped spaces, the officers stood ever watchful on the bridge and the commander smiled when he made his round, proud of his men, proud of his boat. A distant sense of chivalry from times gone by hung around him. But now, he did not think of glory or heroism, he thought of home so far away. The home he fought to protect. A German hero in the true sense of the word, who puts himself in the path of the hated enemy, who keeps ahead of them, always looking for a way to defeat them, to destroy them. The boat cut through the waves like a silver dagger. Sleep well, dear mother, dear sister, we will keep you safe.
These, then, are the men who stand watch over Germany: Beware, those who take up arms against us! Against these bearded U-boot men, these knights of the high seas!'

I hurl the notebook across the radioshack. 'Damn that silly boy!' I hate him for making me feel patriotic. But the words took hold of me, they make me hate the enemy even more, for killing him when he was one of ours, in spite of everything. He was still my responsibility. I feel like throwing up or crying or cursing but I hide those emotions far away, for when I am back home again. Now, I must be strong, I force myself to get up. 'Anton? Hans! Where are my officers!' Minutes later we are gathered in the officer's mess. I have a fresh bandage around my head, another spiked cup of coffee and a grim resolve. My staff are anxious, they know me well enough by now. 'Anton, what depth can she still take?' 'Impossible to tell but I should think test depth at least. Trimming will be difficult though, that shell made a mess of the starboard saddle tank.' 'Hals, interception?' 'Six hours at flank speed, Herr Kaleun.' 'Albert?' 'All tubes loaded, one spare aft.' 'Alright then.' Hans gives me a hard look: 'You stubborn bastard, do you really want to go back there?' But I already made my decision: 'Yes, 1.W.O. To hell with them. To hell with them and their radar and their sonar and their hedgehogs. New course 285, flank ahead.'


And so it comes to pass that on a gray late summer's noon, U-735 rejoins the battle. Because I want to avenge a man I hated. Or maybe I just don't know how to do anything else. Or maybe I am even under the influence of the doc's medicine.

At noon we eat and my stomach barely manages to hold onto the food. After eating I go up top. I have some trouble climbing up to the bridge but I want to get out, get some air and have a cigarette. The cold, fresh arctic breeze hits me like a bag of bricks in the guts and I throw up my lunch over the edge of the bridge. I forget about the cigarette but I stay outside, holding myself up, firmly holding on to the boat. My boat, getting further and further away from home with every minute, in pursuit of the convoy. Come on, girl. Be strong for me just one more day, one more day. If only these white flashes would stop interfering with my eyesight. I throw up again but my stomach is empty, the bile burns in my throat. Hans ignores his quarter of the horizon for a second and puts his hands on my shoulders. 'If you come up with another brilliant way to get yourself killed, feel free to leave the rest of us out of it, Duke.' But he does not mean it, he is a hunter just like me. Jakob comes up for a breather, casually balancing a cup of hot brew in one hand. I take the coffee and Hans raises an eyebrow when he catches a sniff from the steaming mug. Jakob cheerfully declares: 'I thought you gentlemen would like to know that we have radar signals ahead to the north, we'll have flanked them by 1700.' We allow him his break, even if there are radar sets transmitting. Far too cocky, boys. Far too cocky, but like me, they just don't know any other way. They don't know about the rum in my coffee, either. I think.



The Duke (and it's only 1943)

[Bosje]

November, 1943


Noise, smoke and shouting are all around me but they are not the result of violence and death, not this time. The train has come to a stop, the civilian baggage handler opens the compartment door for me and moves out of the way, bowing and saluting in all the wrong ways. I step onto the platform and immediately squint against the bright sun. This is what autumn looks like over here? I could get used to this place. The handler follows me onto the platform with my luggage, still bowing. I do not usually wear my full uniform with rank and decorations but it has its advantages and it saves a lot of trouble on a long journey like this. On the far end of the platform, a navy officer is looking at me and after a while approaches. He, too, salutes. Correctly. 'Duke Beckman, Sir?'
'Ah, no, well I'm Beckman but I'm not a duke.'
'Oh, sorry Sir, it's just that we figured...'
'Never mind, long story.'
'All right, Sir. I am Rudi Papendorf, your first watch officer. I'm here to pick you up. Welcome to France, Sir. Had a good journey?'
'Thank you, Leutnant. The journey was not good, no. Train got bombed by the Amis. Twice.'
'Ah, so our comrades in the Luftwaffe were...'
He swallows the rest of his sentence and glares casually at a man in a leather coat and black hat who walked round the corner into hearing range.
'...We have a flotilla staff car just over there, Sir. I'll take you to the boat.'


