blast. they got another good commander :cry:

we wont forget you Shöneboom :p

I'll drink one on that brave kaleun.

:lost:

Hey, wait a minute! Who says I'm on eternal patrol?! This story's not over by a long shot. But you should know, my life is now hectic in more ways than one. I just moved into my girlfriend's apartment, so there's lots of junk I have to unpack & get rid of, so it doesn't feel like a Type II in here. :roll:

And "Der Spanier" is going to become an actual novel -- at least that's my plan. That requires a lot more research & thought. The story will continue to develop, but mostly offline -- and maybe it will skip forward a couple of years, for more danger.

I'm very grateful for your encouragement, because you helped get me back into writing after a long dry period. And it's always nice to do well in a contest -- I made only a few changes to the story you have read here.

Keine Sorgen, Jungs! :up:

A whell guys lets drink 1 (or more) beers on this great Kaleun

Naja, I've made some progress with the new flat (I can see the floor now), and my new story... enjoy:

* * * * *

24 August 1941.

I'm on a train to Lorient as I write this. Yesterday I had an informal lunch meeting in Paris at Café de Flore with the Abwehr's liaison officer, Hauptmann Kessler. He said they were glad to hear of my return to the front. I told him I'd need time to become familiar with my new boat and crew before doing any special missions. He said he understood perfectly and reassured me that my crew had already been thoroughly screened.

"Do you mean they're all Party members?" I asked.

Kessler stifled a laugh. "No, it's not like that. I just mean they can be trusted."

I had the uncomfortable feeling that I only get around people who know my secrets, especially when they're complete strangers. If I had any way of knowing the Abwehr's dirty laundry, we might be on a more equal footing. But Kessler gave the impression of being on my side, and for now, that would suffice.

"Are you going to miss Gotenhafen?" he asked.

"Not really. Training kids to be U-Bootmänner is more dangerous than fighting the Tommies."

He smiled slightly. "Ja, I can imagine. But isn't there someone waiting for you back in Danzig?" He read my irritation correctly. "Please, excuse me. But it is my job to know these things."

"Well, it's all very respectable, really. Gisele's from a good Prussian family. Her father's an executive with Danziger Werft AG. One of the shipyards building our VIIC boats."

"Na, that could work out very well for you later on," he commented. I just nodded slightly. I left out the part about her father's obsession with status. He would clearly prefer his daughter to wed a senior staff officer, the sort who doesn't smell of seawater and diesel. Gisele and I have not discussed marriage yet, but her frequent demonstrations of domestic skill leave no doubt that she wants me to think about it. So much I could say about this, but not to Kessler.

"Will I be ferrying your people around like last time?" I asked. As we were in public, we were discreet in our choice of words.

"Very likely," he answered. "There could be other jobs, too. You received a glowing recommendation from your last passenger."

"How is Veronica, by the way?" I couldn't help but ask.

"No idea, she's not in my department. I'm not sure which regional office handles her now. Shall I enquire for you?"

"It's not necessary. Forget I asked."

The sly glint in his eyes told me he would not forget it. Verdammt, I should be more grateful for what I have!

* * * * *

Just after sunset, my train pulled into Lorient station. I wonder if I will ever get used to the new France; the resentment of the locals to our presence is palpable, yet nearly invisible in face-to-face dealings. No one ever taught us how to live in an occupied country. Now I'll have to learn.

A staff car was waiting to take me to the base. Shower, dinner, and sleep, that's all I need. Tomorrow I go over the patrol plan with the Flottillenchef and meet my new boat, U-67.

I likes this story, cant believe i didnt stumble across it until today!

well written, nice work.

Great work!

thanks for puting up a new installment, was wondering what had happened!:hmm:

so he's not dead after all :lol:

keep up the good work :up:

1 Sept. 1941.

U-67 was finally removed from the maintenance pen after getting a clean bill of health from her LI, Oblt. Karl-Hermann Gocksch. Not a moment too soon, as we have only 3 days left to ready her for patrol. My new LI often comes across as high-strung and demanding, but his perfectionism suits me. At our first meeting he sized me up, much the way Gisele's father did when we were first introduced. I promised Gocksch I would do my best not to break his boat -- but I could not promise anything about the Tommies.

This morning I got a call from Krvkpt. Viktor Schütze, the 2. U-Flottille's Kommandant: "Ullmann, do you have your white dress uniform?"

"Ja, but it needs pressing. Why?"

"Get it pressed. At 1900 we're having dinner with The Lion."

Schütze gave me a lift to "le Chateau des Sardines" -- our nickname for the Villa Kerillon at Kernéval, whose original owner had made his fortune in the fishing industry. It was a gorgeous place, though incongruously fortified with anti-aircraft guns and an underground bomb shelter. Seeing the immaculate officers striding the halls of this opulent chateau, I had to remind myself they were doing important work, too.

"Careful you don't end up like one of them someday," whispered Schütze.

It struck me that this is exactly the life that Gisele and her parents envision for me in their wildest dreams. When Gisele wept at my leaving, it was partly because I had given up a comfortable rear-echelon job, one that could've led to a prestigious administrative career. Instead I would be risking my life far from home for weeks at a time. I share her grief at our separation, but I'm also irresistably drawn to the sea, despite its dangers. Will she ever understand?

Vizeadmiral Karl Dönitz joined us in the cavernous dining room with his entourage of staff officers. A few U-Boot skippers - the ones not on patrol or on leave - also joined us: Heinrich Schuch (U-38), Richard Zapp (U-66), and Wilhelm Kleinschmidt (U-111). The dinner was top-notch, the main dish being of course the plateau de fruits de mer (fresh seafood platter), washed down with chilled muscadet. Coquilles St. Jacques, lobster florentine crepes, and moules à la bretonne were also popular choices.

As the new arrival, I was reserved a seat next to Schütze, quite close to Dönitz.

"So, Der Spanier has returned at last," said Dönitz, shaking my hand. "How do you like our new headquarters, Ullmann?"

"If one cannot go to sea, Herr Admiral, I guess this will have to do." For a moment, Schütze looked worried. The other officers watched for The Lion's reaction.

Finally Dönitz smiled. "Spoken like a true U-Bootmann!"

Visibly relaxing, Schütze added, "I reckon a year of teaching cadets was more than enough, eh?"

"Let's just say it deepened my appreciation for experienced personnel."

"It's a tough balancing act," said Dönitz. "We need men like you both at the front and at the Academy. How is Fregattenkapitän Hartmann, by the way?"

"The 2nd Training Division is lucky to have him. He seems to enjoy the work, too."

Schuch interjected, "Hartmann has the sea in his veins. One day he'll beg to trade his desk for a boat!"

Kleinschmidt spoke up: "Na, by that time, the war will be over!"

"Do you really think that?" I blurted.

"Don't you?"

My fellow officers gawked at me in astonishment. Dönitz, however, kept his poker-face on.

Zapp said with a tolerant smile, "I didn't know you were a pessimist, Ullmann."

"On the contrary," I replied, "I'm being quite realistic. Britain alone has no hope of beating us, but we can't invade Britain either. Clearly, they're not weaklings -- it could take years to starve them into quitting. And if the Wehrmacht doesn't take Moscow before the winter, things could turn sour for us there, too."

The well-manicured officers who were chatting among themselves suddenly fell silent. It was as if I had farted in church!

Dönitz finally spoke up, assuming the role of wise patriarch. "Young man," he said to me, "Are you seeking a post on the General Staff?" The others laughed gently, sensing that was the appropriate response. But the way he addressed me, I could not be sure he was only kidding.

"If I am mistaken, Herr Admiral, please correct me. No doubt you are privy to things I know nothing about."

"Without giving anything away, I must concede that our final victory may not come as swiftly as we would like," he said to us all. "Even if the Soviet Union falls like a house of cards in the next few months, the Wehrmacht will face the daunting task of occupying that immense country."

Schuch muttered, "Gott sei Dank we only have to sink ships!"

"Mein lieber Schuch, you've hit the nail on the head!" Dönitz said. "Fate has chosen us to turn the wheel of history. To do this, we must all perform our duties impeccably. In our case, we must sink as many ships as possible. But ultimately, it comes down to a contest of wills. Either we or the enemy must break."

Then he looked me straight in the eye: "Would you agree, Herr Kapitänleutnant, that the German people will never break?"

"Absolutely, Herr Admiral!" And I meant it, too.

With that, Schütze raised his glass: "Here's to the German Will!" We eagerly drank a toast (the first of many).

