U-1164, Jester of St Nazaire

[Bosje]

A story for those who like to read such things, I hope you enjoy it.

Based on my new career in SH3/GWX3, D.I.D. etc

Let's see how long it lasts

I'm making a seperate thread for this because I intend to write more as events unfold and I'd hate to clutter up the Story thread

anyway, here we go

Bosje

[Bosje]

He stroked his bearded chin with his left hand, thoughtfully, indecisively. His right hand held the binoculars through which he had been observing the destroyer as it crossed their path on the horizon, some 8 kilometers away. Not much more than a faint speck through the thin layer of fog which floated on the calm sea. The submarine, in turn, was nearly invisible in the darkness of a winter's evening. If he wanted, he could just turn away, nothing would happen, nobody would know. But he had a burning desire to prove himself, to test his boat and crew and, most of all, to destroy destroyers.

The destroyer was still not aware they were there, its radar was transmitting but not returning a signal off the submarine.

He continued to stroke his waxing beard while the destroyer crossed his bow. He would never be able to out-manouver it if it kept going west at this speed, modest for a destroyer but still beyond the abilities of a U-boat. He couldn't bear to see it just sail away like this. Oberleutnant Hans Bremer, commander of the brand new U-1164, finally made a decision. 'Clear the bridge, we dive.' The boys from third watch preceded their commander down into the boat and the boat settled down at 20 meters for a thorough hydrophone check of their surroundings.

'Just the one contact, Herr Kaleun, fast screws moving away on bearing 350. Nothing else.'
'Thank you, Heinz,' the commander answered. He was not actually a Kapitanleutnant but it was the traditional title for one of Germany's U-boat commanders. The First Officer grinned and said: 'We're getting away nicely. Good one, Herr Kaleun.'
'The destroyer is the one who is getting away, 1.WO. And I am going to bring him back so I can sink him. Surface the boat! All ahead full, make your heading 300. All hands to action stations.'

He had only taken the dive to make sure there were no other ships around. He dared to take on a destroyer, provided that it was just one against one. Even so, daring to take on a destroyer in the first place was a clear sign of madness, as far as the other officers were concerned. It was December 15th, 1943. The hunters were now the hunted and this was not a happy time for the gray wolves of the Atlantic. Oberleutnant Hans Bremer, however, was not playing along. He was going to turn the tables or he would get his arse handed to him while trying. He worded that thought carefully, it was bad luck to think about dying.

The other officers on board, two of whom shared the commander's rank of Oberleutnant, had their own ideas about this endeavor. But Germans had always been big on discipline and the orders were carried out without a hint of mutiny. Now, it was too late for any second thoughts. The destroyer made a sharp turn towards them, alerted by either the noise or the sight or the radar profile (or all of those at once) of a U-boat, surfacing and turning at full speed, exposing her flank as she did so. Ten seconds later, Bremer ordered the boat to dive again. Part one of his little plan complete, now for the more uncertain part two. The battle of wits, commander against commander, hunter against hunter.

[Bosje]

As soon as the boat was fully submerged he ordered a sharp turn to port, away from the destroyer which was speeding towards them. Not even a minute had gone by but it had already halved the distance to 4 km. It would be within asdic range shortly and Bremer had hoped to have turned his stern towards it by then. They did not make it but luck was on their side, the destroyer slowed down to listen for the submarine, it was about one km away. 'Silent running, 100 rpm, maintain rudder hard to port.' The commander had his eye pressed to the attack periscope. 'Target bearing 178, rudder amidships.'

His plan was simple but dangerous: he wanted the destroyer to come after him while he had his stern torpedo tube pointing straight at the enemy. The torpedo would run under the ship and devastate it with a magnetically detonated blast. If he missed, he would still have four bow tubes for another chance. Of course, that involved having the destroyer run right over him first, that was the tricky bit. The destroyer would likely drop depth charges and that would be a problem, to put things mildly. The plan seemed good at the time but now that there was a destroyer looming big and menacing in his periscope view, he suddenly wasn't so sure.

Once more though, it was too late for second thoughts. The destroyer had found them and came charging at them, coming in fast, directly behind. 'Ahead flank!'
The stern tube was now pointing exactly the right way but the destroyer was aware of that and made a series of tight turns, still coming at the U-boat but never in a straight line. That did not make aiming the torpedo any easier and the commander muttered curses in his beard. One stack, slightly tilted, little guns all over, torpedoes on deck, Q/R/S/T class. Which one exactly was immaterial, the depth of the keel would be 4.7 meters. 'Tube 5, magnetic trigger, depth 6 meters. Flood tube, prepare to fire on my bearing. Target speed and AOB blank!'

The crew needed a short while, then came the return: 'Set!'
'Bearing 190, standby, 187, standby, 185, standby, SCHEISSE, standby, standby, 186... FIRE!'
Breathlessly they waited while the commander looked on. He would need to start evasive manouvers soon. One second, two seconds, three sec...WHOOM.
The destroyer was lifted up by the bow as the torpedo exploded right underneath. It farted a series of depthcharges as it crashed back down in the sea and then it ran wildly away over starboard. All the crew on the bridge must have been swept off their feet. The 1.WO shouted down through the hatch into the control room: 'We got her!' and the news was met with cheers from below. Hans Bremer looked on, wordlessly, as the destroyer came to a stop, a fire burning just forward of the bridge. Then the bow took a plunge down into the water. She stood there for a moment, upright with her screws high up in the air, then she was gone.

The commander climbed down from the conning tower and looked at his men who looked back in awe. 'And that, boys, is how we do that.' It was terribly droll but the boys seemed to buy it. 'Congratulations on your first kill, Herr Kaleun,' the navigator said.
'Thank you, Herr Obersteuermann. We'll celebrate later, let's surface the boat and see if it's all clear up top. Maybe we can help some survivors.' Inside, he was bursting with pride and satisfaction. Destroying destroyers was like a drug; an incredible rush and the immediate desire for more. And, of course, the realisation that it was really not very healthy at all, a thought which he quickly suppressed again.

[Bosje]

The chief engineer shared his thoughts on the meal by means of a loud belch and the assembled staff of U-1164 sat back on their seats in the officer's mess, relaxing for a while after a pleasant dinner. The cook brought coffee to complete it all and the commander raised his cup for a toast: 'Gentlemen, here's to accumulating kills and getting away with it!' They toasted to their success. That morning at 5:48 they had torpedoed a fully laden Liberty ship. A well executed kill after a careful setup from the surface and a quick dive to periscope depth before the torpedo exploded. The merchant had been bristling with searchlights and guns, it had even fired at their periscope head but the boat had not been hit. An hour later, the merchant was gone, unable to overcome the heavy flooding in her forward holds after the torpedo ripped open the keel. Two torpedoes, two kills, some 10.000 tons. And not even a scratch on the U-boat.

'God bless the Allies for sending single ships into our claws,' mused Oberleutnant August Euler, the LI or chief engineer: 'We are very lucky to find lone merchants like that, you know. Convoy hunting is a dangerous sport these days.' The commander agreed but couldn't help adding: 'Be that as it may, we still have the job of sinking ships. And there are many ships in a convoy. We have to at least try, should a convoy come within our reach.'
Erich Braunig, First Officer, leaned in: 'With all due respect, Herr Kaleun, the convoy escorts and the independent escort groups are wreaking havoc among the U-boat fleet. Do you really think it's wise to deliberately get in their way? Don't get me wrong, of course we have to attack enemy shipping, but perhaps it's better for us if we focus on, ehm, easier prey.'

Commander Hans Bremer finished his coffee and put the cup on the table. 'Let's not prance around the point here, I have no intention to go on suicide missions or to do insanely stupid and brazen things, but you all have to realise that we are NOT defenseless. We nailed that destroyer. It was a risk but we came out on top. Calculated risks, gentlemen, that's our business. Yes we will be under attack sooner or later, we will probably be in serious danger at some point. If not on this patrol, then on the next one. I am not planning on sacrificing us all, just for the mere possibility of maybe getting a kill, but if I see a good opportunity to attack our enemy, I WILL take it.' The second officer and the navigator nodded at these fighting words, the other two and more senior officers looked less convinced. The commander went on: 'Of course, this is all a moot point at the moment because we are at sea for five days now and apart from the air patrols which we dive away from three times a day, we only encountered those two ships which we sank. Dinner is over, gentlemen, I'm going to have a nap. Have a good watch.' And he left the room.

The chief engineer looked as if he wanted to say something rebellious but then he shrugged and said: 'Well, he's the only one on board with actual combat experience, apart from the Oberbootsmann. And he did a pretty good job with that destroyer. Good evening, gents.' And he returned to his station in the control room.


U-1164 continued on her course, steadily getting out further into the Atlantic, 10 miles further with every hour that went by on that cold, clear winter night. It was almost Christmas and the world looked beautiful. Enjoy it while it lasts, boys, because it probably won't.

[Jimbuna]

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

[nikbear]

Good start:up: 43':hmmm:Things are going to be tricky right from the off:salute:

[meduza]

Interesting read! Keep them coming... :up:

[Leandros]

Nice story - well written! I believe Dønitz, after first having ordered not to engage enemy warships unless in self-defense, sometime in '41 expressed his view that sinking warships on sight was now approved. Anyway, the game issues such a message in said period.

As this story takes place in '43 I should think the commanders had got more faith in their weapons as the major torpedokrise faults had been rectified - and therefore this story should be more plausible. Also, I should think the enemy's improved efficiency, particularly with introduction of the hedgehog, justified more desperate countermeasures.

The magnetic fuze, when working, is very effective in the game. Even end '40 I find them working great in the TI on short range. Not in the TII, though. Even with duds and malfunctions activated.

With his offensive spirit I am sure your captain would love to be issued the first versions of the Falke and the Zaunkønigs.

[Bosje]

U-1164 was doing her rounds, back and forth, east to west and back again in the search pattern to hunt for ships. They were in their assigned patrol area, north east off the Azores. Days and days of nothing at all to report, bar the usual goings-on. The wind had picked up and the boat danced merrily across the wavetops on her perpetual rounds through an empty sea. Morale was getting slightly lower with each day but that was just the usual boredom of the long war patrol. Commander Hans Bremer kept a close eye on his crew, they were only a week into the patrol and he considered it a highly eventful journey so far, with two kills in the first week alone. Most of the men were simply not accustomed to days with nothing at all to do, except watchduty. That was the problem, keeping a sharp eye on the horizon and sky while nothing ever showed up. The men would learn, in time, but if they missed that single thing which was there to be seen, it could mean the great big end. He almost wished that the RAF would visit them every now and then, just three times a day, for fun, to keep his men occupied, as long as they had their radar sets turned on so he got an early warning off the RWR. The RAF did not oblige, maybe they all had a week off for the holiday season.

Christmas came and went. A relatively luxurious dinner, alcohol for the men as they got off duty and that was it. A few more days of nothing at all and then it was New year's eve in the officer's mess. Nothing impressive. No fireworks because they had nothing to shoot at and it would be wildly irresponsible to send up a couple of flares. The men were cramped around the radio, listening to the German broadcasts and then tuning in to the BBC for another round of the same, even though hardly any of them understood what the comedians and reporters were saying. The second officer lost himself a bit: 'A toast, gentlemen, to 1944, to victory, to the Fuhrer, to the Reich and to the death of...' -the commander cut him off: 'Don't make an arse of yourself, Friedrich, let's toast to our good luck instead.' - 'To good luck!' they all agreed. The staff went up on the bridge to smoke some cigars, hiding the glow by staying down behind the casing and the crew were allowed to join them in groups of four. After that little ritual of disregard for protocol, they allowed themselves the luxury of a slight booze-up while the boat dived to a safe depth, if an enemy ship happened to cross their path that night, the tommies could toast to their own good luck as well.

The commander allowed such liberties, partly because he was rather partial to cigars and booze himself and partly because it was the first day of 1944 and they were in a U-boat out in the Atlantic. That, he thought, would just have to do. Around three in the morning, Hans Bremer went to his cabin, shared some inebriated insights with the boys in the radio room and fell asleep. He dreamed about dozens of ships sailing around them, always just outside of his reach, while his engines wouldn't work and the weather just kept messing up his firing solutions. He woke up four hours later in a hell of a bad mood.

U-1164 continued to do her rounds back and forth across the empty sea. The next day, the commander's dream seemed to have been prophetic, for the wind increased as the clouds came down to embrace the boat and visibility through the rain, fog and high seas was instantly reduced to zero. 'That's just great,' the commander thought. Little did he know that it was only the start of a full month of some of the worst weather the Atlantic could throw at a U-boat.

[Bosje]

January 6th, early in the afternoon. Stabsbootsmann Heinz Schmidt, senior sonar operator, turned the hydrophone head around like he had been doing all week, just in case. The boat crashed her bow down into the sea with every wave and the sonar station was manned on the off-chance that the sound of a merchant's propeller made it through to the earphone. It seemed a longshot and Heinz was terribly bored with it after almost a week. To be honest, he had already been terribly bored with it after two days but like all men on board, he got used to the endless watch duty with nothing to report. Another week or two, he thought, and then the fuel situation would force to boat back to St Nazaire where the bars were waiting for his wages and the girls were waiting for his stories about the hard life on board. Suddenly, he sat up straight and turned the wheel back to bearing 280. He waited, nothing. Hang on, yes, there it was again! Very faintly and only during the short interval when the bow was dipping into the sea, but it was there!

'Sound contact, slow screws, closing, bearing 280!' His triumphant call caused quite a stir in the boat and commander Hans Bremer smashed into the paneling as he flung himself out of his cabin, not four feet away from the sonar station, just as the boat rolled over to starboard. His yells added to the air of urgency as the crew scrambled to their action stations.

The men on the bridge tried to penetrate the mush around them with their eyes but all they could see was gray rain, gray fog, gray sea and gray clouds. In the radio room, they switched on the radar set, something they usually never did for fear of detection by enemy RWRs. Back on the bridge, the commander was commenting on the weather. His repertoire allowed him several minutes of foul language before he had to repeat himself and the watchmen couldn't help grinning. Profanity was funny for some reason, even though there was nothing funny about the situation. Navigator Gunter Esselmann yelled into the commander's ear: 'Jorg can't get the radar to work properly, Sir, the waves interfere too much.' As if to prove his point, a roller crashed into the bridge, forcing the men to duck behind the casing. Their radar was a rather basic design consisting of a series of devices mounted to the conning tower. The waves kept towering high above them on all sides, rendering the device near useless. The navigator continued his summary of the situation: 'We will not be able to get a fix on the target, Sir, this is insane, the conditions are just too bad for an attack!' Hans Bremer cared not: 'I'll be damned if this bastard gets away from me, flood all the forward tubes, we will fire on estimated gyro-angles. And tell those idiots in the radio shack to give me an approximate target bearing or I'll go down there and personally put my boot up their bare bottoms!' Poor Gunter tried again: 'But it's useless, Herr Kaleun!'

The commander exploded into another session of elaborate cursing to send the navigator on his way but he was interrupted by the sight of a huge dark shadow which majestically parted the curtain of gray in front of him. 'All back emergency, hard to port!' Five seconds of maneuvering brought his bow more or less to bear on the target which appeared to be a large merchant. He looked at the ship and his mind suggested: 8 knots. His eyes replied: fair enough, then he fired a fast running torpedo on an 8 degree lead angle. As soon as the torpedo left the tube he realised that he had missed, the merchant was sailing at an undeterminable angle away from them and he sent three more torpedoes after it, on decreasing lead angles. Before the last torpedo left the tube, the second one struck the merchant just aft of the engine room and then it vanished out of sight through the gray curtain. The U-boat was still in reverse. They quickly went after their prize through the rain, spurred on by the cursing commander and guided by the fire which now blazed on the freighter like a torch. They came alongside and then turned away from her to starboard, lining up the sterntube for the coup de grace. Then it was over, as suddenly as it had started.

His heart still pumping from the adrenaline kick, Hans Bremer climbed down into the control room where he was greeted by cheering crewmen and by the LI who said: 'Congratulations, Herr Kaleun, but that was madness.' Bremer grinned and replied: 'Yeah but wasn't it fun, though?' and then he dictated the entry for the log which ended with: -14:59 – merchant approx. 10.000 tons sunk after firing five torpedoes of which two hits, no survivors found owing to rapid sinking and poor visibility.
He then called his navigator for a private meeting and told him to never ever second guess his decisions again and finally he announced that the whole crew would be enjoying a shot of victory schnapps that evening. Another cheer from the men and that was the messy and rude story of his third kill.

[Bosje]

April, 1944.


Commander Hans Bremer tried to take deep breaths but he soon ceased his attempts as the influx of cold fresh air made him throw up. The wine had been excellent but two bottles was obviously too much. He looked around for his transportation but then realised that he had no idea how he had arrived at the club 6 hours before. He decided to walk back to his hotel and randomly aimed for one of the streets which St. Nazaire offered to him. A tottered kilometer later he realised he had no idea where he was, nor where he was going, nor where his lodgings actually were. Did he even stay at a hotel at all? Bastard French and their bastard wine! This was unfair, of course, but he was annoyed at his predicament. He threw up in a side alley and that helped. Think, dammit! How did he get here?

Second warpatrol, left port in high spirits after the success of their first patrol. Crossed the bay of Biscay during the night, heading out into the Atlantic. Air attack, alarm! He remembered the failing vents and the boat still being on the surface as the bomber came screaming in. Guns manned, bombs falling, bullets flying, plane going down in flames, boat completely wrecked, guncrew dead, limping back to port, made it. That was it, now he remembered. They went for a drink to celebrate their safe return and to drown the memory of the terrible attack and to toast to their fallen comrades. But he still didn't remember where he should go now. He turned round and tried to find the club again.

He opened the door of the club and stepped back in. He stumbled and fell face first onto a fortunately placed couch, floored by the impact of the hot, thick and moist atmosphere inside. The LI was least inebriated and noticed his captain had returned. The officers carried him over to their table and sat him down on the chair he had vacated shortly before. He mumbled: 'take me to my toat...boat', and then he fell asleep.


By the end of the month, boat and crew were back in shape and they set out again, the commander was in a grim mood this time but he was also bent on sinking some allied shipping.

[bojan811]

Bravo!!!
More...more!!!:yeah:

[Mopy]

Good stuff. Liking this one :sunny:

[Bosje]

'Lovely weather' – 'Hmm' – 'Smoke?' - 'Yeah thanks'
The concise conversation between the two officers stalled when they both lit their cigarettes. Commander Hans Bremer looked out across the ocean and he was happy. Times were hard but he just loved setting out to sea, especially in a boat like this. He loved U-1164 and he enjoyed taking her out for patrol. The bow split the sea before them with ease and the sleek gray hull of the Type VIIC/41 U-boat slivered through the Atlantic almost unnoticed. They just cleared the shallow and dangerous Bay of Biscay during the night and now, the morning after, they all felt better. Air patrols were still all around but at least now they had some depth to escape to for safety. It was sort of a barrier which had to be crossed at the start of each patrol.

Aircraft forced them to dive every couple of hours and they usually stayed down for about an hour each time. Getting anywhere took some time this way but there was not much else for it. The captain thought about the old days, when captains did emergency drills every couple of days, to keep the men on their toes. These days, the enemy kept them on their toes more than they would have liked. The RAF came calling again: Incoming radar transmission!' - 'ALAAARM.'
And down they went. It had quickly become a routine.

In the afternoon they took the opportunity to do a deep dive, the captain wanted to be sure his boat was in good shape after all the repairs from the last disastrous adventure. At 200 meters the boat started to sound off deep moans but that was all she did. Hans Bremer took her down to 250 meters and stayed there for a while, strolling through the boat, listening to the creaks and chatting with the boys in the various compartments. Then he finally ordered her back up, to the relief of his men. Depth was their friend and ally but beyond the 200 meter mark, being calm and at ease was a rare trait which only a few on board seemed to have.

U-1164 kept going, on the surface and below, not very quickly because they were often recharging their batteries but the boat still made steady progress towards their patrol area off the Iberian coast. They got there on the last day of April and established a search pattern to hopefully catch anything which tried to sail by. The Commander sat on his bed and read up on all the decoded radio messages. U-277 was in trouble after being attacked, an incomplete report and then nothing. Several attempts from BdU to contact them, then the sad announcement of yet another boat presumed lost at sea. He re-read the interrupted first message from U-277 when the radio announced a new message. The radio operator needed a while to decode it. Bremer got impatient: 'Well, Hermann?' - 'Got it, Herr Kaleun. Contact report on a convoy, about 12 merchants and 3 escorts, southbound at 5 knots, quite close.' The captain snatched the thin sheet of paper and climbed through the hatch into the control room where he went to work on the charts with the navigator. News travelled fast and soon the whole crew were talking excitedly about the opportunities and dangers which a convoy would present to them.

Commander Bremer hoped that the report was accurate about the enemy escorts. Three escorts, three escorts, three escorts and about twelve merchants. He stroked the stubs on his chin, not even a beard yet, they had barely started their patrol. And already a target within striking distance, with only three escorts. He really hoped that the report was accurate. In the early morning hours of May 1st, U-1164 turned her bow north to intercept the enemy.

[Bosje]

He didn't wait for nightfall, there was no point. Surface attacks were not an option against radar and if he had to attack from periscope depth, he might as well use daylight to his advantage. They intercepted the convoy at three in the afternoon and slipped down in a half-decent ambush position ahead of the fifteen or so ships. Now, Commander Hans Bremer was waiting for the convoy to come to him with nothing else to do but be very very quiet.

And so he sat on the rim of the open hatch, physically inside the control room but in direct whispering range of Stabsbootsmann Heinz Schmidt who was listening intently to the cacophony of screws and who now stuck his head outside the booth: 'Three destroyers, I think that's it.' - 'Very well, tell me if they do anything sexy.' Hans Bremer stroked his chin. This was the worst part of the attack, he found. He had already hated it when he was first officer on U-735. Now it was even worse. Contrary to popular belief at the homefront, being depthcharged or trying to sneak away from the enemy was not quite as agonizing as this. At least then you had decisions to make, input from all sides to occupy your mind. You could snuff it any second, sure, but you had no time to fret too much. It was different for the crew but for Bremer, this was far worse: waiting for the convoy to either present itself or to turn away from you, subject to the commodore's whims. All that remained was staying quiet as a mouse, wondering if the escorts would find you before you got a chance to shoot. Sitting still, taking care not to make even the slightest unnecessary sound, the boat around you pregnant with anticipation, waiting, stroking the stubs on your chin.

The convoy was going desperately slow, 5 knots at best. The U-boat was creeping along at 2 knots. They needed a torturous hour and a half to meet. A whisper: 'Schleichfahrt.' The Commander finally took his seat in the conning tower, it was almost time for action but the first obstacle to glory was the picket destroyer, doing lazy turns in front of the convoy, now rather close. He risked a very brief peek through the periscope, trying to keep the head from protruding too far out of the mild swell. To his left a pre-war destroyer, minus one forward turret. Conversion for hedgehogs. Bastard. Straight ahead a basic convoy, small prey on the outside, big prey on the inside. Second column first row, a large silhouette he didn't immediately recognise. Down periscope. He flipped through the pages of the book, quietly hoping to match the captured image in his head with that of a huge converted ocean liner. Wait, back one page, disappointment, there it was: Chatham troop ship. 6500 tons. Nothing impressive but still a priority target. Their positioning had been almost perfect. His whisper was passed on down: 'Port 10.'

Bremer was just about to take another look when the Asdic startled him so abruptly that he dropped the ship identification manual. Busted! At the worst possible moment! They were showing the destroyer their port flank in all its sound wave-reflecting glory.

Ahead full! Hard to starboard! Maintain periscope depth! His commands were echoed through the boat as he pressed his eye to the ocular of the attack periscope. He was turning away as the destroyer was turning towards him. Before long, the two predators were roughly on the same course. 'Rudder starboard 15!' He would have just one chance before the destroyer got her own shot with the hedgehog. And he would have to be quick about it, too. Royal Navy bastards! How had they found him? 'Open tube 5, magnetic pistol depth 4, bearing 200 range 600...' - 'Set' – 'LOS!'
He desperately hoped that it was enough but he had the odds in his favor, this time. Tube 5 had been loaded with a homing torpedo. An incredible feat of engineering, it would hopefully follow the destroyer wherever it went, possibly finding and even sinking it but at least distracting it from the U-boat.

Hans Bremer climbed down into the control room while the boat took a deep dive and another sharp turn. That was about all they could do. All eyes were looking up although the ceiling of the control room was just the boring collection of valves and pipes it always was. Heinz reported the destroyer running and twisting all over the place. No hedgehogs or depthcharges yet. One and a half minutes later they heard an explosion above them. And then the unmistakable sound of a sinking ship, the shrieking steel as it was tortured by the water pressure. Amazed smiles, uncomfortable grins and relieved laughter all round the control room. The Commander took a deep breath and then he waved away the congratulations: 'Back up to periscope depth, go to 350, ahead standard. Reload the sterntube.'

The path to the convoy's inner lanes now lay wide open. He was not done quite yet.

[Jimbuna]

This just keeps getting better http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/thumbsup.gif

[Brag]

Bosje,
I see you've been busy. You certainly have knack for story telling :salute:

[Bosje]

damn, i wanted to keep this story up but real life got in the way and i never got round to finishing the tale of this patrol.
it's a shame, because my notes tell me it must have been quite interesting, but i really cant remember the details and i don't feel like making a load of stuff up.

so, let's assume that my notes are accurate and that we sunk a total of 40.000 tons, including 3 escorts.
let's also assume that we got severely raped by hedgehogs (which would be funny in any other context) and that we survived it all, if only just.

moving right along, SH3Commander tells me that it's June 1944 and that Captain Hans Bremer is in port before his 5th Feindfahrt.

another start coming, let's hope i get round to a proper finish this time, that is if anyone remembers this tale at all in the first place :arrgh!:

Bosje, back in the control room of SH3/GWX3 (because GWX4 isnt happening and i'm not wetting my pants over SH5 quite yet)

[Jimbuna]

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

[Falkirion]

Great read. Can't wiat for the next installment.

[Bosje]

June 27th, 1944.


The sun set in front of him as St Nazaire faded away behind him, in the quickly darkening background. It was a wonderful scene in a less than wonderful world. Commander Hans Bremer wondered if he would see St Nazaire again. The Allies had landed in Normandy and quickly gained ground around the beachhead. An hour ago, Lehmann Radio News said that Cherbourg had fallen. Grave tidings indeed. If the Allied forces marched up to the Breton coast, the men on the U-boat would have no home to return to.


It really wasn't fair at all, he thought. Surviving all the dangers of the Atlantic only to become a homeless drifter in the end. If they survived the Atlantic in the first place, of course. He had navigator Esselmann calculate what fuel they would need to sail to Norway, keeping that fuel in reserve at all times during this patrol. Better safe than sorry, after all.


Either way, he thought, first things first. They had enemy shipping to find and sink off the Spanish coast. Just a few days steaming if all went well. He lighted a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Things rarely went well these days. But U-1164 was in fine shape, as were the men on board. Hans Bremer wasn't really scared of what was out there, he simply felt curious. Curious to see what they would find on their path during the coming weeks. Violence and Death, probably. He was visited by fleeting glimpses of the war at sea. Ships burning and airplanes diving and destroyers charging in a boiling sea, the images drifted through his mind as if he was right in the middle of it all. Violence and Death indeed.


He threw the butt of the cigarette over the railing and leaned back against the bridge casing. The new radar warning receiver and the new radar antenna made his boat look even more menacing. His boat and his men, on the prowl. At moments like this, he loved his job.


The next day, they dived away from a transmitting airborne radar at noon. Bombs were dropped but not very accurately. The day after that, again around noon, they dived again. Two air patrols encountered in as many days. It was the most pleasurable cruise through the Biscay Bay they could remember. Perhaps it had something to do with the invasion of Fortress Europa, but as long as it took some of the heat off the U-boats, nobody was complaining. The officers joked with the men: it was about time them Army-boys got some attention from the Allied Airforces.


June 30th, 1944 (around tea-time). U-1164 entered grid BE95, west-northwest off the Iberian Peninsula. This was convoy territory. This was their hunting ground. At 16:27 they dived away from enemy radar transmissions.

[Bosje]

'Straight and level at 70 meters.' - '50 RPM.' - 'Steady as she goes.' The electrical systems hummed quietly, water dripped slowly from some of the pipes and the men did their work in hushed voices. They waited half an hour and then came up to periscope depth. Commander Hans Bremer ducked through the hatch into the radio shack and waited for the hydrophone report. Heinz was off duty, the boat's doctor was filling in for him. There was nothing to report. Bremer did a full sweep of the horizon through the observation periscope, there was nothing to be seen. It seemed the airplane never knew they were there and had gone on its merry way.


'Surface the boat.'


The commander and the 1.WO were the first ones on the bridge, as always, to make sure it was safe up top. It was. 'Second watch on the bridge, ahead standard.' Commander Hans Bremer reached into his pockets for his cigarettes while the watch crew came crawling up onto the bridge.


Then the shouts reached him from inside the boat.


'Radar detected! Multiple signals! Bearing 10 to 20! Closing fast!' He grabbed his Zeiss binoculars and looked up. He found himself staring right into the propellers of two fighter planes, they were coming straight for him. 'ALAAAAAARM'


The boys from the watchcrew had to crawl back into the boat before they even settled into their positions, it caused some confusion and the commander was still climbing down the hatch when the water started spilling over into the bridge, he barely managed to close the lid, soaked to his skin. The boat took a steep nosedive and he found himself flung against the conning tower wall when the bombs went off. An awful racket went through the boat, lights went out and glass dials shattered as the entire boat was thrown around from the force of the explosions, but he knew that they had not taken any direct hits. Direct hits were even worse than this, a lot worse. He grabbed the ladder and let himself fall down the hatch into the control room. 'QUIET! Give me accurate damage reports, dammit!'


His roar helped to establish order after the messy and chaotic affair. Fuses were replaced and the lights came back on as the boat went down to 70 meters once again and then, thankfully, straightened out. At least all the controls still seemed to work. Obermechaniker Leutnant Baumann and his damage control party came back from the forward compartments and reported the news: 'A nasty little leak between the deck planking and the forward crew quarters. Slight flooding, nothing the pumps cannot handle, but the leak will be hard to fix, we can hardly reach it, will take some time.' - 'How much time?' - 'At least an hour, Herr Kaleun.' - 'That's just great, Volkmar. Well, get on it right away.' - 'Jawohl.'


Heinz, the sonar operator, kicked the doc out of the way and took his station after the alarm. He now looked back at the commander through the radio room hatch. 'Multiple warships, Herr Kaleun. Long range but closing.'


Hans Bremer forced himself to remain calm and straightened his back against the charts cabinet, taking slow and deep breaths. Think, dammit. Fighter planes, out here? From Gibraltar maybe? Unlikely. From England? Impossible. From a carrier then. Yes. Warships closing in from the south. A hunter-killer group? Possibly. If that was the case, they would be coming straight for him, because those fighters knew exactly where he was. Better get the hell away from here, then.


'Make your heading 60. 200 RPM, come up to 40 meters while the boys try to fix that leak.'


Fifteen minutes went by while they heard repeated explosions behind them. Those fighters were busy bombing the hell out of the ocean where he had dived. - 'Herr Kaleun! Contact, slow screws, closing! In between the warships. Wait, make that multiple merchants!'


So, not a hunter-killer group after all. A convoy, with at least one escort carrier. And at least a dozen escorts. Commander Hans Bremer had stumbled on his prey. Or on his hunters? The bad news was, they knew he was there. It was now 17:15, he decided he would shadow the convoy, wait till nightfall and then try to see if he could get close enough for a kill.


A decision which would result in the most interesting but also most terrible twelve hours of his life, but he did not know that yet.

[Bosje]

Eight in the evening, they were running on the surface, north by north-east at full speed. The convoy was doing the same thing, off their starboard bow. He could not see any of the ships but they had a dozen radar sets transmitting incessantly around bearing 90. Probably about 20 kilometers away. It had been like this for the past hour, they were only barely getting ahead of their prize, the convoy was moving very fast indeed. Every time they started to get into a good position, they detected the airborne radar transmitting from the escort carrier's planes. You could tell the difference with some experience. As the planes started to close in, the boat was forced to dive or the game would be given away. And after that they had to regain their headstart all over again. Barely did they rejoin the hunt or another pair of fighters showed up. Down again. And again.

It was now 22:00 and Hans Bremer felt his mood getting worse every minute.

As they gave the aircraft ample time to bugger off again, they put the occasion to good use. Heinz made a very thorough study of all the sounds around them. And it paid off. He came running into the control room with the most astonishing bit of news: 'New contacts! Convoy approaching from the north!'

The commander stood next to the navigator as they drew a bunch of lines on the chart. This was unbelievable. Two convoys were crossing paths, passing each other as they went on their way. One inbound and one outbound. And he was about 15 kilometers west of this meeting. He was itching to sink his teeth into some of this prey, but he had been bumped away from them by the air patrols so far. What would his old commander, Freiherr Beckman, have done? He would have gone in there, no doubt. Would he, Hans Bremer, now dare to do the same? The air patrols had a pattern, not turning in their tracks. They had just visited this location and were now probably looking at the other side of the convoy. If he wanted to attack, now was the time. But there were still the surface radars to deal with. He made up his mind. He would go east, directly where the first, larger, convoy now was. It would be gone by the time he arrived but that would hopefully be when the second, smaller, convoy would sail into his sights.