He is a talkative man, my new 1.WO.
'The men are keen to meet you, Sir. They are excited to be putting out under one of the Arctic veterans. We heard about....'
He keeps blabbing while the car finds its way to the U-pens and my mind wanders off. One of the Arctic veterans. The images visit me again, they are still not gone after a week in hospital and a month in the sanatorium. I recovered from the severe concussion although the doctors say I have to expect chronic migraines. But I have yet to recover fully from the mental impact of that last patrol in the Arctic wastes. The convoy, the eternal daylight, the pain in my head, Ringelmann, the hedgehogs. God, the hedgehogs. We went back at the convoy because I ordered to. We even succeeded in sinking two more ships. Payback for Ringelmann. And then they got their own revenge. Three escorts taking turns. One maintaining contact, a second one nailing us down from behind and launching the forward firing bombs on us, then two depth charge runs in close succession. And then the same all over again. We survived but only just. Volkmar was just standing there, looking up with tears in his eyes, crying 'Not fair! Not fair!' Hans was swearing like a dockworker while trying to drive the boat. Anton and Albert were with their boys in the forward and aft compartments, trying to control the flooding and keep the boat alive. And I was desperately trying to think of a way to outsmart them, to avoid those bombs. I failed. The tommies dropped their stuff on us so vigorously that they quickly ran out of ammunition and then they suddenly steamed off, perhaps to hunt another boat. It lasted only an hour, but that hour wrecked my U-735, it wrecked the crew and it got the better of me. We returned to Bergen and I was carried off the boat by two sailors, headed straight for the hospital. U-735 was nothing more than a good-looking scrapheap, Hans was promoted and issued his own command, the rest of the boys went to various postings and I was considered for retirement. After hospital I was sent to a sanatorium in Bavaria. An old and bitter man at the age of twenty-nine, a month among other senile, sullen and worn out warriors with hollow eyes and pale faces, hardly any of them over thirty.


But the fresh mountain air, the sun, good food and a lot of rest can work miracles. I stopped feeling like a drink all the time, I traded cigarettes back for an occasional well-stuffed pipe and after a few weeks I was born again. The Bergen patrols still haunt me sometimes but I suppose that's only normal for a combat veteran. Otherwise, I'm fine. And here I am, on my way to a new command. They wanted me for training duties but I requested a front boat posting. Being an ace, I got it. A new boat, freshly slipped into the Med, only one casualty from making it through the Gibraltar Straits, the commander whose job I will take. They say the Med is terrible but it can't be all that bad. For starters, the climate is wonderful.
The first officer stops his monologue as the car enters a heavily guarded harbor. 'Ah here we are, Sir. Toulon U-boat base.'

[nikbear]

Great to have you writing the next instalment again Bosje:up:....The Duke will have his hands full with a new command AND in the Med:o:huh::sunny: things are going to get tough:up:

[bookworm_020]

A change in location and new women and convoys to go after!

[Bosje]

The first port of call is FdU, our meeting is short and to the point. 'What do you know about the Mediterranean, Beckman?'
'Different latitude, same war, I suppose. The Tommies and the Macaronies being their usual annoying selves. But with a nice climate.'
'Exactly, Oberleutnant. Things are a bit awkward now that the Italians switched sides, but no matter, you can expect any contact to be hostile. Plenty of targets, plenty of enemies. As for the climate, it helps them more than it helps you. Try to keep your boat and crew in one piece, we are on our last legs here in these waters. Your boat is the latest to have made the crossing through Gibraltar. Did they tell you what happened?'
'No Sir, all I know is that there was some trouble and the Kaleun got killed.'
Rudi is standing beside me in the office and he stirs a little. Flotilla Commander Jahn looks at him. 'Perhaps you can indulge us, Herr Leutnant?'
Rudi's voice is shaky: 'Ehm well, first patrol, all the way around England and through the Straits into the Med. We were almost through, as deep and silent as we could. Then the Kaleun wanted a look around and we were both in the conning tower at periscope depth. Foggy, smooth sea, sound contacts all around but we could not see a thing. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a destroyer charged straight into the periscope and made a mess. Water rushing into the conning tower, Kaleun was crushed between the periscope and the hull, he shouted at me to get down and close the hatch, leave him there, save the boat. I did. We limped all the way over here. I'd rather talk about something else, please.'
I raise my eyebrows. So now I know how he got that Iron Cross. Quite a tale.


The Flotilla Commander takes over again: 'We buried the man covered in posthumous decorations but it's a troubling affair. The only thing we can think of is that their radar can detect a periscope. Quite disturbing. Anyway, the boat has been fitted with an all new conning tower. And the rest of her was still brand new to begin with. She went through her sea trials back in the Baltic but I do not trust these local boys as far as I could throw them, they aren't too happy about our occupation last year. So your first order of business is to take her out for a test run, see if it all holds together at depth. Get to know the boat and the men, then you'll go out on patrol. Questions?'
'No Sir.'
We shake hands. 'She's all ready to go, all we were waiting for was you, Herr Oberleutnant. You'll set out tonight. Bon voyage, as they say.'


We make our way over to the docks. This was the home base of the Vichy French fleet, they scuttled all their ships last year when the tank divisions made a show of themselves, adding this part of the world to the Reich. The wrecks create a slightly surreal scene in the otherwise peaceful surroundings which remind me of Riviera holiday brochures. Then I am in for a shock. Several U-boats are moored against the quays, no bunkers, no heavily protected shelters, they are simply sitting there in the open air.
'Tell me, Rudi, what do you do when they decide to drop some bombs here?'
'I dunno, Sir. We've only been here a month. Pray perhaps?'
'Pray? When was the last time God favored The Stupid?'
'Ehm, well the Channel Dash was a huge success, wasn't it? And a pretty stupid idea, at that.'
'Ah yes, touché.' We both laugh.
'Look, there she is, U-293. Pretty, isn't she?'
My eyes follow his stretched arm to a dark mass of steel, small figures crawling over the deck. The first thing I notice is the absence of a deck gun. The only thing sticking up out of the familiar slender shape of a Type VII hull is the conning tower, like some kind of medieval weapon. A straight angle up from the decks at the front, gradually sloping down at the rear with a two-stage wintergarten AA platform. An unassuming paint job in shades of black and gray, everything about her is a testament to her role of predator: the silent hunter. I shiver. 'Yes, Rudi. Very pretty indeed.'


The Duke

[Bosje]

Fore and aft clear! Ahead one third. The same wonderful scenery is different at night, different in that you can't see a thing. Light discipline, bah. I have no idea where we are going, the only clue is the obscured navigation light on the escort which will take us out to sea. Rudi knows these waters better than I do.
'1.WO, you have the helm, just follow that minesweeper.'
While U-293 slowly makes her way out of the U-boat base, I take the time to feel her, hear her, get to know her. I think it is madness to send a boat through all these obstacles in a pitch black night but if we allow everyone to see us, la resistance will no doubt inform every Allied plane of everything they need to know. The navigator is down below with his charts and a stopwatch, keeping an eye on our track in the glow of the red lights. I join him in the control room which is almost exactly like it was on U-735, except for the personal items which are everywhere. Leutnant zur See Kurt Weber, the navigator is also the doctor. Not just a medic but a proper doctor, distracted from his hospital internship by the war. A smart man, it is comforting to know that we are in good hands. Unless of course he is the first casualty.


