Strangely, instead of picking up on all the noise we just made, the destroyers up top are running around like crazy, pinging everywhere except where we are. We slip away to the south, leaving the Clemson division behind us a couple meters more with every minute that goes by. They lost us for now. All we have to do is stay quiet and stay lucky. Keep it below 50 rpm, we creep along at a modest one knot. Our depth is 220 meters but we are still dropping. I am watching the depth gauge and I feel uncomfortable. Very slowly but very surely the needle is creeping down at the same pace with which we are creeping away from the destroyers. I urgently whisper: 'LI, keep her level, come on!'. Anton is sweating. 'She doesn't respond, Herr Kaleun. I can't keep the nose up.' Indeed, the bubble shows a very slight down angle. 'Planes on full rise.' 'Planes are already on the rise, it's not working, Herr Kaleun,' and he adds, ashamed: 'Sorry.' 'Well what's wrong then?' 'Could be the extra weight from that water, sir. Or the planes took a hit. Hard to say. But she won't listen to me, sir. More speed might do it.' 'Hmmm they just lost us, I have no intention of making things easy for them, Anton, let's try something else. All spare hands to the rear of the boat, but quietly!' I hope the weight of all the off-duty crewmembers will bring the tail down, allowing what little speed we have to push her back up. It takes several minutes for all the boys to find a place in the aft compartments but it doesn't do the trick. The bubble is mocking us, persistently showing how the nose is pointing down just a little bit. 'All stop' It helps. A little, too little. We are no longer propelling ourselves down but there is still the extra weight of the water in the boat, I guess. Either way, we drop about a meter every minute. Now at 230 meters.


We can stop the descent, of course. Well, probably, anyway. By increasing speed so the dive planes will have an increased effect. By blowing the ballast tanks to lighten the boat. By reversing while the boat is pointing down. All of these measures should pull her back up. And they will also be quite noisy. 'Albert?' 'Herr Kaleun?' 'Put some men in every compartment. Be ready for any damage, especially by rivets giving away. Report any leaks immediately.' 'Jawohl, Herr Kaleun.' These boats are put together very well indeed, many Kaleuns take them down far beyond the operational depth of 160 meters. I myself among them. But I've never been this deep before. The boat is doing fine, by the sound of things. But of course, when the sound of things indicates that the boat is falling apart, it is too late. She starts to moan now. Deep, booming moans. But all the valves and rivets are still holding. My LI knows her better than I do. 'Anton, what do you think?' 'I think she likes it, Herr Kaleun.' 'Can she take this?' 'She is moaning like a French whore, she'll take some more, I think.' 'That's disgusting, Anton.' 'Yes sir.' We both smile. The image stays with me. Our girl likes it when you treat her rough. 240 meters and dropping.


The destroyers are desperately trying to find us but I think their asdic can not reach this deep. As long as we do not make any noise we will be just fine down here. But it won't be long before we have to pull our girl out of this mad trip into the cellar. She is still holding together, nothing indicates she is about to give up. Anton and I stand silently in the control room. Fascinated by the depth gauge. Hals is behind me, looking over my shoulder. Volkmar lost it, he is sitting on the floor, sweat dripping down from his face. I am fine with that, as long as he doesn't cause a scene. The boys at the controls are trembling a little, but Anton has his hands on their shoulders. So far, we are actually doing quite well, considering the circumstances. I am getting curious and even excited, despite my headache. I want to know just exactly what kind of amazing feats our wonderful girl is capable of. I am going to let her have her fun.


