SUBSIM Radio Room Forums - Close Call (story)

[Ah, the wonky wi-fi came back on -- must post quickly before it conks again!]

"Good job, Heinrich," I said. "Now change into some dry clothes and go lie down."

"But, Herr Kaleun..."

"You've fixed everything that can be fixed, right? Don't worry, I'll look after the boat for you."

Heinrich relented. We looked at the many boards wedged against the pressure hull. "No stern shots on this patrol," said Heinrich.

I met with Rolf in the Zentrale. Though weary, he was relieved to see Heinrich pass by. But the destroyers above were not finished with us. Wabos exploded, close enough to send tremors through the hull, and us. At full speed, our e-motors were straining to make 4 knots.

"He fixed all the leaks back there, eh?"

"Almost all," I replied. "So, Rolf, you still want to command your own boat?"

After a moment's pause, he simply nodded. Had he smiled just then, I would have doubted his sanity.

"Ahead slow," I ordered. Rolf described the situation in whispers, pointing up at the sounds of propellers.

"That one at 140 degrees is listening. He'll attack next. I'm trying to see if there's a regular pattern in the way they turn--"

"Don't bother. They're too clever for that," I said.

The depth gauge read 170 meters. "Keep us at this depth," I said. We waited... and sure enough, the 'listener' became the 'attacker'. Coming in from astern. But his attack run did not go quite overhead.

"All right... wait for it... Full speed!"

The concussion of the wabos gave our boat a hearty shove upwards. "Rudder, hard to starboard!" I said. "New course, 270 degrees. Go to silent running, 50 rpm!"

The order was passed along all the compartments. Real silent running. At last.

We watched the compass turn lazily as our speed drifted down to 1 knot. Most importantly, the depth needle stayed steady, without the pumps.

However we were not entirely unscathed. A pipe fitting in the Zentrale drooled water. We couldn't fix it yet, of course. Willi swept droplets off the map table with his hand.

"So, Willi, our course for home. Is it ready?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun," he answered. "For Peloponnese, we steer to 344 degrees."

"Sehr gut," I said, addressing the Zentrale team generally. "Once the Tommies realize they've lost contact, they'll try to scare us into doing something foolish."

One more course change, and we were on our new heading for Greece. As I expected, the Tommies plastered our last known position with wabos. The blasts were deafening; it was as if we were being pounded inside a gigantic drum over and over.

Lying in my bunk, listening to Oskar's reports, I tried to visualize the destroyers up there. It seemed they were expanding their search pattern, but away from us. For the moment, our luck was holding -- like the repairs to our hull, and the surviving batteries.

However I knew that in an office somewhere, some flunky had just stuck a pin in a map of the Med. I imagined him drawing a circle around that pin. In that circle, if we lived to see the morning, airplanes would be searching for us. And with every sighting, another pin would be stuck in the map, and another circle would be drawn. It would be a long trip home.