Driving back to Lorient, Schütze said to me in disbelief, "Ullmann, you lucky Schwein..."

Auslaufen
 

4 Sept. 1941.

At 2230 last night, on the eve of our departure, the RAF bombed Lorient. When the sirens blew, Krvkpt. Zapp hustled me down to his preferred bomb shelter. It was worth the longer run, as this shelter was packed with nurses and secretaries, standing-room only. Deep underground, the explosions sounded far away, mixed with the thunder of our flak batteries. As I remarked to the young lovelies pressed up against me, "They remind me of badly-aimed depth charges." Only a few showed signs of fear; this was clearly not their first time. The raid was over very quickly; too soon, in fact, from Zapp's point of view.

There were no fatalities, except for the crews of two Blenheims shot down. Our U-boots were all safe in their pens, but three merchant ships were hit; their skippers ran them aground before they could sink. The final loading of provisions aboard U-67 was delayed for only a few hours. Outside, repair crews toiled through the night to ensure that the base would be in a suitable condition for our departure.

After lunch, my new 1WO Lt. Richard Adler reported all crewmen present and led me to U-67's pen in the Keroman 1 bunker. Adler was intimately familiar with U-67, having served with her previous skipper, Kptlt. Pfeffer. However, U-67 was until now a training boat; the twenty men with combat experience had just transferred from other boats. One consolation: at my request, Hans-Gerhardt Meyer, U-53's former cook, was one of the transferred personnel.

Adler introduced me to my 2WO, Kurt Schmoll, and my Obersteuermann, Antonius Kretschmer (no relation to Otto). On the main deck behind them stood my crew, 49 in all. I gave them the once-over, a no-nonsense look of appraisal, then addressed them:

"Guten Morgen, Meine Herren... BdU has sent me to inform you that School is Over!" They grinned in response. "They tell me you lads are ready to fight... That better be true, 'cause I intend to pay the Tommies back for what they did last night! Are you ready, Männer?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun!"

As the crew dispersed to man their stations, Schütze arrived to see us off. "Gute Jagd, Ullmann. Stay on your toes, eh?"

I knew he was thinking of U-452. Sunk last week with all hands. Also a former training boat on her first war patrol.

"Keine Sorgen, sir. If the students at Gotenhafen couldn't kill me, the Tommies won't, either."

As we followed our escort out of Lorient and passed BdU's chateau at Kernéval, Adler and I spotted the three shipwrecks rusting in the sun. An ominous sight.

"They'd better salvage those ships quickly," Adler muttered with distaste. "It's bad for morale."

I simply nodded. I couldn't tell if Dönitz was watching us, but I waved to the villa anyway.

From the private Tagebuch of Kptlt. Peter Ullmann:

8 Sept. 1941.

Our assigned patrol grid is CG89, west of the Strait of Gibraltar. A short trip, particularly for a Type IXC; but considering that most of our crew have never sailed beyond the Baltic, this first step into the real war should be brief. I must see how well we work together before embarking on longer patrols.

About their ability to perform under ordinary conditions, I have no doubt -- what's crucial to me is their performance under stress. In training, the sense of mortal danger is rarely duplicated except by accident -- as was the case for me last May, when a vent stuck open during a crash-dive in the Baltic. Had it not been for the LI's ingenuity, we might've been practicing the emergency escape procedure with Tauchretters on!

Our trip down the Iberian Peninsula was uneventful, which gave me time to get acquainted with the crew. The petty officers in charge of each compartment introduced the Matrosen to me. Though I could have taken advantage of Hauptmann Kessler's very detailed files on my men, I preferred to learn about them in the natural way. Twenty-nine of them were also new to U-67, having been posted here straight out of U-bootschule.

Yesterday the 2nd watch lookouts spotted a stationary bright light on the horizon off our starboard bow. A Portuguese lightship in all likelihood, but we dove to 40 meters to be on the safe side. When we surfaced at 1855, there was no sign of ship or land. Lisbon was already well behind us.

As I mentioned to Adler and Gocksch over dinner, "This route's nearly the same as the one my father and I sailed one summer when I was 15 -- except that we hugged the coast and made frequent stops."

"How far did you get?" asked Gocksch.

"Mallorca," I replied. "That's when I fell in love with the Mediterranean. It's a pity we can't go there now."

"If only we could take Gibraltar," remarked Adler. "Heard anything about that possibility, Herr Kaleun?"

"Don't hold your breath. The Wehrmacht can't go through Spain without Franco's permission, and he's playing it safe."

"Any chance we might visit a Spanish port?"

"If the need arises, and conditions permit," I answered.

Gocksch spoke hesitantly, "Herr Kaleun, we've, um, heard stories about you..."

"Really? What have you heard?" I was afraid to guess.

"Well, uh, we heard that you once saved a beautiful Spanish woman from a life of sin..."

Adler continued, "You took her away in your U-Boot, and now she is your mistress in Casablanca."

I groaned. "And you actually believe this Quatsch?!"

Gocksch tried to laugh it off. "Of course not... You know how it is with sailor-talk. We hear all kinds of crazy stories!"

Adler said, "Ja, for example, some high-ranking Party members supposedly believe in the occult, and they search the world for secret magical powers!"

"Naja, I've got news for you Junge," I said. "I work for that occult group, and we're on a secret mission to find the Spear of Destiny for der Führer!" We laughed our heads off -- and that, Gott sei Dank, was the end of that.

1350: We have arrived in CG89. Weather is sunny with scattered clouds. Rough seas, though -- no chance for using the deck gun. We're on a ladder search pattern, cruising at 9 knots.

1643: We just made our first real Alarmtauchen, because of a seaplane. Hartmann was right: the Type IX's crash-dive is agonizingly slow. I don't know how he could stand it in U-37. Apparently the plane didn't spot us (no bombs fell).

"We've got to shave at least five seconds off our dive-time," I told Gocksch and Adler. "I have a feeling that's how U-452 bought it. A few seconds too late, and boom..."

Adler nodded soberly. "We'll do better next time, Herr Kaleun. I promise."

"A hard 90-degree turn will help," said Gocksch. "It'll spoil their aim."

Would it be enough? I thought. What if we encounter a faster plane? I stopped by the galley and said to Gerhardt: "More carrots for the lookouts. We need all the help we can get."

1830: More news on the radio about the fighting in Russia. The reports about Leningrad sound encouraging. However the RAF bombed German cities last night, including Berlin. The latter nearly cancels out the former, as many of us have family and friends in the bombed cities, and we are in no position to help them. Klaus, our Funker, is patiently transmitting requests from eight of our men for information about the fates of their loved ones in Bremen, Hamburg, Hannover, Berlin, and other Northern cities.

Some commanders might exploit this tragedy to arouse greater hatred for the enemy. But for me, I've found that whipping up the desire for revenge feels "unnatural". Perhaps it is because deep down I know we are being punished for having gone too far. Duty requires that I keep such thoughts to myself and appear always confident to my men. Of course I can do it, but maintaining this act for their benefit isolates me.

1945: Another seaplane and Alarmtauchen. The crew moved more quickly this time. I should have carried a stopwatch in my pocket; the nearest one was on the map table, and the Bugraum-stampede prevented me from reaching it. Again, we were not attacked. I can only hope our position was not reported.

Just read a lot of this thread. You express very well the notion of understanding responsibility for the death of another.

When I play SHIII/GWX I get an adrenaline rush when a long-sought-after target is nullified. However, seeing real ships explode in wartime footage on Youtube leaves me a little lost for words, especially as my father was a lifetime merchant mariner.

LOL I've never told him about this game. I don't know if he'd appreciate it.:hmm:

11 Sept. 1941.

1800: Two days ago, we gave up on searching CG89 and turned westward in the hope of catching one of the Freetown-Liverpool convoys (beyond the range of Gibraltar's aircraft). En route, we received a contact report from U-105: a large convoy in CG75, heading SSE.

Our interception would be easy, or so we thought. Without having to speed up, we should have sighted the convoy just before sundown. But here we are, in CG7831, and there's no sign of them, even after diving to listen on the hydrophones. I double-checked the calculations -- the convoy must have changed course. All we can do is start another ladder search, SW of the projected convoy course, and hope for a position update. Frustrating!

12 Sept. 1941.

0120: Finally, a new report! The convoy is northeast of us, no more than 25 km away! Going full speed to intercept.

0258: A Black Swan was sighted at 349 Grad on an aggressive search pattern.

Watching the Swan through my binoculars, I called out evasive course changes. "The Tommies have definitely improved," I remarked to Adler and Schmoll. "Still, there has to be an opening..."

Matrosengefreiter Weymar called out, "Flames, Herr Kaleun! 313 Grad!" Sure enough, two ships were ablaze -- U-105's handiwork, no doubt. After a course adjustment, we were soon able to identify five of the ships on the convoy's starboard side.

"UZO to the bridge!" It was time for Adler to take his first real shots. "Excited?" I asked.

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun!" With that, Stabsbootsmann Lohf handed him the UZO, then returned to his position at the torpedo control panel. I let Adler handle the eels, while I kept watch on the Swan -- now turning in our direction.

"Time's up, Adler. Take the shot!"

Selecting a large Frachter at 3000 meters, he fired two eels with impact pistols. There was no time for more: the moment he yelled "LOS!" the shells started whistling over our heads. We dove at once, but not fast enough to avoid damage to our forward deck. The pressure hull was not ruptured, Gott sei Dank, but the many leaks in the Zentrale and Funkraum made for an especially hair-raising dive.

When I ordered the boat down to 150 meters, LI Gocksch looked at me wide-eyed.

"She can take it, can't she?" I asked. Gocksch stared at the water dripping off the pipes above us. "I hope so," he replied.

As soon as the repair frenzy calmed down, Adler glanced at his stopwatch. "The first one should've hit by now. Verdammt!"

"Don't kick yourself," I said. "The ships must have turned after the Swan spotted us."

BOOM! "Better late than never!" Schmoll called out with a huge grin. The men could hardly contain their glee.

Almost two minutes later, at 0327, the second torpedo exploded. We knew these were lucky hits, but we were happy for Adler just the same.

"Are they sinking?" Adler asked our sonarman. At the hydrophone station, Gerloff listened, then shook his head.

"Give them time," I said. At 150 meters, I ordered, "Silent running. New course, 110 Grad."

0346: The Tommies dropped a lot of wabos; thanks to a thermal layer, none were close enough to harm us. But because of our one-knot speed, we're drifting upwards -- we're at 130 meters and still rising.

0352: The Black Swan came so near, we could hear it chugging overhead. At times like this, the silence in an U-boot is positively eerie. I whispered to Gerloff, "Hear any other U-Boots?"

Gerloff turned the hydrophone wheel slowly. "Nein, Herr Kaleun. But the convoy's changed course... more south-east."

"Heading for Gibraltar," Schmoll commented.

"Maybe," I said. "In any case, we won't lose them. Gerloff, where's that Zerstörer?"

"At 230 Grad, heading away," he answered. "It could be returning to the convoy."

"So soon?" Adler said. "They must think we're dead."

"Could be a trick... At 0400 we'll go back to Sehrohrtiefe. Nice and slow."

Creeping back up at 4 knots, it took us until 0407. What I saw through the attack scope surprised me. The convoy was so huge that a few ships were still in range, and even closer than the ones Adler fired at.

"Flood Tubes 3 to 6."

Lohf dialed in the torpedo settings as I called them out. Then I fired two eels at a Mittelgrosse Frachter, aiming for the bow and engines. At once I rotated the scope to aim at a Grosse Frachter approaching on our port stern quarter.

"Tubes 5 & 6, LOS!" Away went our stern eels. I lowered the scope and waited.

Lohf showed me the stopwatch for the bow torpedoes. They were overdue.

"Maybe they were duds," he said. "It's been known to happen."

"Ach, Scheisse." Maybe I've lost my touch, I thought grimly.

BOOM! A few more seconds, another BOOM!

I looked through the observation scope, then let Lohf take a peek. He exclaimed, "You got two, Herr Kaleun!" Indeed, somehow my eels struck a Kleine Ladung and a Grosse Frachter. Without warning, the larger ship exploded in spectacular fashion. In the confines of the tower, it was as if we were inside a giant drum being pounded vigorously.

I turned the scope to the Grosse Frachter behind us, just in time to see it catch one eel in the bow. KA-BLAM! "That was from Tube 6." I figured Tube 5's eel missed. But no matter: below, my men were cheering. "Der Spanier got another one!" Adler had to hush them up, but I doubted the Tommies could hear us over all the explosions.

Searchlights began sweeping the area, and star-shells lit up the sky. Lowering the scope, I called down the hatch, "LI, take us down quick! 160 meters!"