Minutes pass. The destroyers are trying to listen for us now, instead of pinging. We stay quiet. Slowly sinking. No, not sinking, that sounds like we are in trouble. Slipping down, that's what we do. What the boat does, at least. Taking us with her for the ride. I keep watching the needle, hypnotized by what I see but can't believe. Anton should give me warnings about our impending pressure hull failure but he too is fascinated by what the boat is pulling off. Albert comes back from his round through the boat. Reporting in. 'All compartments still secure, Herr Kaleun. She is holding beauti...dear God.' His jaw drops as his eyes fix on the depth gauge. 'Yes, Albert. She is holding beautifully indeed,' I finish his sentence for him. 260 meters. The boat has departed the realms of reason and is now going beyond measurement. The fact that we now do not know what she is doing snaps me out of it. 'Ok that will do, give it 100 rpm, Anton. Bring her back up.' Our only indication is the bubble now. It is still showing a down angle and we are now propelling ourselves wherever the nose takes her. The boat gives a groan and something snaps with a metallic clang. Not good. '200 rpm!' Come on, sweetheart, pull yourself out of it! 'Get ready for emergency maneuvers.'



The Duke (badly in need of a cigarette and a stiff drink)

If you manage to pull out of this alive, you have a box of fine Havanas and a crate of irish whisky on my expense!

The needle is off the scale, we have no idea how deep we are. The speed gauge indicates we are moving forward, close to three knots now. We all have our eyes on the bubble. It moves. Going to zero, then further down. The boat is slowly, laboriously, getting her nose up. I can feel she is rising through the floorboards under my feet, too. The needle on the depth gauge starts to wobble, gives a shudder, then starts to rise. 'Boat rising,' Anton sighs. 'Quiet, boys,' I have to reprimand them as some of them start to cheer. Those destroyers are still near. We are getting out of the frying pan, so to speak, but we could be heading straight for the fire. 'Klaus, talk to me.' 'Warships moving away, Herr Kaleun, sailing off to the northwest.' I start to think that we are actually getting away this time, they gave up the hunt just as we were forced to make some noise. But we are not out of trouble just yet, if one of them decides to turn around for a minute we can easily be heard, now that we are doing 200 rpm. '240 meters and rising.' Now that the boat has the nose up properly we are getting back up there quite rapidly. '220 meters and rising.' '100 rpm.' As she drops her speed I can feel the floorboards under me changing aspect, along with the boat. The bubble goes back up. The needle on the depth gauge stops climbing. 'Verdammt, why can't she just keep going?' Ah well, we can afford to let her slip back down for a little while, just to make sure those destroyers don't come running back. 'All stop.'


We drop about a meter every minute or so, again. I let it go as far back down as 240 meters, now that I know she can take it. The destroyers are still moving away. Klaus can still hear them but he doubts they can hear us at all, anymore. Even if we get the engines going. Very well, I've had enough of this anyway. '200 rpm, get her up to 100 meters and keep her there, LI. We stay down for the rest of the day. Oh and well done, Anton.' 'Yes sir, well done yourself, sir.' We look at each other and that is that. We change the watch, all these boys who sat through this on their stations are relieved by the boys who had to lie in their bunks. They are no more rested than the crew they relieve. Everyone is shaken by the adventure as word of the depth gauge needle being off the scale immediately traveled throughout the boat, of course. But we pull through and an hour later, we lose all contact with the destroyer division. The log simply says: 'Engaged Hunter Killer Group, Bogue class carrier sunk after firing 6 torpedoes, evaded escorts by going beyond 260 meters depth, boat still fully operational.' But somehow it doesn't quite tell the story. U-735 is a remarkable girl indeed.


Several days later we are well out into the Atlantic, heading for our patrol grid. Anton tells me he figures that the boat got beyond 270 meters, maybe even close to 280. I still can't believe we made it. Everyone agreed that when we get back home, we will spend all our wages for this patrol on the biggest truckload of booze we can find and have that sent off to the Danzig shipyards. Those guys down there put our girl together a lot better than the official design requires. We do not think of our boat as 'lucky' or 'tough' or 'the good old boat' or whatever the other crews come up with. We simply think of her as the best damn boat that exists in the world because that's exactly what she is. Personally, I love her as the love of my life: demanding, fitful and cranky at times but always there to look after me and my crew when I need her to. I leave her in the hands of my 1.WO while I try to get rid of this damn cold that plagued me ever since the attack. Hans had better treat her well while I put my head to rest in her lap.

Several more days go by, uneventful which suits me just fine. I am feeling a lot better while we patrol our assigned grid. All the new boys on board have become proper U-boat men during the past two weeks and everything is running smooth as clockwork on the boat. We still have not fired our guns at any aircraft but that is also due to the fact that they are leaving us alone. That, also, suits me just fine. I suppose we are too far out to be in their overcrowded patrol zones. Hans has proven an excellent first officer. He did a fine job taking charge of the boat while I was busy being ill in my bunk. He already was a veteran, of course. We talk frequently, exchanging ideas as I tell him what I know of the modern day enemy. They are a lot better at finding and killing us these days, which is something he has to get used to, much like I had to, not so long ago. But we still have a good fighting chance, as we clearly proved on this patrol. All we need now is a convoy to spend our remaining torpedoes on. The unicorn is ready to sink her horn into the enemy, an image which I like and which the boys readily adopt. As my confidence in the boat and men has been growing ever since those first horrible winter patrols, I find myself rather enjoying the hunt once more, just like the old days.

Just don't get too cocky, Freiherr Beckman. It's what got your old Kaleun killed, remember.


The Duke

Truly amazing stuff Bosje http://img120.imageshack.us/img120/9...humbsuprw5.gif

:up: :up: :up:
Great story!
Keep it up.

The boat sinking down with destroyetrs around kept me on the edge of my seat.
Great work.
:)

My God… this is amazing stuff. Keep writing (and don't get killed… we'd have nothing exciting to read).

It is amazing how deep the boats can go… 280m or beyond; when they were rated for only 160m or so.

'Two minutes now, Herr Kaleun.' As always, Obersteuermann Petersen has his stopwatch keeping track of the torpedo. His hushed voice reaches me easily from the control room, the boat is completely silent but for the humming of the various electrics and systems. Two minutes and still nothing, torpedo failed or missed. Unbelievable, the target was clearly stationary. 'Up periscope, prepare tube three.' The small merchant is still just sitting there, almost right in front of me. Listing heavily to the starboard, dead in the water. So dead, in fact, that the heavy wind and sea are playing with her, causing her to drift backwards. The torpedo must have missed her by a hair. Through the periscope, I can see the sailors up there still working frantically, trying to control the fire and repair the damage. 'Come on, you idiots, save yourselves already,' I mutter to myself. 'Warship turning around, getting louder, Herr Kaleun.' Klaus keeps an ear on the convoy's tail escort, good man. The escort has been making expeditionary turns this way ever since the convoy steamed off to the northeast. It will not take her long to reach us back here, if she decides to go for a sprint. We have to get this done now. 'Bearing 345, open tube door.' 'Fertig.' The boys on the merchant spotted my periscope or they saw the wake of the torpedo we just fired in vain. Instead of hasting to the lifeboats, they double their efforts to control the fire while some rush to the crude gun on her stern deck. The gun slowly starts to train towards us. Poor, brave, foolish bastards.


I am looking at them and I find myself unable to do it, I can't pull the trigger on them. 'Warship closing bearing 82.' I swing the glass eye to the starboard, smoke on the horizon. Another private mutter: 'Verdammt.' Hans is with me in the conning tower. 'Excuse me, Herr Kaleun, but if you're gonna do it, you better do it now. You know, get it over with.' I snarl back: 'I know!' Weapons, supplies and ammunition on board that girl, to be used against our comrades in arms. The gun on the crippled ship is almost trained now, they are actually going to fight me amidst the hell they are in. Damn this dirty war. 'Tube three, los!' Hiss. I aimed at the stern, she is still drifting away but I'm sure the eel will catch up with her. It does. An explosion erupts right under the bridge, extends throughout the ship, the ammunition for the gun goes up, taking the gun with it. Bodies and debris fly high up into the air. 'Down periscope.' I pull myself away from the scene, disgusted. This does not feel like hunting, it feels like poaching, murdering. It's our duty to sink ships, strike the tonnage off the charts, but I can only hope they understand that up there in heaven when my turn comes. Or more likely, down there in hell. Snap out of it, Duke! Worry about it later, you still have a boat and crew to take care of. Another snarl, aimed loosely at Anton down in the control room: 'Ahead 2/3, port to 200, go deep.'


Hans and I climb down from the conning tower into the control room and U-735 escapes before the destroyer gets too close. As the boat slithers away from the scene we can all hear the bulkheads giving way on the stricken merchant, the sound reaches us through the hull. I listen to the ship breaking up as she is crushed by the water pressure and I do not feel good about the kill. One of the ratings in the control room turns to me, elated, foolishly exclaiming: 'They are drowning like rats! You got those English swines good, Herr Kaleun!' Hans saves me. Before I get a chance he steps in, grabbing the rating by the collar and slamming his back hard against the ladder. 'Never say that again, you stupid boy! Those are just simple guys up there, just like you, now dying a horrible death!' Thank you, Hans, good friend. You saved my stature, I was about to beat the kid to a pulp. Now I get to act as arbiter. 'That will do, 1.WO.' Hans lets go. I turn to the boy who is shocked by Hans' outburst: 'You, report to the galley, you will do the cook's dirty work for the rest of the patrol. Next time, show your fellow seamen the respect which they deserve.' Hypocrite. I hate myself, as I am the one who just sent them to that horrible death without any respect for their brave efforts to save their ship.

Thus ends our attack on the convoy. Two ships sunk and one damaged but keeping up, a bad score for seven torpedoes. We tried a new tactic, devised after a long meeting in the officer's mess. Running through the convoy, reloading tubes and going on a killing spree is all very good and exciting, except we usually don't hurt them that much after our first shots. And the escorts are giving us hell in return, catching us close to the surface. The risk is not worth the results and results are the most important thing, besides keeping the boat and crew alive. So we came up with a new plan. Slip into the escort screen but stay on the flank, outside the convoy lanes. Take careful aim at four fat targets, launch one eel at each of them. Go deep and silent, get away from the escorts by sneaking underneath the convoy and become one with the ocean. Afterwards, reload and finish off anything which is left crippled, unable to keep up as the convoy runs away. It sounded like a good plan when we came up with it. It still sounds like a good plan. But it failed. By my own high standards at least.


The getting away part worked fine, we slipped under the convoy, aided by the rough weather, and the escorts never really got close. Once we made it under the lanes, all that traffic above us messed up their hunt. By the time the convoy cleared the spot, leaving an empty patch to hunt on, we were long gone. The attack part was not a success, however. Only one of our eels hit the intended target, a large merchant which went down before long, as we heard through the hydrophone. The rest of the eels ran through the convoy. Two of them found a hull across their path. A big ore carrier kept on going, plowing through the storm despite the hole in her bows, a small merchant soon stopped, listing while the engine gave up. We launched a fifth eel from the sterntube before diving but it had to make too tight a turn, I presume. We did not observe its fate, we got down deep. No explosions were heard. The crew are happy about the outcome, not being depthcharged for hours after an attack makes a nice change. But I am not satisfied with the results, we shall have to do better on our next attack. That shall be on our next patrol, however. This one is over now. Only one torpedo left in the bow, two in the stern, one of them still in the external compartment. Not enough firepower for another convoy run, we start our journey back home tonight.


It takes us several days to reach the gap between Iceland and the British Isles, we run back home as fast as fuel levels allow, doing 13 or 14 knots depending on the weather. I want to get back and refit the boat as soon as possible. Get back out there to sink our horns into the enemy. We should test our new attack plan some more, it could be effective as long as we get our first shots fired accurately. That last attack was a mess. The crew are highly relieved that their Kaleun did not take his usual risks during the battle, but I am not happy with only 2 kills and I am definately not happy about the way that last merchant went down. It makes no sense, of course, it was a simple sinking just like any other, causing sailors to die as sinkings do. But if feels different. When running through a convoy, the escorts hot on my trail, pumping torpedoes into the convoy lanes, it is a hunt. Fair game, they go down and we have every chance of being destroyed in turn. Sneaking up on a more or less defenseless cripple which is struggling to stay afloat before we finally strike her down feels entirely different, feels dishonorable. That is a dangerous feeling, I can not afford such emotions, the crew and the boat are more important. This new style of attack will help us survive. But I wish those poor bastards would stop showing up in my dreams.


On our way home we become the hunted, as always. Radar detected, airborne. I have the urge to stand up and fight, but it means endangering U-735 and those on board. 'Volunteers to man the FlaK guns, report to the second officer!' I call. If nobody steps up, we will dive. But quite a big crowd lines up, eager for a piece of glory. Well, we have the order to fight against the aircraft. And we have all these impressive guns on the wintergarten. Might as well give it a try. 'Second officer, myself and gun crew on the bridge, everyone else below. Action stations, standby for damage control!' A couple of seconds of hurried organization, then the boat is ready to meet the RAF in combat. This time, we are the ones who don't really stand a chance, I expect. Even with all those guns. 'Let them close to 3000 meters, Volkmar.' I want the plane to come at us head first, on a straight attack run, before we let loose a dense hail of shells. Back in the academy, Volkmar trained especially for this: he calls out the elevations and then, when all guns have the chance to empty their clips simultaneously, 'FIRE!' As the guns are sending up an incredible barrage, I yell through the mouthpiece on the bridge: 'All ahead flank! Rudder hard to port!' By turning into the airplane I hope to escape his bombs. It causes the gunners to shoot less accurately, however, as the boat is swinging violently around to meet the plane head on. The attack starts and to my horror, instead of bombs which are dropped from the Liberator, it has rockets which streak straight towards me, arriving before I realize what's happening. We escape by the narrowest of margins, the rockets straddle us and big geysers erupt from the water off both sides of the bridge. We are all soaked and the heavy aft gun stops firing. The two remaining guns are now on target though, pumping shells into the tail of the plane as it roars away from us after the rocket attack, her tailgunner returning the favor. With all that metal flying around, some of it is bound to connect. I observe several hits on the Liberator while the boat also swallows her share of bullets.


The plane comes round again, to strafe us while we are still on the surface, but now she has to meet our defenses head on as she comes in straight behind us, the aft gun too is back in action. I am deafened by the strafing run and remember just in time to take some cover, as the straight line of splashes in the water runs up to us, straight towards the boat. I drop to the floor to join Volkmar who ducked down behind the steel sides of the bridge, hoping to avoid the bullets. I can see Volkmar has blood all over his face and he is clearly in pain. The boys on the guns have to rely on the plate of steel which is fitted to the guns for protection. After that strafing run, the airplane does not come back. I am amazed at the outcome: No damage except some leaking from the outer hull, no casualties except Volkmar who knocked out his own front teeth when he smashed his head into the periscope housing while taking cover. Apart from that, he is fine. He is being taken care of by the medic but he'll have a gaping hole where those teeth used to be, a souvenir of the fight. I'm putting him up for the Iron Cross, he did a great job before knocking himself out. The plane never returns, we scared her off. Maybe she even went down in the end from the damage she took. Either way, we do not see her again after she vanishes beyond the horizon. I am quite happy with the results and the boys joke about U-735 being a tougher battle wagon than the Tirpitz, which is after all still sitting idly in one of the fjords, like the one for which we are headed right now. Home in two days, maybe three. All in all, not a bad patrol.



Oberleutnant Freiherr Beckman
(The Duke to his friends)

More honours and medals await you back at base http://www.psionguild.org/forums/ima...ies/pirate.gif

Late July, 1943
 

'That will do, LI. Take us back up to 30 meters, we'll stay submerged for the rest of the day.' I put my hand against the nearest part of the hull, which happens to be the bulkhead between the control room and the radio shack, as I whisper: 'Good girl.' The needle on the depth gauge reads 200 meters and U-735 seems to be in fine shape, we are still operational as a combat unit. Good, I would have hated to have to return to Bergen already. We belong out here on the open sea, not in some drydock, but another gunfight like the one we just had and it's curtain calls for this patrol. We were hunting a lone merchant in daylight, on the surface, in the gauntlet. Surreal foolishness, we have no business acting like a battleship, just like that merchant had no business sailing alone at eight knots. 'The Gauntlet' is really the Bay of Biscay, as all the French flotilla boats have a horrible time getting across the Bay through to the Atlantic these days. But for us, the gap between Iceland and Scotland has always been our own gauntlet, which we run every time we go out on patrol. The prospect of the open ocean beyond the horizon is all that keeps us going, we are never left unmolested for longer than two hours at most. Aircraft everywhere, always, day or night, rain or shine. If things stay like this, we will not be able to reach the Atlantic at all anymore. That means the battle will be lost. Well, it's already lost in a way. The days of the wolfpack are almost over. We have more boats available than ever, but they can not get through the enemy patrols. After the incredible convoy battles of March, when victory seemed within reach, the tables suddenly turned and we are on the brink of defeat. We are still not sure how, but the enemy can detect and destroy us like never before, and we are now all waiting for the next technical innovation to counter their new tricks. In the meantime, U-735 is out here all by herself, a token patrol to remind the enemy that the Atlantic is not yet safe for them.


We got this contact report when we were almost clear, one more day of careful sailing and we are out in the open ocean. But this lone merchant was too good an opportunity to miss out on, so we gave it a shot. All guns manned and full speed ahead. An airplane jumped us but we opened fire as soon as it came in range. The sea was very calm and the gunners were performing beautifully. The bomber kept a respectful distance and never even came in for an attack run. The boys cheered at this feat, but of course that bomber has a radio set on board. We will not have much time. Half an hour later, we saw smoke on the horizon. The merchant was sailing leisurely across the water, it almost felt like an insult to us. Those merchant boys used to have nightmares about us, now look at them! Steaming along at eight knots on a straight course. We went in at flank speed, I wanted to get this done as quickly as possible. Never mind a stealthy torpedo attack, let's blitz this one. We opened fire at 4000 meters, aiming for the single pea shooter on her deck. The third shot was a direct hit! Now that she could no longer harm us, we closed in fast to finish her off with a couple of well-aimed shots to the waterline. Aircraft spotted! Again we opened up on the bomber at the longest possible range, hopefully keeping it at bay long enough. It didn't work, the bomber came straight for us as we were charging towards the merchant. It was as exciting as it was incredible. Our tiny, if wonderful, boat: all guns blazing like a pocket battleship. The Liberator came screaming in on her bombing run and the boys all ducked behind their guns. Near miss! But close enough to make a mess of the boat. Damage reports indicated water coming in through countless leaks. 'Get her, GET HER NOW!' My second officer kicked the boys back into action now that the bomber was trying to climb back up to a safe altitude. The sound was deafening as we pumped shells into the Liberator and while her tail gunner was stitching a neat pattern of shells across the water, towards our boat, one of our 37mm projectiles exploded right under her wing. To our delight, an engine came crashing down into the sea, taking half the wing with it. The Liberator banked right, failed to recover and went tumbling down after the wing. A great splash and that was it. I could not believe my eyes.


'We got her! We got her!' The boys were wild with joy over their victory but we were not done yet. 'Get that merchant as quickly as possible, before the entire RAF is on our sterntube!' I yelled. Adrenaline got the better of me and I slammed Volkmar on the back. '*******ing brilliant shooting, Herr Leutnant!' The boys on the guns looked up, stunned at my profanity. Crack! Another shell smashed into the freighter's hull, below the waterline. She was already on fire, that will teach the Tommies to think the Atlantic is safe. It is not safe yet, Mister Churchill! After another couple minutes of shooting, Volkmar said: 'I think that should do it, Herr Kaleun, she is dead in the water and listing beyond recovery.' 'Very well, cease fire and keep an eye on the sky.' The 2000 ton merchant gave up, the crew got into the boats and we could hear and feel the fire blazing, even from 1000 meters. 'Aircraft spotted! Bomber straight ahead! No, two bombers!' Ok, that's enough gutsy combat for the day. 'Clear the bridge!' I gave the battleground one last quick look before I closed the hatch. Horrible though the scene around me was, my chest swelled with the victory we had wrought here today. An evil grin was on my face as I got down into the control room. 'Get deep and fast, and give it a knuckle to the starboard, Anton. Albert, get your boys organized and make a thorough inspection of the pressure hull.' And we got down deep to see how the boat held up.


As it turns out, the damage to the hull was nothing we couldn't handle and after our test dive, getting down to 200 meters without incident, I am rather happy about the whole adventure. Tonight, we will surface and run the final leg. By tomorrow we shall be well out into the Atlantic, the convoys better be careful around us.



The Duke

My radio operator, Jakob. With all his 20 years he is really just a boy, but smarter than all the rest of us put together. Two years ago, he was being smart in some or other technical university. Now he is being smart in U-735's officer's mess. It's an amusing scene. Four decorated officers and two fahnrichs, huddled around a bootsmann. Crunching their brains, clinging on to his every word. Most of us can't follow his lecture, personally I consider all this radio wave stuff way above my head. But it is important that we get to grips with this material. Radio detection is becoming too much of a problem. During the past couple of days, we kept being jumped by aircraft without getting a warning from our radar detection set. So how did they find us? Our little conference in the mess today started when Hans recounted a whispered rumor he heard back in Bergen: 'They say that the radar detection set emits some kind of signal, which they learned to pick up. This comes straight from a British Intelligence officer!' I myself heard the same rumor and we were all busy talking like gossiping women, scaring each other with ghost tales, when Jakob overheard us and cut in: 'Absolute nonsense, gentlemen. They probably simply got their centimetric radar figured out. If they installed those on the aircraft then that in itself is scary enough to begin with, never mind those old wives' tales about the detector.' After that, of course, he had to elaborate on this to the staff, but I regret this conference already. It makes us feel as ignorant and old-fashioned as we really are, which is bad for morale.


It basically comes down to this, as far as I understand it: The detection set being a passive system, the enemy can not possibly detect the thing. This rumor got started by a British captive which is reason enough to suspect it's all a red herring. But still, we are not detecting their radars, so they found a way to pick up on us without their radar sets showing up on our receiver. Jakob explained that they must have finally found a way to get their short wave radar sets installed on smaller craft like escorts and aircraft. And we have no way to detect those waves. That explains why we are attacked by aircraft without getting an early warning, so it is back to square one for us. A sharp lookout and a crash dive on visual sighting. Wonderful. All the same, we are here. Well out into the Atlantic, beyond the heavily patrolled waters, but still within the grasp of their long range planes. Meanwhile there are Hunter-Killer Groups all over the place and no convoys to be found anywhere. But it's our job and we wouldn't want it any other way. Sooner or later, we will find our prey. To facilitate this, I tell Jakob to stop being a smart arse and get back to his radio, we need some kind of contact to find the Allied shipping after all.


On the last day of July, we finally get our long awaited contact report. Some French boats must still have found a way through and they made contact with a convoy. We can be there after fifteen hours of steaming. Ah, the hunt is on! I am in the best of moods while I make my round throughout the boat, all the boys seem glad to endure my little chats with them, while they make sure the boat is ready for action. The torpedoes are all checked, we have yet to fire one on this patrol, the engines are in excellent shape and Anton is beaming as he wanders around the compartments, sometimes giving one of the machines a pat on the back. As the sun sets, we are getting close to the calculated intercept point. We have a quick dip below to listen on the hydrophones every hour, the night is short enough as it is, we can't afford to miss the small window of darkness offered to us in this time of year. Our plotting came through true to form, the convoy steams into Klaus' ears early in the evening. Weary of their new radar, we try to keep well ahead of the leading escorts, but it seems they do not yet all have these new radar sets installed. We get radar transmission warnings at 21:20 and we get into the cellar. Sitting here, quiet as a mouse, we can simply let the convoy sail right across our bow. The escorts will not know we are here until our torpedoes slam into their charges.

The Duke

I move back from the ocular and let Hans take a look. 'What do you think, 1.WO?' After a couple of seconds he too moves back from the attack periscope which is consequently lowered. 'Looks good, Herr Kaleun,' he says thoughtfully: 'Only one escort on this side, convoy running a straight course, nice and fat targets in the inner columns.' He is right of course, it looks excellent in fact. The boat is drifting soundlessly beneath the mild swell, a ghost in the sea at night. 'Very well, we launch from right here, one eel each for the fat ones as they cross our bow. Angle will be 60 but that will have to do. Dive as the outer column passes overhead, slip away through their own noise and finish off any stragglers later tonight.' 'Sounds like a plan, Herr Kaleun. Impact pistols for tubes one through four?' 'You read my mind, Herr Leutnant. Make it so.'


Ten minutes later we launch from tube one. Liberty ship, possibly the convoy commodore. The detonation rumbles into my ears while I line up tube two on the Liberty behind it. Now the Brits are awake, searchlights switch on all over the place while starshells add an eery atmosphere to the scene. The entire convoy makes a disciplined turn to port but then they lose their organization and it turns into a big mess. The Liberty I aimed for slowed down to avoid colliding with the burning wreck in front, our second torpedo is now overdue for impact. I send our third eel for it but that, too, fails to connect. By now she is getting ahead of us, not worth wasting our precious last shot on. I look for a new target. 'Large cargo bearing 340 range 2000, FaT for port turns.' 'Fertig' 'Los!' That's all bow tubes empty, I am annoyed with the missed shots and give the convoy one last sweep before we make our getaway. The escorts are going to take their turn soon.


We have a special surprise in store for them, a remarkable new invention sits in the sterntube. An acoustic homing torpedo which is supposed to home in on their screws. As I look around for the escorts, I am surprised to find they seem to hang back. Just one is coming our way, the rest are on the tail of the convoy, hanging around. Like they are waiting for something. Or guarding something. It's very dark but I take a better look and then I see it. A huge looming shadow on the horizon. Four slightly tilted smokestacks on an enormous hull. Very beautiful with its streamlined profile. With a shock I withdraw from the ocular and turn to my 1.WO. 'Hans you are not going to believe this. Take a look, bearing 260.' He does and I see his shoulders go rigid as he realizes what he is looking at. 'That's the Aquitania!'


'I know, we are going to have to go for it, don't we. Down periscope, ahead 2/3, full port rudder. Get Albert to work on those bowtubes.' 'This will not be easy, Herr Kaleun. They will do anything to protect her and they already know we are here.' 'I know, I know, but how can we not go for it? Get ready to fire the sterntube.' The boat is secured from silent running and the men start to hurriedly go about their jobs as we turn towards the 45.000 ton prize on the horizon. Meanwhile, I am looking for the nearest escort to send the acoustic eel after. There, a corvette. No longer considered a lowly auxiliary but much rather a fierce bugger which demands respect. Or which requires destruction for our present plan. I am not completely sure how to use this new toy but I can't imagine it being a bad idea to send it across the enemy's path. Bearing 220, fire when ready! The torpedo sets out on its path and we dive away from this shallowness. All we need is fifteen minutes to reload two tubes and launch them on this big Ocean Liner that's still just sitting there on the horizon. Begging to be destroyed.



The Duke

Thanks for the new installment. I've been going thru withdrawals for the last month. :cry:

Good read. :)

Really glad that the story's back,been missing it;):up:

Great story!:up:

Can't wait till the next chapter:yep: