Brag
12-03-08, 02:51 PM
Lt. Fritz Gwitz writes:
March 1941
The boisterous seas were agitated like in a storm. That is because there was a storm blowing and it had been blowing for days. Despite the motion of the boat, which bounced about like a boat in a storm, I was calmly writing this journal.
"Neue funkspruch, Herr Kaleun," the radioman reported.
Balz came out of his bunk and read the message. "Freetown convoy coming our way. With this weather we can't see a thing." He snapped his fingers. "Bernaaaard, come here and give me some drama."
Bernard ran around the periscope clutching his head. "What to do, what to do. This is awful, What to do?"
"The great Balz will use his great cunning efficiency to dispatch a ship or two. Thaaat's what I will do. We will position ourselves with exactitude and perfectly to fire at a great ship from three hundred and ten meters. The Englanders shall not pass unharmed past the great Balz. Weather be damned!"
Six hours later in the rapidly fading tropical light, we lay in ambush as a great convoy rumbled all around us. Balz kept rotating the periscope and mumbling something. I stood ready to fire a torpedo in an instant at zero gyro angle.
We went into astern propulsion as a large freighter thundered right in front of us. The minutes passed.
"All engines stop," Balz muttered. He raised his arm while peering into the scope.
I held my breath.
We could hear a large ship approaching.
"Feuer einz!"
I pressed the firing button and the eel wooshed out of its tube.
Balz sat on the chart box, pulled out a clean pair of underpants out of his pocket and stared at them.
"What are you doing, I asked?"
"When I don't have much time to read, I read the labels of my underwear."
The roar of an explosion ripped through the hull.
"Wasserbomben," Bernard said.
"That was a torpedo treffer, you nitwit."
"They both go kaboom, so what's the difference?"
"Our kabooms are more satisfying."
"How come?
"Because they are ours, they kaboom with a majestic German accent.
British kabooms lack poetry."
The rest of the convoy went past without us seeing any targets. Balz plotted a course to overtake the convoy and attack again at dawn. We surfaced and raced ahead. The night was as dark as Churchill's soul, which being British, is not poetic. During a listening dive, we realized the convoy had changed course.
Dawn found us abeam the convoy. We estimated it would take us two more hours to be in attack position. Fog and rain cut the visibility to less than three hundred meters.
A shadow appeared. "Ship zero four five," I yelled. "Alaarm." It was a destroyer.
Expecting to get blown out of the water, we dove for the hatch.
"Hard starboard rudder," Balz yelled while dogging the hatch closed.
We were at thirteen meters when the destroyer went overhead, pinging. A second destroyer arrived on the scene. They had us boxed.
Balz put on his burgundy smoking jacket and walked around with a cigarette holder in his mouth.
A destroyer made a pass overhead, but nothing happened. Balz sat on the chart table and read his underwear.
Another destroyer rumbled by. We were now at seventy meters. It looked like we might survive. I took a deep breath and said. "We were lucky."
"Nothing to do with luck but the great and brilliant foresight of your commander." Balz pointed at the periscope to which he had taped a Don't Disturb sign from the Hotel Kempinsky in Berlin.
Hint: Kingmaker makes an excellent Christmas gift.
March 1941
The boisterous seas were agitated like in a storm. That is because there was a storm blowing and it had been blowing for days. Despite the motion of the boat, which bounced about like a boat in a storm, I was calmly writing this journal.
"Neue funkspruch, Herr Kaleun," the radioman reported.
Balz came out of his bunk and read the message. "Freetown convoy coming our way. With this weather we can't see a thing." He snapped his fingers. "Bernaaaard, come here and give me some drama."
Bernard ran around the periscope clutching his head. "What to do, what to do. This is awful, What to do?"
"The great Balz will use his great cunning efficiency to dispatch a ship or two. Thaaat's what I will do. We will position ourselves with exactitude and perfectly to fire at a great ship from three hundred and ten meters. The Englanders shall not pass unharmed past the great Balz. Weather be damned!"
Six hours later in the rapidly fading tropical light, we lay in ambush as a great convoy rumbled all around us. Balz kept rotating the periscope and mumbling something. I stood ready to fire a torpedo in an instant at zero gyro angle.
We went into astern propulsion as a large freighter thundered right in front of us. The minutes passed.
"All engines stop," Balz muttered. He raised his arm while peering into the scope.
I held my breath.
We could hear a large ship approaching.
"Feuer einz!"
I pressed the firing button and the eel wooshed out of its tube.
Balz sat on the chart box, pulled out a clean pair of underpants out of his pocket and stared at them.
"What are you doing, I asked?"
"When I don't have much time to read, I read the labels of my underwear."
The roar of an explosion ripped through the hull.
"Wasserbomben," Bernard said.
"That was a torpedo treffer, you nitwit."
"They both go kaboom, so what's the difference?"
"Our kabooms are more satisfying."
"How come?
"Because they are ours, they kaboom with a majestic German accent.
British kabooms lack poetry."
The rest of the convoy went past without us seeing any targets. Balz plotted a course to overtake the convoy and attack again at dawn. We surfaced and raced ahead. The night was as dark as Churchill's soul, which being British, is not poetic. During a listening dive, we realized the convoy had changed course.
Dawn found us abeam the convoy. We estimated it would take us two more hours to be in attack position. Fog and rain cut the visibility to less than three hundred meters.
A shadow appeared. "Ship zero four five," I yelled. "Alaarm." It was a destroyer.
Expecting to get blown out of the water, we dove for the hatch.
"Hard starboard rudder," Balz yelled while dogging the hatch closed.
We were at thirteen meters when the destroyer went overhead, pinging. A second destroyer arrived on the scene. They had us boxed.
Balz put on his burgundy smoking jacket and walked around with a cigarette holder in his mouth.
A destroyer made a pass overhead, but nothing happened. Balz sat on the chart table and read his underwear.
Another destroyer rumbled by. We were now at seventy meters. It looked like we might survive. I took a deep breath and said. "We were lucky."
"Nothing to do with luck but the great and brilliant foresight of your commander." Balz pointed at the periscope to which he had taped a Don't Disturb sign from the Hotel Kempinsky in Berlin.
Hint: Kingmaker makes an excellent Christmas gift.