Brag
11-13-08, 04:12 PM
Lt. Fritz Gwitz writes:
23 February 1941
U-123, position BE39
After racing all morning to intercept a convoy we sat down for lunch. Again, it was dried, wrinkled sausages and sour kraut. Balz stared at his plate without eating.
"You're not eating," Bernard commented.
"I'm busy," Balz answered. "I am reading my sausage."
"Who wrote you a sausage?" Bernard asked.
"I don't know, it's written in Arabic." Balz ran the point of his knife along a wrinkle on the sausage. "It looks like a poem."
"Convoy is approaching," the sound man reported.
"I'll read my sausage later. Action stations!" Balz donned his rooster tea cozy and burgundy smoking jacket with medals.
I took a quick look through the observation scope and began the attack plot. A huge, fat convoy of large ships approached with several tankers in the middle.
"We shall have a hoochie woochie day," Balz said after he ordered the attack periscope down. "Flood tubes one through four."
"Lead escort has changed course to north."
Balz raised the periscope and muttered. "Scheisse. All the bastards, the whole convoy changed course. Stand by to fire one and two. There, range, three thousand two hundred meters. Mark--fire one. Range three thousand six hundred meters, Mark, fire two. Dive to one hundred meters."
Balz sat on the chart box and shook his head. With luck, we'll hit a large freighter and a medium one. That bastard escort is coming toward us. I'm sure he has seen the wake of our fish. I hate those steamers. Now, bring me my sausage, I need something to read while the torpedoes cross the Atlantic."
Cookie brought Balz a sausage.
"This is a different sausage. I want the one written in Arabic, not Sanskrit."
"We don't have Arabic sausage writers aboard." Cookie squirmed and his hands shook.
"Torpedo treffer!"
Taking advantage that Balz's attention was on the soundman, Cookie placed the plate on our commander's lap and took off for the galley.
Balz went to the hydrophone station and chewed on the sausage absentmindedly while he listened to the hydrophone. He then turned toward me. "Write in the War Diary:
While attacking convoy at great distance, first torpedo missed due to a badly written sausage. Second torpedo missed its intended target but hit a medium tanker. The tanker sank despite our lack of Arabic sausage writers. This is another indication of my superior skill even when burdened by a sausage illiterate crew.
23 February 1941
U-123, position BE39
After racing all morning to intercept a convoy we sat down for lunch. Again, it was dried, wrinkled sausages and sour kraut. Balz stared at his plate without eating.
"You're not eating," Bernard commented.
"I'm busy," Balz answered. "I am reading my sausage."
"Who wrote you a sausage?" Bernard asked.
"I don't know, it's written in Arabic." Balz ran the point of his knife along a wrinkle on the sausage. "It looks like a poem."
"Convoy is approaching," the sound man reported.
"I'll read my sausage later. Action stations!" Balz donned his rooster tea cozy and burgundy smoking jacket with medals.
I took a quick look through the observation scope and began the attack plot. A huge, fat convoy of large ships approached with several tankers in the middle.
"We shall have a hoochie woochie day," Balz said after he ordered the attack periscope down. "Flood tubes one through four."
"Lead escort has changed course to north."
Balz raised the periscope and muttered. "Scheisse. All the bastards, the whole convoy changed course. Stand by to fire one and two. There, range, three thousand two hundred meters. Mark--fire one. Range three thousand six hundred meters, Mark, fire two. Dive to one hundred meters."
Balz sat on the chart box and shook his head. With luck, we'll hit a large freighter and a medium one. That bastard escort is coming toward us. I'm sure he has seen the wake of our fish. I hate those steamers. Now, bring me my sausage, I need something to read while the torpedoes cross the Atlantic."
Cookie brought Balz a sausage.
"This is a different sausage. I want the one written in Arabic, not Sanskrit."
"We don't have Arabic sausage writers aboard." Cookie squirmed and his hands shook.
"Torpedo treffer!"
Taking advantage that Balz's attention was on the soundman, Cookie placed the plate on our commander's lap and took off for the galley.
Balz went to the hydrophone station and chewed on the sausage absentmindedly while he listened to the hydrophone. He then turned toward me. "Write in the War Diary:
While attacking convoy at great distance, first torpedo missed due to a badly written sausage. Second torpedo missed its intended target but hit a medium tanker. The tanker sank despite our lack of Arabic sausage writers. This is another indication of my superior skill even when burdened by a sausage illiterate crew.