This is cool.

"Oskar?" He knew the question -- I had asked him so many times already.

"179 meters, Herr Kaleun."

I sat up and peeked into the sonar shack, checking the repeater gauges. We had been on silent running for three hours. Our rate of descent was slower than expected, but I still had to decide when to turn on the pumps.

I put on the headphones to listen for myself. The destroyers were still searching behind us. But if we could hear them, could they not also hear us?

"How far is far enough, one can only guess," said Oskar. "They make a lot of racket, but they might have good sound men, too."

"If they're half as good as you, Oskar, we should wait a while longer." As I returned his headphones, I saw Heinrich approaching.

"I told you to rest, Heinrich."

"I couldn't sleep."

"The boat can take another couple of hours without the pumps, I think."

"We shouldn't sink any deeper," he pleaded. "At this depth, small leaks have a way of turning into big ones quite suddenly. If that happens, we'll have no choice but to go to full speed to save ourselves."

Oskar and I traded looks. There would be no second chance then.

"We'll wait until they drop wabos again," I said. "They might not notice the pumps coming on through all the noise."

We only had to wait ten minutes. The Tommies dropped just a few this time. They had to pace themselves.

"Pumps on." After such a long period of silence on board, the faint hum was startling.

Oskar listened closely for a reaction. "The one that dropped is at 154 degrees, heading away. The one listening is at 190. Approaching... at 193 degrees... Slowing down... 195... 196..."

"Is he turning round yet?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Speeding up now... 197... 199..."

I could see Heinrich's agony, fearing that his caution had sealed our doom. "He either heard us or he didn't," I told him. "There's nothing for it now."

Oskar gestured for silence. "Slowing down... 201... 199... He's turning to starboard... 198... 197..."

I leaned into the Zentrale. Rolf, Willi, and the rest all showed the strain. "Alles klar?" I asked. Rolf nodded. The look in his eyes told me he was ready for whatever fate had decided.

"195 degrees," whispered Oskar. "Still turning... Same distance... Faster now... 192... 189... 185..."

"Keep going east," Heinrich urged. "Keep going, you Hund!"

"180... 175... 170... Turning again..."

"Which way? Port? Starboard?" I gave Heinrich a hard look -- Oskar needed quiet, now more than ever.

"Heading away, at 168..." The relief on Oskar's face was apparent.

"Lieber Gott, they didn't hear us," I said at last. Heinrich had to lean against a bulkhead; for a moment I thought he was going to weep.

We had crossed a threshold, but another one awaited. Now we had to get out of radar range in order to surface - before dawn. It would mean surfacing without our periscopes or Biscay Cross to warn us. But what was the effective range of their radar? How far away would they be six or seven hours from now?

Still here, filled with anticipation, and enjoying the story greatly.

Ditto http://www.psionguild.org/forums/ima...ies/pirate.gif

"Herr Kaleun... Herr Kaleun??"

I awoke with a start. It was only Bootsmann Risse nudging me. He returned to the hydrophone station. Oskar was getting some well-earned sleep. So were Rolf and Willi.

"Danke, Karl," I said. The clock read 0400. It took an effort to breathe the pungent, stuffy air. With less oxygen, we were not at our sharpest. That worried me.

"The destroyers are much fainter now, Herr Kaleun," said Karl. "Still searching, but far behind us."

"By now we must've travelled at least ten kilometers," I said.

"I think the Tommies have stayed close to where we first submerged," he said. "But there's only one way to know for sure."

"They won't be satisfied till they see my white hat floating. And they can't have it." I got up to confer with Heinrich, back on duty in the Zentrale.

Heinrich seemed calmer after his nap. Perhaps it was the lingering exhaustion we all felt. "Depth is 170 meters, holding steady, Herr Kaleun," he said. I could see his eyes flick to the pipe behind me, still dribbling.

"Batteries holding up, L.I.?" Except for the Zentrale and the E-motor room, the boat was in darkness to conserve power.

"We'll have to surface soon," he replied. "I assume you don't plan to charge the batteries straight away."

"Quite right. When we surface, speed is everything."

"In that case, if you want any power left for crash-diving, we should surface now."

Another good reason. That and the coming sunrise. Darkness was still our friend.

But would it be too soon to avoid the radar? If the Tommies were on the horizon, was that far enough?

This time, reason alone would not suffice. I had to trust my gut.

"Surface the boat, L.I. Ahead slow."