We spend a few hours running south at different speeds, waiting for the sun to come up. Over half of the crew is off duty but nobody is sleeping in their bunks and the boat is buzzing with activity. This will be a short patrol but the boys are still all over the place, scurrying around with items to be squared away.
4:45. ALAAARM! I start my stopwatch while the crew is startled and frantically switches to the crash dive routine. As the needle on the depth gauge touches on the 14 meter mark, I stop the clock. Thirty seconds, not good enough and the boat is messed up with things being knocked over everywhere. 'Oberbootsmann! This is not the Volkssturm, get your act together!' He is just as annoyed as I am with the poor performance. 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun, sorry Herr Kaleun.' Meanwhile, the LI completes the dive and levels off at 70 meters. After a full check of the boat, we can be sure that she is in good shape. U-293 is an improved version of the Type VIIC. Heavier, stronger, but slightly slower as a result. Supposedly, they can go significantly deeper even than my old VIIC. I'm curious to see just exactly how deep.


'Navigator, ping for depth.' 'Over a thousand meters.' Well that's deep enough. Amazing, we are still close to the French coast. Very well, I turn to my chief engineer who is with me in the control room, keeping an eye on the bubble. Anton's old spot, I can't help thinking about him. What will he be doing right now? Wake up, Duke!
'LI, how deep have you been with this boat?'
Heinz Rethmeier turns to me: 'These beauties can go very deep indeed, Herr Kaleun, we have been to 250 meters without problems on our test dives in the Baltic.'
'250? I have been deeper than that in my old boat, LI.'
He looks surprised. As do I. 'Well, only one way to find out. Take her down at 4 knots. Oberbootsmann! Have your boys keep an eye out in all compartments.'
And so there I am once again, leaning against the observation periscope, feet wide to balance myself against the tilted floor, my eyes fixed on the depth gauge.


The sounds take some getting used to, it can be scary but it's nothing more than the steel settling in as the pressure builds up. Booming, squirming, creaking, shrieking. Some of the crew are clearly not used to it. 'Easy, boys. This is just the satisfied sigh of the boat being in her element.' They are not convinced. My crew is still not quite washed behind the ears. Heinz sounds off the readings as we make it deep into the cellar.
'One six zero. Approaching critical depth. One eight zero.' Everything by the book, which is good.
'Two zero zero, we are diving too deep Herr Kaleun!'
'Deeper, LI.'
I remember the times on U-735 when we had trouble controlling the boat at slow speeds against the immense pressure at these depths. Let's see how this boat and crew take care of themselves.
'Level her off at 220, 100 rpm.'
They need several minutes but they manage it just fine. Good. 'Let's go a bit deeper, ahead two thirds.'
Heinz coughs but then acknowledges: 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun.'


'Two nine zero.' This is deeper than I ever went before. The needle is well off the scale but Heinz can make a good guess at the actual depth. I want to pass the 300 mark, just for my own satisfaction, that will do for today.
'All stop.' The boat becomes very quiet, except for the creaking, lifelessly slipping down. But I am still not hearing any of the warning screams which my old boat gave as we took her too deep. I grin while I take a look around me.
'Interesting boat, this.' The men around me are not amused except for Heinz. 'Yes, Sir. She is something. But ah, this is as deep as I would take her, Sir. Approximately three zero zero.'
'Very well, back full, maintain down angle.' As good a time as any to test emergency maneuvers.
The boat stirs a little while the planesmen turn their planes as the boat picks up reverse speed. We have to hold onto something for balance but the needle on the gauge starts creeping up, back to safety. At 250 I order all ahead flank, the boat shakes but does exactly what I want her to do. 'Blow all ballast.' The needle zips up now and very soon, we broach the surface. I am extremely satisfied.
'Well done, men. Well done.' I put my hand on the nearest bulkhead as I quietly whisper: 'And well done to you, too, young lady. I think we will get along just fine.'
Heinz overheard me and gives me a look. Ah, the silly habits of the new Old Man. 'Mind your own business, LI.' He grins. 'Yes Sir. But I don't blame you, Sir. I like her, too.'


Over the next three days we test just about everything there is to be tested, except for the torpedoes which I consider too expensive to waste. Dive time is down to 27 seconds, U-293 is fully operational, she and the crew are ready for war, as is the Kaleun. Well, as ready as can be expected, anyway.
We return to Toulon, take three weeks having fun and getting the boat ready for a long patrol. The boat receives the latest in anti-sonar coating and radar warning receivers and then we set off again. Into the Mediterranean, our destination is the triangular stretch of water between Sicily, Tunis and Sardinia. It's been years since I last operated that close to shore, as first officer. Whatever we will find there, I expect it will not be boring. The date is November 23rd and I am determined to be back in Toulon for the New Year's festivities, together with all my men. 'Course 170, ten knots will do.' Behind us, the Riviera fades on the horizon.



The Duke

[Bosje]

hmm, four pages and i have yet to fire a shot :)

anyway, it's good to be back

special thanks to the GWX team, OLC and Thomsen for their mods, it's a great ride :up:

Bosje

[Bosje]

'Kaleun?' I get up and cut the bootsmann off as he comes through the hatch from the control room. 'What is it?' - 'Smoke on the horizon, Sir!'
I rush up the ladder onto the bridge in too much of a hurry. This new boat is not yet fully accustomed to me, or the other way round. Either way, my right foot misses a rung and slips, my knee taking most of the impact as I collide with the rim of the open hatch. A most ungentlemanly curse echoes through the conning tower but I get back up on the ladder and finally scramble onto the bridge, trying to ignore the pain. 'Alright, show me that contact.'
There, the tell-tale trail of smoke far away. It is definitely a ship. No radar transmissions registered on our Biscay Cross yet. A lone merchant? I hope it is, and I hope it is flying an enemy flag. I myself can hardly see a thing through the binoculars though, my eyes are watering from the fierce pain in my knee. God that hurt. But even I can see that the smoketrail is moving slowly across our path. The hunt is finally on, after all those months.


Minutes later we dive, it was actually three ships in keel formation, coming more or less our way. We won't even have to spend half the day getting into position. Could be a trap, could be anything, really. But at first glance it's just a small and rather slow moving endeavour: two merchants and a corvette. The escort is circling carelessly around in front of the formation, we will try to stay quiet, letting it pass ahead and then we will be in position to launch some torpedoes at the flanks of those merchants, from around two thousand meters. The boat slips into position, I take very short peeks at my prey as they slowly get ever closer. My plan is working. I am muttering values, doing mental math after each peek. We have all bow tubes loaded with electric eels, relatively slow and un-sophisticated but perfect for this situation. It is broad daylight but the opportunity is too good to pass on. The mini-convoy is sailing at 5 knots on a course of roughly 300, they are all English. We are ready.


'Range 1900, bearing 351.'
A whisper: 'Fertig!'
'Einz los! Zwei los! Range 1800 bearing 8.' - 'Fertig!' - 'Drei los! Down scope.'
Rudi and I climb down from the conning tower. A periscope torpedo attack just before noon in perfect conditions. It was only three years ago but it seems like a lifetime since I last did anything like this. The first Happy Times. We will soon see what the corvette has to say about this. First, we will have to make the most of our headstart. The torpedoes will need a while to reach their targets, time we had better spend to make our escape.
'Heinz, ahead at 100 revolutions, rudder port 20, steep dive.'
Heinz is the chief engineer, the LI, taking the boat to where I want her to be. Gradually, we start to look for something to hold on to. The steep dive gets us to reasonable safety even at this slow speed but it's impossible to stand upright on the tilted floorboards. I hold on to the ladder while Kurt, the navigator, says: 'Twenty seconds for the first torpedo.' We pass 40 meters when the rumble reaches us through the hull. And immediately a second rumble. And a third. I allow myself one of my old grins: 'I hope that corvette commander just choked on his lunch. Number two, make a note for the log: Enemy contact while en route to patrol area. Fired three torpedoes at an ore carrier and a small merchant, detonations on all torpedoes...'
The ASDIC rudely interrupts and wipes the grin off my face.



I still love the rush of adrenaline as depth charges explode. Not even close, barely close enough to be felt at all inside the boat. As the corvette started its first run, we increased speed and let the boat slide down and away. Pretty standard tactics but the Tommies above us have so far acted like they are green as grass. I scratch my chin which is still relatively smooth, decide we are fine and casually order a reduction back to 100 rpm. But I have to remember that my men have not yet grown accustomed to the U-boat war, despite their training. They look quite impressed with the action. Excited but also nervous. For now, just being here and being calm is enough. I use the time we have to further our distance and depth. Then, as the last echoes of the depthcharges fade away, we go silent. Now we wait, while my body remembers it is in pain. Silly how you can ignore such discomforts in the tension of the hunt. Now it really starts to hurt like hell, I fear the joint is damaged. I try to crouch down to get in touch with the radio shack but my leg won't bend. Nothing to do but wait while the corvette tries to re-establish contact with us. 'Passing 100 meters.'



The Duke

[nikbear]

Glad to have this story back and in the thick of the action:yeah:Great stuff Bosje:salute:

[Jimbuna]

Glad to have this story back and in the thick of the action:yeah:Great stuff Bosje:salute:

Ditto http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/thumbsup.gif

[Bosje]

An hour later we are sure he has lost us. We are quietly sneaking away from the scene at a depth of 220 meters and at 1300 hours my sonar operator can no longer hear the corvette's screws. They never got close to damaging us, they must have been very green indeed. I almost feel sorry for the commander who now has to explain why he lost the two ships under his charge. But we have 10.000 tons in the log after just two days at sea. The men are high spirited and apart from my knee which is twice as thick as usual, life is good.


The next day we are constantly forced to dive away from air patrols. During one of those dives, Erhard reports several fast screws. That has to be a taskforce of warships, possibly a hunter-killer group. But they are moving away from us and I am quite happy to let them sail on to wherever they are going. We keep being troubled by aircraft all day, more often than not they do not register on our Biscay cross. Which means they are already in visual range by the time we start our crash dive. One of the bombers drops his bombs even after we went down and they explode so close that the glass on the depth gauge shatters. But that is the only damage we take. The constant air attacks convince me to stay submerged for the rest of the day, something which I hate to do because you can't intercept the enemy when you crawl around at one knot submerged. That evening, still submerged, we slip into position in our patrol area.


Surface, air attack, down for a few hours, surface again, air attack again, down again, on and on and on. No sign of any ships though. At noon on the second day we are hit by a small and fast fighterplane. He strafes us with his cannons before we even get a chance to dive. He does not drop any bombs though and the boat and crew are all still fine but that is down to pure luck. I decide to leave this area to look for more favourable hunting grounds. That evening Walter, my radio operator, excitedly reports to me: 'Contact report, Herr Kaleun!'
We decode the message and Kurt relinquishes his charts to me. Slow moving convoy, heading our way, we can be there in six hours which means interception just after midnight, not far south of Sicily. Convoys are extremely well protected these days and we are probably better off looking for easier targets, like the ones we found two days ago. But I figure we can at least have a look.

Midnight, we are hunting for a convoy as 1943 draws to a close. We are in the bottleneck between Sicily and Tunis but there is still plenty water below the keel. At 1:15 local time we get a hydrophone contact and at 1:50 we receive radar transmissions on the Biscay cross. Weather conditions are perfect, not in our favour but we still slip a little bit closer, I want to have a look at the convoy before I make my decision.


'Do you see any other escorts, Rudi?' - 'No Sir, just that picket and the frigate on this flank. There will be more though.' - 'Hmm.'
Erhard simply lacks the experience to pick up every single screw in the cacophony of noise being produced by the convoy as it stretches out across the calm seas. So here we are, five kilometers away from the prize. They are moving south-east at no more than five knots, we could get into an excellent attack position or we could simply sneak away. I take another look through the attack periscope and flip through the ship silhouettes in the recognition manual. 'That looks suspiciously like an 8000 ton troop ship in the second column. And a 7000 ton tanker just behind it.' - 'Fat targets, Herr Kaleun.' - 'Indeed, Number One.'
I don't need to think about it too long. 'Ahead at four knots, course 210, action stations.' We turn south by south-west, into their path.


The Duke

[bookworm_020]

Prepare for fireworks!:D

[Bosje]

well I was going to give it my best shot to write things down in the way which you have become accustomed to and which many of you seemed to like. life got in the way though. so here it is.

Two months ago I continued the patrol into the med, we sank two ships without bother from the escorting corvette and we received a contact report on a convoy. interception was expected and acquired just south of Sicily. We engaged at night, some torpedo hits were observed and we went down into the deep. As I was anticipating an exciting cat and mouse game which would no doubt give ample writing material I watched the depth gauge creep down. At around 120 meters the boat took a terrible blow and everything stopped. Nothing vital was destroyed and the crew soon got all the holes plugged but we had hit the ocean floor. Two hours of terrible struggle followed, trying to keep the depthcharges as far away as possible but in the end, I was not up to the task, 120 meters was not enough for me.

As the boat slowly filled up with water from endless leaks caused by both depthcharges and collisions with the ocean floor I realised what was happening: Freiherr Beckman was about to meet his maker.

Thus it ended, death by stupidity. I failed to check the depth before engaging the convoy and I paid a price. I would say the ultimate price except, as I said, life got in the way.

The next day, while I was contemplating fitting words to end the story, my brother in law (this is real life) lost his life in a tragic accident, leaving my sister a widow after having been married for only 8 months. both of them not even thirty years old.

Needless to say, things like computer games and related forum tales become instantly irrelevant and I haven't been around since. I always wanted to pick this up again and finish it in style but I just realised, after an evening of drinking and contemplation, that I can't be arsed.

And so this is where I regret to leave you all. Freiherr Beckman is dead but I fail to care all that much and thus this forum thread comes to a brutal and sloppy end.

Some parting words are in order though, for I wish to dedicate the tale to this amazing community. Special thanks go the the modding community for improving an already immersive game. GWX deserve a distinct appreciation because they made me physically sweat, swear and cheer as I commanded my boat throughout the war years. You people really are something special.

Those who followed this story, supplying me with positive comments, are the ones who kept it going by inspiring me to write the next chapter. I thank you all for your support.

It is easy and tempting to say: dedicated to those who lost their lives in the real thing but I feel I dont have any right to go there. You may disagree but this is all entertainment based on their suffering. My character died and I have the luxury to proceed on to the pub with my mates. I get my kicks from wargames but something happened to me during the events described in this journal. I felt increasing guilt when sinking ships, increasing pain when losing men. In short, it got personal.

This made the gaming experience that much more intense but it also made me realise, and the real life events since then have only made me realise this even more; young people losing their lives is something awful. war really does suck. badly.
It is this highly personal emotional lesson which I dedicate or even owe to those who lost their lives at sea.

All events described in the journal are pretty much exactly as they happened in-game, bar some errors which I probably made in the dates and names and worldly events. The conversations, crewmember character traits and other peripherals are obviously fictional but I hope I did a decent enough job with them. Sailing the boat, playing the parts of both Kaleuns and then writing about it has been a great experience overall but for now, I am thorougly done with it.

Again, thank you all and maybe, some day, we'll see another Journal as GWX meets SH4. For I still find myself drawn to this community.

Bosje

[sharkbit]

My heartfelt condolences. :cry:

Being there for your sister is more important right now. Games pale to insignificance when things like this happen.

In time, the desire to write more may come and you'll know when you are ready. Until then, know our thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.

[nikbear]

How awful,My deepest heartfelt condolences to you and your family Bosje.

[Dönitz_18]

You have my sincerest condolences, and my heart goes out to you and your family during this difficult time for you. Losing a loved one is so hard, especially when it is so suddenly.

Try to remain positive and think of the memories you have of him.


My Condolences,

-- Dönitz_18

[bookworm_020]

Sorry to hear of the passing:cry:

Thanks for the memories:up:

[Bosje]

Well, Freiherr Beckman is resting peacefully at the bottom of the Med, just south off Sicily. I am back, addicted again to SH3 with GWX3 and thompsen's soundmod. I can't resist the urge to write more about the great adventures provided by the game and mods, so I'll leave this thread alone and start a new one, starring one of Beckman's old first officers.

Thank you all for your continued support and heartwarming sympathies, I hope to entertain you again through written accounts.

(-the duke, signing off)

bosje, saluting :salute:

[nikbear]

Its nice to have you back Bosje:salute:Hope things are ok with you and your family,It will be nice to have you writing again:yeah:

[Kermit the Frog]

Good to hear that You're back Bosje. I like Your stories very much. I was reading them since the begining. They're very, very good. You shouldn't stop.

[Melonfish]

sincerely looking forward to more tales m8, welcome back! :salute: