At periscope depth, Oskar gave the hydrophone wheel another turn and listened. He shook his head "no". All clear.

We surfaced as rapidly as possible; the watch crew took their positions and scanned the horizon with the urgency of going to battlestations. Indeed we were in a battle, for our survival.

With the port diesel driving both the generator and propeller, we made only eight knots. Heinrich said, "With half the forward batteries intact, we can top them up in about an hour and a half."

"So we can have 25% of normal power, at most," Anton observed grimly.

"Even with that, we should have a faster dive next time," I said. Looking back on our encounter with the plane, I had to admit we owed more to luck than skill. Had the pilot judged our speed correctly on the first pass...

At last Willi installed the new Biscay Cross on the bridge. Matrosengefreiter Goedicke was appointed to give the antenna a quarter-turn every 15 seconds or so. Gathered around Oskar in the radio shack, we watched with anticipation as he slipped on the headphones. His quizzical expression told me the repaired Metox was not what he expected.

"It makes a humming now," he said. "No radar signal so far... Ach, Scheisse! That's hot!" He had touched the receiver's metal casing. Heinrich felt it, too.

"Verdammt! You could fry eggs on that thing! Shut it off!"

"Wait! Let me try something," said Oskar. He quickly removed the Metox's casing, then aimed his desk fan at the exposed electronics. It seemed to help.

"A cooling system," mused Heinrich. "Not bad. All right, we'll leave it on for now." With that, he attended to the forward batteries, his Number 1 concern. Donning a Tauchretter and heavy rubber gloves, he slid beneath the Zentrale deck panels.

Anton and I observed the map. "Even after we're north of Crete, we'll have to stay on our guard," I said. "The Tommies know where we're going. Now they can focus their search in a smaller area than before."

Anton groused, "These planes are even worse than the destroyers!"

"Ja, it takes only one," I said. "The way things are heating up in Algeria, let's be glad we're here and not there." Despite our predicament, the one idea we never entertained was stopping at Sudabucht or any other port in the vicinity. After nearly getting sunk at Lampedusa two months ago, we would not be sitting ducks again.

Willi climbed down the tower with his sextant; he had just taken a sun shot. He soon calculated our position, walked the calipers on the map, and declared, "At our present speed, in sixteen hours we should be in Messiniakos Gulf."

Anton stared at the name on the map. "You've been practicing."

"Good thing we're not stationed in Salamis," I said. "Italian's easier. Più facile."

"So are the women!" said Anton with a lecherous grin.

"Maybe the kind you meet," I said. "In my experience, most Italian women are still conservative. They plan to settle down and have kids."

Heinrich emerged from the battery compartment and removed his gloves. "So far, so good. Couldn't salvage any more cells, but the ones we have are charging nicely."

"ALAAARRRMMMM!!!"

Through the hatch the Biscay Cross fell unceremoniously to the deck, followed by the lookouts, who trampled the antenna to bits as they joined in the crash-dive frenzy.

Great story, one of the best ( and maybe the best) i've ever read here... :yeah:

Ja. This has definately got me captivated.

poor poor biscay cross

"Aircraft, bearing 150!" Rolf shouted as he sealed the tower hatch.

Heinrich, Anton and I stared at the gauges. The moment the bow went under, our speed plummeted to five knots.

"They caught us too soon!" Heinrich said, exasperated. "The battery power's only 18% of normal!"

"Rudder, hard to port!" I ordered. At this point, turning to face our attacker was out of the question. Perhaps heading away, presenting the narrowest profile, we stood a chance.

"Twenty meters," announced Heinrich.

From the sonar hut, Oskar declared, "Mein Gott, I hear the plane going over!"

We instinctively looked up -- and heard the splashes. Four wabos fell in a row, diagonally over us.

"Ach, nein..." said Willi.

"Rudder amidships, ahead full," I ordered.

"Thirty meters..."

Thunderous explosions hurled us to the deck. Two of the wabos straddled our boat aft of the Zentrale. Water sprayed at us. Gauges shattered. Suddenly we were plunged into darkness. Our damage control men sprang into action, working by flashlights until a fuse was changed and lighting was restored.

"Herr Kaleun, may I?" Heinrich asked. Of course he was needed astern. I nodded. Rolf took the conn.

"Forty meters," said Rolf. The men kept working furiously, right through the next wabo attack. The boat rolled gently this time, enough to make the sausages sway like pendulums.

"Ha! They missed!" said Anton. "The meat-meter never lies!"

Growing impatient, I tracked Heinrich down. "L.I., report!"

"The leaks are fixed, Herr Kaleun," he said wearily. "Bilge and trim pumps are damaged. The trim system alone will take hours to repair."

"Do we still have control of the boat?"

"With the hydroplanes and compressed air, we can hold our depth or surface at will," he replied. "It just won't be elegant. And the water distiller's also kaputt."

"Verdammt! You can fix it, right?"

"Ja, ja... takes time, is all." Heinrich's voice showed the strain he was under.

"Carry on, L.I. We'll stay under till repairs are completed," I said. They're killing us by degrees, I thought. Though we were not in immediate danger of sinking, the constant sense of jeopardy sapped our morale. I had to do something.

I found my old Carlos Gardel tango record and played it on the gramophone. The sound of his maudlin voice resonating through the boat was so incongruous, it had a strangely uplifting effect on the crew. It didn't matter if they didn't understand the lyrics.

Karl-Heinz and I planned a special feast for dinner: Schnitzel, Rotkohl, Bratkartoffeln, and for dessert, Rote Grütze. It was meant as a surprise, but the mouth-watering aromas from the Kombüse could not be kept secret. In no time we had extra volunteers to help with the cooking.

Before surfacing, we would dine like kings. My private hope was that this would not be our last meal.

After dinner Karl-Heinz came to refill our coffee cups in person, as was his custom. "My compliments to the chef," said Rolf.

"Danke schön, Herr Oberleutnant," replied Karl-Heinz. "The men particularly enjoyed the Rotkohl. They asked for seconds."

"In that case, we'll surface in ten minutes," I said. "The sooner we ventilate the boat, the better!"

As I'd hoped, the dinner had a salutary effect on morale. We only had to keep the men on-duty alert with coffee, and let the rest snore contented in their bunks.

I turned to Heinrich. "We had no warning of radar this time. L.I., what's your honest opinion of the Metox?"

"In its present state, I don't trust it, and neither does Oskar," he answered. "Frankly I think we should just call it kaputt."

"I concur, Herr Kaleun," said Rolf. "The lookouts know they can't rely on it now."

"Was the repair faulty, or are there other possibilities?"

Heinrich scratched his beard. "The Tommies could be getting clever, too. For example, the operators could be using the radar only in short bursts. Or they might have switched to another frequency, outside the Metox's range."

Anton spoke up. "No one wants to work with unreliable gear. If we rely on our eyes only, it's actually better, in a way."

In the Zentrale, Willi and the lookouts prepared for the next watch. When I informed them that the Biscay Cross had packed up for good, I saw no sign of misgivings, but rather relief. It really was up to them now.

Upon surfacing we proceeded at our best speed towards the Peloponnese. "Our course will keep us out of sight of land, Herr Kaleun," said Willi as he took another sextant reading.

"It's a pity, Greek islands are so beautiful," I replied. "But we can't have the partisans spotting us. They could contact the British."

Leaving Crete behind, I began to feel confident that we had finally given the Tommies the slip. Or rather, they had decided that pursuing us into Greek airspace was not worth the risk.

After sunrise Heinrich did a thorough inspection of the boat's exterior. To our chagrin, the No. 1 starboard tank had developed a crack. "We're leaving a trail of fuel," Heinrich reported. "Anyone can see it."

I lost my appetite for breakfast. There was nothing to be done. "Will we have enough fuel to get home?"

"Running on one diesel, we'll have enough in the No. 1 port tank and the reserve," he answered.

"Then we'll continue on our present course," I said. "Carry on, L.I."

I could see in his eyes that he wanted to stop somewhere. Salamis, most likely. But I wasn't having any of it. Sheer stubbornness on my part.

Later that day, while Rolf typed a report, I started reading a book in the officers' mess. Anton asked me the title. "The Odyssey of Homer," I told him.

"I've never read it," Anton confessed. "What's it about?" Mensch, I thought, so much for education in the New Germany!

"The great warrior Odysseus is on a long voyage home after the Trojan War. All he wants is to see his wife and family again. It takes him ten years."

"Ten years?! What took him so long?"

"For seven of those years he was stuck on an island with a beautiful goddess named Calypso."

"Aha!! Now the truth comes out!" Anton exclaimed.

"She was holding him captive, though," I added. "Against his will."

Rolf paused from his typing. "For seven years? Who'd buy an excuse like that?"

"Well, it must've been a hard choice. Calypso even offered to make him immortal. But he wanted to return to his wife anyway."

"He doesn't sound very smart to me," said Anton.

"It's one of the classics," I insisted. "You can read it when I'm done."

:up:

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

http://www.psionguild.org/forums/ima...lies/read2.gif

The saga continues.

At 1900 that evening, off the coast of the Peloponnese, we turned westward to cross the Ionian Sea. So far none of our U-Boats had reported contact with the enemy in this narrow band. With luck we would have perhaps 24 hours of peace before reaching Calabria.

On the chart Willi drew a circle around Malta indicating the range of British air coverage. It encompassed almost all of Sicily, but just grazed the southern tip of Calabria, the toe of Italy's boot.

"That's being optimistic," I commented.

"This takes into account the fuel expended in searching their sectors," said Willi. "Of course they could fly farther, if they have coordinates for a specific target."

"Ja, quite so. And we mustn't forget their submarines. They could be anywhere." I recalled von Tiesenhausen's claim that the Tommies were patrolling near Ustica, north of Palermo.

Tonight at least, we were granted a reprieve. But it was a mixed blessing. In idle moments one becomes keenly aware of the torments of U-boat life: the cramped quarters, the perpetual damp, the filthy stench, the--

"Verdammt noch mal!" Rolf pounded the mess table hard enough to rattle the dishes. "Cursed, disgusting cockroaches! They're driving me mad!"

"Easy, Rolf," I said. "A few more days till La Spezia, then we'll have the boat fumigated."

"If only I had a flit-gun, I'd wipe them out!" Rolf growled.

"Are you kidding? You'd poison us as well!" said Heinrich. "Just ignore the beasts!"

Oskar and I came up with a new diversion: Off-duty men could play the music of their choice on the gramophone and act as "radio announcer" over the intercom. This stimulated their creativity to an unexpected degree, especially in the case of Matrosenobergefreiter Johann Rebholz.

None of us had suspected Johann's talent. The things he said, or implied, in a mock Wehrmacht news program (complete with mimicry and sound effects!) would have gotten him arrested back home. But among us U-boatmen, the unwritten rule was: What we say on board, stays on board.

And how we laughed! It was a breath of fresh air after all the shameless propaganda we had been fed day and night. Of course Johann could not resist poking fun at "Reichsmarschall Meier", also known as the Fat Man, the embodiment of corruption and our favorite scapegoat.

The humor was not as therapeutic for me, though. In the privacy of my bunk, doubts returned to haunt me. To blame Goering was too convenient. The absurdity of it all, the waste, the empty promises...

Three years. So many ships, so many U-boats, so many lives lost... What difference did any of it make? What victory could we hope for now?

Johann closed his show with a recording by the Comedian Harmonists, a group not heard on German radio for years. Applause, whistles, and cries of "Bravo!" and "Prima!" resounded through the boat.

Johann switched off the intercom and gramophone, then turned to me. I realized then that he was very likely the bravest man on board.

"Did you enjoy it, Herr Kaleun?" he asked.

"I laughed, didn't I?"

Still here, and enjoying.
This is the best read I've had in a long time.
Thank you for sharing your talents.

Thank you as well -- your appreciation helps keep me going.

By the following evening, we had reached Cape Spartivento without incident. However the tension on board increased the nearer we came to Calabria. As I walked through the boat, the Tauchretters were more conspicuous than usual, tucked in the corners of bunks. "The Malta Effect," I called it.

Before taking the next watch crew up, Rolf frowned at the map. "That little island has given us so much grief, I can't believe we still haven't taken it!"

"Plans have been drawn up, no doubt," I said. "But can you picture coordinating an amphibious invasion with the Italians?"

"I hate to speak ill of our stalwart allies," he groaned sarcastically.

"Well, just fifty kilometers west, and fifty north, and we'll be through the Strait of Messina," I said. "All in one night."

I decided we would not dive unless attacked, to spare our limited battery power. The risk here was in no way comparable to the Bay of Biscay, yet the narrowness of the passage gave one the sense of running a gauntlet. It was always a relief to come out the other end, especially the northern end.

"We haven't lost any boats in the Strait yet, have we?" I asked Heinrich over coffee. Since he had been posted to La Spezia six months before me, he knew more of the Flotilla's history.

"Well, hang on, there was U-374," he said. "Sunk last January, just south of here."

"Airplane?"

"Destroyers, I think. Or a submarine. So sad... It was their first patrol in the Med, right after they arrived from France. Can you imagine?"

"I just can't fathom why some live and others die. It's nothing to do with goodness, I know that much."

"Everyone dies, Herr Kaleun," he said. "It's only a matter of when and how."

"There's still the why," I said. I could tell this was more than he wanted to think about, so I let it go.

But in my mind's eye, I saw the water rushing in. Men scrambling towards the hatches in blind panic. Icy water rising above our heads. No!! Not now!! Not like this!!!

Stop it! I told myself. We are going home. Every one of us is going home!

I slept badly that night. Later, in the dark, I heard the lookouts coming off the second watch. Anton walked by softly, then paused, realizing I was awake.

"Herr Kaleun," he whispered, "We just passed Messina. We'll be in the Tyrrhenian Sea in one hour."

"Danke, Anton," I replied. "Danke." He nodded and walked on. I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

You need a publisher.

"On the tenth, in black night, the gods brought me near to this island, Ogygia, where was Calypso. The awesome goddess took me in and loved me passionately and tended me, vowing that she would make me immortal and ageless, forever and ever."

Anton smirked. "Ja, I can tell Odysseus hated every minute of it."

Rolf asked, "Why would he give all this up to go back to Penelope? I mean, he wasn't exactly the faithful type, was he?"

"I've given that some thought myself," I said. "Maybe he knew she was still waiting for him. In his dreams, perhaps, she was calling to him to come home."

Rolf waited for Matrosengefreiter Schilling to clear the breakfast plates from our table. "Herr Kaleun," he asked at last, "Is someone back home waiting for you?"

I nodded. "Her name's Eva. We met in Danzig, when I was a Training Flotilla instructor."

"Will you get married?" asked Anton.

"Her father won't approve, now that I'm on the front line again."

"Mensch... And I thought everybody loved U-boatmen."

"He's an executive for Danziger Werft," I said. "So he knows how many U-boats get sunk. I can hardly blame the man."

Willi called down from the bridge, "Land ho!"

I put away my book and grabbed my binoculars. "Let's have a look, shall we? This is the last land we'll see for a while."

Our course would take us northwest through a rugged archipelago. The morning was clear and calm, ideal for viewing.

"Meine Herren, the Aeolian Islands. From left to right, Vulcano, Lipari, Salina, Panarea, and Stromboli."

Anton gazed at Stromboli, the peaked island off our starboard bow. "That's not a normal cloud up there... Mein Gott, that's a volcano!"

"Si, Signore Leutnant! And people live there, too!"

"They must be crazy!" Anton said, shaking his head. "You couldn't pay me to live on a volcano!"

"But they pay you to live on a U-boat," said Rolf.

"Ah, that's different!"

Rolf watched the tiny fishing boats near Panarea, off to port. "They must have a very simple life here."

"Ja, sometimes I imagine how it would be to leave everything behind and live on an island like that."

"Which island is Calypso's, I wonder?" asked Anton with a sly grin.

"I would venture... that far one, in the middle."

Anton stared through his binoculars at Salina, then let out a laugh. "Of course! With those two big round hills, Mamma Mia!" Naturally Rolf and Willi had to look as well.

"Herr Kaleun, may I see you for a moment, please?" It was Heinrich, calling up from the Zentrale. His tone made it seem urgent -- typical for him.

I climbed down and met with Heinrich and Oskar, who carried with him a large coil of thin wire. "Well, what's this about?" I asked.

"It's a little surprise, Herr Kaleun," said Oskar, smiling hopefully. "This is our new radio antenna."

I stared dumbfounded as they showed off their handiwork.

"We had plenty of idle hands in the Bugraum to help out," said Heinrich. "First they unravelled the remnant of the broken antenna."

"Then they spliced all the strands end to end," Oskar continued. "We measured out the right length, soldered the connections, and ecco fa!"

"Because the wire's so thin, I made small insulators from blocks of wood," added Heinrich. "Though the antenna trunk's kaputt, we can run the wire up through the tower hatch and suspend it over the bow. "

"Mensch, what crafty elves you are!" I said. "Phenomenal!"

"You did tell us to improvise," said Heinrich.

"Today the weather's so calm, we ought to try it out, Herr Kaleun," said Oskar. "Even if it lasts only one day--"

"Absolutely! Put up the antenna straight away! Let's send a message to BdU! They must be worried sick about us!"

"At the very least, we'll get to hear some cheesy Italian radio!" said Anton.