With a flurry of commands Heinrich and the crew started our long ascent. I put on my leather jacket and binoculars. While waiting for the boat to rise, the watch crew assembled in the Zentrale.

"It'll be just like old times," I said to the lookouts. "No Biscay Cross, only your eyes." Technically we were at a disadvantage, yet somehow, maybe it was the way I said it... They knew I placed my faith in them. They were ready. It felt right.

At the surface, I popped opened the tower hatch. I thought I saw the fetid vapors rush out of the boat like evil spirits. Fresh air, at last! We inhaled great lungfuls with idiot glee. Our one good diesel sprang to life as we rushed up the ladder, not knowing what we would find.

ahhhh a cliffhanger!

I love it!

Great story!

Steve

Great stuff http://www.psionguild.org/forums/ima...s/thumbsup.gif

The lookouts and I peered into the darkness. No ships in sight, Gott sei Dank. Our boat gradually accelerated to 12 knots. With only the one diesel to get us home, I dared not push it harder.

The damage to the tower soon became apparent to us. What looked vaguely like a strand of kelp underfoot was a remnant of our radio antenna, entangled in what was left of the Wintergarten. Bootsmann Giess, sent by Heinrich, made a preliminary inspection.

"Mensch!" he exclaimed. Indeed, none of us had ever seen a tower so badly mangled. The two lookouts normally stationed by the upper flak gun had to stand closer to the periscope. "Incredible, what this boat can take," I said.

Even in the pre-dawn, we saw that the gun barrels were all bent. Our Flakzwillings looked like wilted plants.

"At least the deck gun is intact, Herr Kaleun," said Giess before going below with the coiled-up antenna remains.

"Waste not, want not, eh, Giess?" I quipped.

"Wire is wire, Herr Kaleun," he replied. "You never know when it'll come in handy."

I kept a close watch on the horizon behind us. It's one thing to gaze at the sea for pleasure; quite another to stare at it incessantly, searching for the enemy. The mind plays tricks, so hesitation is natural; no one wants to look foolish. Was that a wake I saw, or just a wave? A wave -- it had to be. So I knew what these boys were going through. The trick was not just to keep them attentive, but unafraid to speak.

Rolf took over for me, so I went below to have breakfast with Heinrich, Anton and Willi. The leaky pipe in the Zentrale was finally fixed.

I could see Heinrich's mind racing again. It was a good quality, when under control. "Herr Kaleun, given the boat's condition, we need to modify the crash-dive procedure," he began. "Before we go under, we can run the starboard e-motor along with the port diesel. It won't add much, but every bit helps."

"Even then, we can expect a slower dive than normal," said Anton. "If an airplane takes a dump on us, we'll be close to the surface. That's almost guaranteed."

"In that case, we have to spoil their aim at the last second," I said. "A sharp turn, just as the tower goes under."

"That might work against gunfire and bombs, but if they drop a spread of wabos..." Heinrich was right. Not every problem had a solution.

"Is there any chance at all of fixing the Metox?" asked Willi.

Heinrich sighed. "The cross was smashed so many times on this patrol, we've run out of sticks."

"Improvise, L.I.," I said. "There's plenty of wood up on the bridge. Get some of the guys in the Bugraum to start whittling."

"There's still the electronics to fix. Not so easy, that. A lot of our spares got broken. I could try substituting parts from the radio, but there's no way to really test it--"

"I'm sure the Tommies will help," said Anton.

"That's no joke, Anton," I said. "Remember, just before we left La Spezia, U-331 got sunk by aircraft near Algiers. We still don't know the fate of her crew."

That sinking particularly disturbed me, because Kptlt. von Tiesenhausen was like me, one of the Old Guard. They didn't cut corners on the training in those days. And surely the Metox was working on his boat. Did he make a fatal error? Or did the Allies invent a new weapon, or a trick for detecting us without our knowing it?

Heinrich finished his breakfast before the rest of us. "Better get started on the repairs," he muttered, heading for the Zentrale.

another exciting episode :yeah:

It's like a good book.
I don't want it to end.

With our torpedomen and gunners mostly idle, and no radio to distract them, we had plenty of volunteers for watch duty on two-hour rotation. While two men in the Bugraum carved us a new Biscay Cross, Oskar tinkered with the Metox in the radio shack. It was right for Heinrich to delegate the job, given that he already did the work of four men, supervising repairs and maintenance throughout the boat.

Later that morning, I joined Anton on the bridge. For a moment it felt as if life on board were returning to normal. But surely the Tommies hadn't given up on us?

"Pity about the radio," said Anton. "If we don't report soon, Headquarters will think we've been sunk."

"It might be a blessing in disguise," I replied. "Perhaps that's why the Tommies haven't found us yet."

"Herr Kaleun, they couldn't crack our codes! That's unthinkable!"

"They don't need to. Think about it, Anton. How hard would it be to do radio direction-finding? One listening station at Gibraltar. Another on Malta. A third in Cairo... Maybe even on a ship at sea. Why not?"

"That would require a high degree of coordination," he said.

"No more complicated than what goes on at Kerneval every day. What astounds me is how no one there believes this could be happening! They even scold me for not sending more reports!"

"That's military bureaucracy for you. Thick as a U-boat bunker!" he said, wiping his binoculars. "I have my own theory as to why the Tommies haven't found us yet." His wily grin told me this would be worth hearing.

"Inter-service rivalry," he declared. "You know how we always complain about the Luftwaffe? It must be like that with the Tommies, too. Why would the Royal Navy want to give away a precious target like us to the Air Force so quickly?"

I had to laugh. "Good point, Anton! You might even be right." To think we might owe these hours of safety to that common human failing! I would never rely on the enemy to make a mistake, but if they did, I would gratefully take full advantage of it.

I called down to the Zentrale. "L.I., how goes it with the Metox?"

Heinrich looked up at us. "The new cross is done, Herr Kaleun. As for the receiver, well, it lights up when we turn it on. But it gets hot very fast. Not a good sign."

"As long as it doesn't blow up, let's give it a try!" I climbed down first, to avoid having too many men on the bridge. Willi then started up the ladder, with the Biscay Cross hanging off his back.

Suddenly Anton's face darkened the hatchway above.

"ALAAARRRMMMM!!!"

Alarm bells rang throughout the boat. Willi dropped like a stone back into the Zentrale. I yanked him out of the way of the stampede; this time the cross was saved. Anton, the last man in, sealed the hatch.

"Aircraft, bearing 330! A big one!" he said.

With Heinrich conducting the crash-dive, everyone was in his proper place in record time. The rest was up to the boat. The moment we switched to e-motors, our speed bled off at a sickening rate.

We watched the depth needle; for an eternity it seemed it hardly budged.

"Rudder, hard to starboard!" I bellowed. At 12 meters and falling, our wake might be too small for the pilot to spot the course change in time. But the turn bled off even more speed.

"Twenty meters," Heinrich announced. Not enough!

"Faster! Come on!" Anton urged the boat.

The compass indicated we had turned 30 degrees. Already we were making only 4 knots! "Rudder amidships!" I ordered. We braced for the inevitable.

The explosion threw us forward against the bulkhead. Voices yelled from the Bugraum: "Flooding!" With half the crew crammed in there, at least we had no shortage of manpower.

"If that was a Sunderland," I said, "They'll make another pass, with wabos this time. Deeper, L.I."

Heinrich was beside himself -- to continue going deeper with the boat taking on water was contrary to instinct.

"Thirty meters," he said, breathing heavily.

Bootsmann Kern ran up to us, dripping wet; his damage report: "Flooding stopped, Herr Kaleun."

"Then send half the men astern at once!" Heinrich ordered. "We've got more than enough weight in the bow!" Kern raced back to the Bugraum.

"Lucky for us the Schweine dropped their bombs too far ahead," said Anton.

Willi removed the cross from his back. "Maybe they thought we should be going faster."

I glanced up, imagining the bomber coming round. Men rushed past, en route to the Heckraum.

"Forty meters," said Heinrich.

Oskar called out from the sonar shack. "Wasserbomben!"

The explosions rocked us to and fro. Leaks sprang all around from pressure hull fittings. Damage control teams worked feverishly to stop them. And stop them they did.

"Good job!" I said, clapping Bootsman Roitner on the back. "You can be my plumber anytime!"

At 80 meters, I turned to Heinrich. "Ahead slow. We'll stay down for one hour."

"Only one, Herr Kaleun?" asked Rolf.

"It's a calculated risk," I said. "That bomber probably won't circle around us that long, not this far out."

"But they'll call for reinforcements," he retorted. "With radar they can search day and night."

"Better to run fast on the surface, then. The sooner we make it to Greek waters, the safer we'll be."

"Battery power is at 10% of normal," said Heinrich. "If we don't recharge, the next crash-dive will be even slower."

That was all we needed to hear.

Not only excellent reading, but the post lengths are also perfect.