As good a plan as any, he thought. As he closed in they dived to stay hidden from the radar. But too late. They had already alerted one of the trailing escorts. It came over to take a closer look while the boat was coming back up to periscope depth and it caught them with their pants down, nailing their position with the first ping of the asdic, just as Hans Bremer went to look through the perisope. He found himself looking at the foamy moustache on the bows of a River class Frigate speeding straight towards him.

'Scheisse! Dive, dive!' - He was heavily upset by the sudden surprise and concluded that it was no rookie standing on the bridge of the Frigate. Ping. Ping. Ping. The frigate was still hundreds of meters away but every ping was delivered right onto their hull. He felt a fear creeping up from his stomach and closing around his throat. 'Deeper!' As the boat passed 150 meters, the frigate leisurely strolled up to them and then blasted them with asdic while maintaining distance behind them. He knew by now what that meant.

'Ready for hedgehog attack! Ahead flank! Hard to port! Deeper, LI, DEEPER verdammt noch mal!' Everyone in the control room grabbed something to hold on to while their faces were screwed up in discomfort. He almost evaded the hedgehog, almost. One of the projectiles clipped them on the forward deck and exploded. It did not kill them directly but it did significantly increase the size of the leak which was already there and which had still not been fully fixed. The LI had been thrown off his feet and got back up, looking at the depth gauge and reporting: '200 meters.'

'Deeper still, LI!' He knew there was more to come. Indeed, Heinz shouted from behind him: 'Depthcharges!' - 'Deeper, LI!' It worked, the depthcharges went off right above their heads, shaking them around but not causing any more damage. He went up to the forward compartments to find Volkmar and his men hard at work to contain the flooding. 'The pumps can not handle it anymore, Herr Kaleun!' - 'Do whatever you can, Herr Leutnant. We'll get out of this yet.' - 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun.' But Volkmar was clearly not convinced.

The commander went back to the control room while the frigate was turning around for another go at them. '240 meters.' - 'That's enough, LI, hold it there.' This was probably too deep for them, now that they had taken some damage. But he needed the depth, it meant a longer time for any garbage to reach him from the frigate, giving him some time to get out of the way. He needed it because that bastard up top clearly knew exactly where to throw his garbage. 'Attack run, depthcharges!' And on it went. 'Hard starboard!'

Over a hundred depthcharges came down on the U-boat, but none of them caused more damage than some broken crockery and a few blown fuses. The worst problem was the leak in the forward compartment. Slowly but steadily the boat was getting a bit heavy in the nose. If the frigate managed to keep them down here, they would eventually exhaust their batteries and compressed air. And then they would sink, never to be heard from again. Bastard frigate with his bastard hedgehogs!

Then a little plan popped into the commander's head. Just like that. If the hedgehog was fired while they tried to run away, with the escort right behind them maintaining distance and sonar contact... what if they ran TOWARDS the escort as it got into position? That would place them right underneath the depthcharge racks, yes, but it would make the hedgehog useless, perhaps. He decided to try it, out of desperation if nothing else. They were now at 200 meters, making their way up to safer depths due to the flooding, right into the killing zone of the frigate's arsenal. Heinz kept him up to date on the frigate's antics. 'Moving away bearing 94, moving away bearing 110, closing bearing 120, closing bearing 125....' It was turning around, towards them, coming in from his starboard stern. 'Hard to port, 200 rpm.' The LI looked surprised. Why not the usual 'dreimal ak voraus, everything you got?'

He made it easy for the frigate, crawling away instead of running away like mad. 'Closing, bearing 175'
'Maintaining distance bearing 176, very close.' Now was the time. 'EMERGENCY REVERSE, everything she has in her, LI, go go go! Rudder zero!' The boat was trembling under the sudden power which was unleashed in the opposite direction, the floorboards tilted as the water rushed past the diveplanes in reverse and the boat started to slide backwards and downwards while the frigate passed overhead. The hedgehog projectiles came down harmlessly in front of the boat and the depthcharges which were immediately and inaccurately dropped exploded very close but not quite close enough. The frigate's commander had been caught off guard and was now suddenly completely unaware where his prey was at.

His prey was, in fact, coming up to periscope depth as quietly and as sneakily as Hans Bremer could hope for, turning their stern towards the frigate which was now sending asdic pings everywhere in a frantic attempt to re-acquire the U-boat. It finally found the U-boat when it was already too late. Commander Hans Bremer was looking through the attack periscope, the sterntube was flooded and the Falke Torpedo was set to fire on bearing 180. 'LOS!'

At 22:40 the torpedo detonated directly under the depthcharge racks, making a complete wreck of the frigate's stern and it went down in seconds, the pointy bow sticking up from the waves because some air was still trapped in the forecastle. And then it was gone completely.

He stood in the control room, slightly trembling but immensely pleased with himself. He had done it, he had squirmed his way out of a tight spot and he had found a way around the hedgehogs in the process. But now what? Run away or try to engage the convoy after all? As it turned out, he would not be given the choice. When the U-boat surfaced they were greeted by the sight of two escorts on the horizon, rushing to the aid of their colleague who had so suddenly disappeared. Still too far away to visually see them but probably close enough for their radar.

Running away, then. He shrugged as his boat turned her tail and gave it every little bit of speed it had in her. Before long, they were doing 17 knots across the silky smooth sea. Good speed, but not good enough. The two frigates in the distance were getting slightly bigger as the minutes ticked by. He tapped his foot against the periscope housing while he thought: Why don't you just bugger off, you bastards? I'll leave your stupid convoy alone already.

[ReFaN]

Great read, cant wa9it for the next. Keep it up!

[Bosje]

i know, i know, it's a long read

but if i dont get it all written and posted now, i'll forget the details and never get it finished

more coming soon, i'm playing this D.I.D. style and the whole thing was about as exciting as it gets :arrgh!:

[msalama]

Most excellent read as always. I'm telling you man, if you're not a pro writer already you most definitely will be someday if you keep it up :up:

[KL-alfman]

thrilling story so far!
pls, keep them coming, bosje!! :DL

[Bosje]

A great noise surrounded them while the boat cut through the water, the engines were producing all the power they possibly could and the sound of the diesels seemed so loud that Hans Bremer was worried that it could be heard on board of the frigates, not 4 kilometers away. Probably not though, because those frigates were running at full speed ahead as well. 'Over seventeen knots, Herr Kaleun!' the word was passed on to the bridge. The commander should have been proud and amazed but he was too worried to be either. U-1164 was running faster than she had ever run before, even during her sea trials. But it was no use to them whatsoever because the frigates could go even faster, much faster in fact.

'What range do you make it, Friedrich?' - 'About 3000 meters now, I think.' - 'Bastards.' - 'Yes sir, and they are catching up. We should dive, sir!'
They should dive, yes, but he did not yet give the order, he wanted to run away from the convoy in the hope that the frigates would be more likely to abandon the hunt easily if he was no longer a threat to that convoy. Surely, those escorts could not afford to leave their charges alone for too long? And the sterntube was reloaded with another type IV torpedo which he could fire to distract or even destroy one of those frigates, perhaps. They kept on running as the frigates closed the 3 km mark. Then the nearest frigate started to run a little zigzag course, still coming towards them but not directly and, due to all the turning, not as quickly anymore.

'Range?' - 'Still around 3000.'
Several minutes went by.
'And?' - 'Still around 3000.' - 'Excellent, Friedrich! Keep me informed.' The commander left his 2.WO in charge of the bridge and went down into the boat where Volkmar was still busy with his boys, desperately trying to fix the leak which was so hard to reach from inside the forward compartment.
The boys were doing everything they could but water was still coming into the boat and the pumps were only just coping, even now that they were on the surface. LI Oberleutnant August Euler entered the compartment as well. 'We can dive but we will have impaired control of the boat, Hans.' - 'Impaired how?' - 'Reduced depth keeping, depth changing, probably reduced speed as well.' - 'How are the batteries, August?' - 'About two thirds remaining.' - 'Hmm. Well at least that's something.' - 'Yes but it might not be enough if we have to play all night.' - 'Well we'll try to stay on the surface as long as we can then. Just keep giving it everything she's got.' - 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun.'

The boat kept on racing west, away from the enemy, chased by the two frigates which were not getting any closer but which were not abandoning the chase either. As the officers were discussing the boat's condition they were interrupted by a shout from the radio room. 'New radar transmitting! Fast moving, airborne! Wait, another one. Two aircraft approaching fast, Herr Kaleun!'

Commander Hans Bremer swore crudely and made his way back up to the bridge where his 2.WO was still keeping an eye on the two frigates. He was doing so from the wintergarten, the two-stage platform which played host to the boat's air-defense arsenal, two rapid firing 20mm canons. Impressive weapons to look at but not quite as potent as you would expect, Bremer knew. The planes would be in visual range in minutes, he had to make a decision. The frigates had not yet fired their guns at them, he was quite happy to keep going all night like this, on the surface, the boat running for her life. But now the hunt was joined by fighter aircraft from the convoy's escort carrier. Not fair, he thought. 'Man the AA guns, Friedrich, we have aircraft coming in and we need to keep them at bay!' - 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun!' As second officer, Friedrich was in charge of the boat's artillery and he was spoiling for a fight. Bremer sighed, he knew the terror which was an air-attack, but he had no choice now. If they dived they would have the two frigates right on their neck and he was afraid of what those ships could do to him and his already damaged boat, once they went down into the deep. What was the world coming to when a U-boat commander was afraid to dive? 'Bastards bastards bastards', he muttered.

[Bosje]

It was now 23:00 and the fighters appeared as tiny black specks in the dark sky. The frigates were still zigzagging towards them at 3000 meters. 'Steady, steady, steady....open fire!' The command echoed across the sea before the 20mm guns opened up a split second later. They produced an awful noise but Hans Bremer felt a sensational satisfaction of finally giving the enemy some of their own medicine. The feeling lasted about one second and then he was thrown off his feet and smacked against the periscope housing while the bridge around him seemed to be engulfed in fire and water both at the same time. His mind failed, like his muscles and only his eyes registered what happened from his catatonic body. The men on the AA guns were torn apart as the rockets exploded on all sides around them. Then a shell came screaming in, that must be from the frigates who now started to open fire on the muzzle flash of the AA guns. A second shell screamed overhead and landed somewhere before him. The third shell exploded against the aft AA gun where Friedrich was trying to drag the dead gunner away. Nothing remained of either man.

Then the first round was over, the airplanes had passed overhead and had to turn around while the frigates no longer had muzzle flashes to fire on. Bremer scrambled onto his feet and tried to grab the body of the second AA gunner who he recognized as Franz, a silly but cheerful boy. The body was too much for him to bear but he was aided by Erich, the first officer, who came up to the bridge to check if anyone was still alive before taking charge of the boat and ordering the emergency dive. Erich dragged Franz and his commander down through the hatch and then closed it. Bremer stumbled down into the control room and just had enough of his wits left to shriek: 'Fire tube 5 zero gyro!' Then he collapsed on the floor as tears mingled with the blood which was dripping from his face. Wrecked though he was, much like his boat, he realised that he still had a boat to command and he had to try to regain control over his body and over the situation.

After a couple of seconds, he took a deep breath and tried to pull himself up by grabbing the steel ladder which lead up to the conning tower and the bridge, where the sea was now washing away all traces of the horrible fate he had brought over his men. His head was spinning and his ears were still ringing, he thought, but then he realised that the sound was due to the shower of water which came spraying into the control room from the busted valves. And his head wasn't spinning that badly, it was just the boat which was listing while pointing down steeply, way too steeply, given the state she was in.

'LI, level off for Christ's sake!' August looked back at Hans over his shoulder and his eyes revealed his despair. But Hans didn't look away from the hopeless gaze. If anyone was able to control and save this boat, it was the LI. 'Wake up man, level off and give me a full situation report. NOW.'

August jerked his head and seemed to wake up from a daydream which had taken him thousands of miles away. He grabbed the U-boat in his gentle but tight grip and pulled her out of the dangerous dive by going full reverse with the planes still in the diving position and then, finally, they leveled off. The depth gauge showed 150 meters though the curtain of water which still sprayed into the control room. 'And somebody fix those bloody valves in here!' Hans shouted to nobody in particular. In their struggle, nobody had noticed that their torpedo had found a propeller to home in on. The explosion, faint and distant though it was, sent a shiver down his spine. Another escort down! But he was entirely unsure of their chances against the single remaining frigate. 'Herr Kaleun, flooding in all forward compartments, engine room damaged, both diesels out of action, electric engines damaged but still working to some extent. Forward batteries damaged but under repair.' - 'Thank you, Oberbootsmann.'

Hans Bremer took a cigarette from his pocket and tried to light it, but it was wet. What a lovely effing night this was, he thought.

[bigboywooly]

Great read
Dicey stage of the war to be at too
:yeah:

[Jimbuna]

Yes...well worth reading Bosje http://www.psionguild.org/forums/images/smilies/wolfsmilies/thumbsup.gif

[Bosje]

Her Asdic pinging like mad, the frigate charged at them and furiously pounded them with depthcharges. The boat was rocked violently left and right and Hans assumed that they were taking some additional damage. 'Deeper.' - 'We are passing critical depth, Herr Kaleun.' - 'Yes, yes, fine. Deeper!'
The boat had not yet succumbed to the pressure and he gambled that the hull would hold a little longer. Heinz was tracking the warship above them and now he gave the report which the commander had been dreading: 'Maintaining distance, slow screws.' Hedgehogs again. Hans Bremer tried his new trick once more: 'Emergency reverse, rudder zero!' And when the boat started moving backwards: 'Hard to starboard!' The trick failed and they were clipped by a hedgehog bomb. And immediately afterwards by a vicious depthcharge cluster again. Verdammt noch mal! His curse was lost amidst the urgent rush of the incoming water all throughout the control room.


And again the frigate came round. And again he tried his trick, this time it worked. And again.


The duel lasted for an hour while the boys were desperately trying to contain the flooding. It was an impossible struggle and eventually, the water would win. Hans Bremer knew he was running out of time, even if they managed to keep evading the frigate's weapons, they would soon start to sink and then there was no going back. He had to do something, he had to at least try to save his boat and what was left of his men. They went up to periscope depth, evading yet another attackrun on their way up. If he failed now, they would be doomed. They would have to surface and hope that the frigate would accept their surrender instead of blowing them into oblivion.


He fired all four of his bow tubes in a hurriedly aimed spread. The warship's bow was blown out of the water by one of the torpedoes, he had no idea which one. But it mattered not, he had done it. The frigate stopped dead in the water and, breathlessly, he looked on through the attack periscope. Slowly, obstinately, it went down. He had really done it. He got back down in the control room and looked at his men. 'All clear, boys. Prepare to surface, we shall run the hell away from here.' Erich, you're in command. I need to lie down for a little while. He stumbled to his bunk, the water reached his ankles when he sat down on his bed, but now they could at least pump it all out while on the surface. He still bled from a gasp on his forehead but he didn't care and he buried his face into his pillow. 'It's over,' he thought. How wrong he was.

[Bosje]

I'm back, lets see if i can actually finish this patrol story for once :)

[Kermit the Frog]

I'm very glad to see you back Bosje. Seems I'm not the only one who didn't trade his SH3 to SH5... It's late 1940 in my campaign... Again :)
I'm chasing a convoy, waiting till dark and waiting for another part of story. I hope that U-1164 will be a lucky boat, and survive this madness till snorkels appears

[Bosje]

He woke up at five 'o clock. It was July 1st and it was a wonderful morning outside. That was the only good thing to report, though. The boat was still taking on bucket loads of water and, although they were still not sinking, the bow was now getting increasingly heavy as the strained pumps started to fail. The engines had been repaired, the batteries and compressed air reserves had been recharged, much of the system damage had been repaired, but they were still not able to fix those damn leaks in the forward compartments which had been troubling them right from the start of last night's onslaught, seemingly a century ago.

Some god had seen to it that the RAF had left them unmolested during the early hours but Hans Bremer suspected that wouldn't last. They had some speed, they were somewhat operational but any dive could be their last one with all that water inside. He took advantage of the current calm and smoked a cigarette on the bridge, to go with his morning coffee and to rid himself of the taste of blood in his mouth. Half the boys were resting, the other half were working to keep the boat floating. All of them had bruises or more severe injuries. But they were still alive, except the poor devils who were lost in last night's poorly judged gunnery duel.

'Incoming radar, Herr Kaleun.' - 'ALAAAAAARM!'
What else was there to do?
The commander stood nervously behind August. 'Level at 40 meters, right away!' It was no good, the boat kept going down despite their efforts. Too much water kept the bow pointing down. Emergency reverse was their best hope, it slowed the descent to a crawl but they were still not going back up. After half an hour they reached 150 meters and the boat groaned horribly. Hans hoped the aircraft were gone and they blew the ballast tanks. It worked, the boat popped back up and the skies were clear. For a couple of minutes, anyway.

Airborne radar kept probing for them all through the morning and the compressor could not keep up, they were steadily draining their compressed air reserves because blowing was the only way to get the boat surfaced after diving. Progress on the repairs was slow, the flooding was stable now: they pumped out as much as they took in on the surface, diving made it worse again. In all, they could not really afford to dive anymore. Fighting the planes was pointless, their Flak was busted and it would end in drama anyway. Hans was unsure what to do. All they really needed was 4 or 5 hours to complete the hull repairs. Then they could try diving again. He explained it to his men: 'We can't dive anymore, we need to survive 5 hours on the surface. This will not be a lot of fun but we'll just have to ride it out, stay with me now, boys.'
Then he had a signal lamp brought up to the bridge and he put his white cap on his head in the most striking fashion he could manage.

The RAF only needed 15 minutes to get at him again and this time the bomber found the U-boat on the surface, ready to be slaughtered. 'This is it, hold on boys!' As the bomber came screaming in, Hans ordered evasive maneuvers while the bridgewatch ducked down low. The bomber passed overhead and roared away, no explosions, no nothing, just a lot of noise. Then it dawned on the commander: the same bomber had been hunting them all morning. It had bombed an empty patch of sea at every run and now it was out of bombs. His mouth contorted into an evil grin and he raised the signal lamp. 'No ammo?'

To the amazement of Erich who crouched beside him, somebody on the bomber signaled back: 'Indeed, you lucky bugger.' The German officers did not know what 'bugger' meant in this context but they could guess the gist of it. Hans immediately replied with a long string of morse code in his best English: 'Flak out – while we can not kill each other - please join us for breakfast and talk about this.'
The reply came after a while, : 'Thanks but no thanks – we'll get you soon though.'

And with that, the bomber took a wide turn and roared off into the distance. Undoubtedly in a hurry to get new ammunition while any other units in the area were being directed to the U-boat's position. The commander now realised that he had a shot: the bomber had tried to bluff them into diving, so they wouldn't be going anywhere. He had called their bluff, simply because they could not afford to dive and now they were free. It was possible: run like the wind and hopefully they would be a long way away and in better shape by the time the RAF came back to hunt them again.

They gave it a try and, against all hope, they made it. By the time the next radar came looking for them, all the flooding had been finally stopped. They dived and stayed submerged for the rest of the day. The boat held together well enough. Little streams were coming down the inside of the hull but it that was nothing to worry about. The crew made a habit of coming into the control room to look cheerfully at the instruments. The sight of those instruments somehow kept their spirits up: batteries still 1/2 full, depth steady at 60m, compressed air almost full. It was a great thing to behold. Slowly but surely they found their way back home to St. Nazaire. Diving all the time, using the night to run as much on the surface as they could. It was slow and it was nerve-wrecking, but they made it home.

The commander's little chat with the RAF air crew became gospel on board and as the French coast grew ever clearer and larger on the horizon, the men showed Hans Bremer their little surprise: a big jester was painted on the side of the conning tower, red hat and all. The Jester of St Nazaire.

They celebrated their return so violently that the commander was hungover for two straight days and many of his crew weren't any better. But every time his headache made him bury his head in his hands, he reminded himself: at least I'm still here.

[Obersteuermann]

Brilliant writing, really gripping stuff!

[StarLion45]

I am very proud to announce :

HERE IS THE NEXT LIVINGSTON :p2:


:woot::salute:

[Brag]

Very nice tale :DL

[Alpha Von Burg]

:yeah: