:har:

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2289/...dcf3c72bba.jpg

Jawohl, das stimmt! :DL

By the time our makeshift antenna was installed, we were leaving the Aeolians behind. Over the bow, the delicate strand swayed with the slightest breeze, catching the sunlight like the thread of a spider web. Rolf stood watch on the bridge; in his pocket he kept a pair of wire cutters in case of a crash dive.

The rest of us crowded by the radio shack, waiting. Oskar switched from one shortwave band to another, turning dials and listening intently.

"Well? Anything?"

"The signal's weak, Herr Kaleun," Oskar replied. "But I'm getting something... Hang on..."

He began to jot down letters on his notepad. Pure gibberish, not words at all -- just what we were hoping for. Oskar smiled and nodded.

"It works!" Heinrich exclaimed. At last, we were no longer alone.

I handed Anton the Enigma machine. "Quick, compose a status report! Keep it brief!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun!" he said, carrying the machine to our mess table.

I turned to Heinrich and Willi. "Just wait, next thing you know, BdU will complain that I should've sent more reports!"

Oskar finished transcribing the incoming message, then adjusted the longwave receiver. "Hmm... This might be what Leutnant Brunner had in mind." He flicked a switch; a lilting tenor voice crooned over the intercom, something about Napoli. Accompanied by a mandolin dripping with sentimentality.

Anton gestured and bellowed, "Aayyy, that's-a my-a Italia!!" We burst into giggles.

A few minutes later, Oskar was transmitting our coded report to BdU while Anton deciphered the just-received radiogram. Pressing the Enigma keys and writing the converted letters one by one, he sighed, "It's a contact report from U-81. They spotted a task force, but it's too fast for them to intercept."

"Guggenberger's boat," I said. "Well, at least he's still in the fight." Though I liked Friedrich, like many other skippers, I was jealous, too. Who wouldn't be? The first thing he did upon sneaking into the Med was to sink the Ark Royal. Instant Knight's Cross, on his third patrol! The lucky dog!

Heinrich seemed to be reading my mind. "He'll be a desk skipper soon. Just like Frauenheim."

Good old Fritz, our Flotilla Chief -- and my former classmate from Crew 30. No war patrols for two years. All the changes I'd seen, he only heard about.

"It takes a different sort of cunning to climb that ladder," I said. "You have to know the right people. Always say the right things."

Heinrich merely nodded. Naval office politics was one can of worms he wasn't about to open. Willi, on the other hand, was too young to know better.

"Well, Herr Kaleun, you have a Knight's Cross, too," he said brightly. "That ought to get you to Kerneval sooner or later, eh?"

I smiled, but it must have looked terribly cynical. There was an awkward silence.

"ALAAARRRRMMMM!"

Gripping stuff :up:

"Two fighters, bearing 120, coming in fast!" cried Rolf as he slammed the upper tower hatch shut.

Heinrich and I leapt into the Zentrale and dodged the men from astern charging towards the Bugraum.

"Full speed ahead! Rudder, hard to starboard!" I ordered.

The forward batteries gave us a bit more push this time, but it wasn't enough. Before the tower went under, we heard and felt the 20 mm cannon shells blasting through the deck against the pressure hull. A thunderous BANG! overhead made us jump.

"What the hell?!" Anton gasped.

"Ach, Scheisse!" groaned Heinrich, "They hit our flak ammo!!" Everyone looked upward, imagining the damage to the tower and everything in it.

"Rudder, hard to port!" Evasive action was futile. The second plane raked us with more cannon fire from stern to bow.

As we dove, we heard more BANGS, followed by a loud burbling outside. Though the fighters hadn't bombed us, something was very, very wrong.

"L.I.!!!" a voice cried from the engine room. "Diesel induction valve won't shut!!!"

Heinrich blanched -- I will never forget the horror on his face. "L.I., get on it!" I told him. "Rolf, you have the conn!" Heinrich and Bootsmann Roitner ran astern.

"Mein Gott!" exclaimed Rolf, "We're losing compressed air!" Bewildered, we stared at the central air gauge needle as it plummeted faster than the depth needle.

"The shells must've ruptured our air tanks! Hold steady at 30 meters!" I ran back to the engine room, where Heinrich and Roitner struggled with the stuck valve while water sprayed from both engines.

"PUSH!! PUSH!! PUT YOUR WEIGHT INTO IT!!!" cried Heinrich. Even with both men straining with all their might, the hand-wheel refused to budge.

"L.I.! We're losing compressed air!" My words stopped him like a slap in the face.

"Please, Herr Kaleun, surface the boat now!" he pleaded.

"We CAN'T surface now!! Those planes will kill us!!"

Heinrich's voice trembled; he seemed on the verge of cracking. "The induction valve must've been damaged by the ammo explosion," he panted. "The port diesel's flooded!"

His eyes darted wildly, his mind taking it all in, weighing the options. Suddenly he snapped out of his manic reverie. "Must check the air system!" he blurted. "Roitner, stay on that valve! Kern, help him! And add more lime to the after battery compartment!"

Heinrich and I ran back to the Zentrale, where he and Stabsbootsmann Bischoff found out what remained of our air supply. Heinrich took deep breaths to steady himself. "Well, they got our external tanks, all right, but we might have just enough air left in the internal ones to surface."

Behind us, Matrosengefreiter Wintzer called out, "Port No. 2 ballast vent is stuck open!" We saw him, red-faced, working the overhead lever repeatedly to no avail.

Heinrich told Wintzer to step aside. Closing his eyes, he shoved the lever back and forth to its limits, applying steady pressure. It seemed he could feel through the handle what was wrong with the mechanism that extended all the way to the port saddle-tank.

"Verdammt!" he muttered at last. "The vent itself is bent. Blasted thing won't seat properly. Can't be fixed from inside."

"L.I., what's our situation?" I asked. His earlier look of sheer terror had changed to a deep, resigned irritation with the world and everyone in it. So I expected some good news.

"We're not going to die just yet," he replied. Roitner poked his head into the Zentrale to report, "Diesel induction valve seems to be closed, L.I. At least the flooding's stopped."

Heinrich glanced over at the panel of indicator lights. "It doesn't read closed here. I'll bet it's still leaking, just slowly. Good work anyway. I'll be there in a minute."

"Can we stay under for a few hours, at least?" I asked.

Heinrich pondered, then sighed, "All right. Three hours. Even if we can't blow this No. 2 tank, we'll get back up there."

"That means we'll be listing, won't we?" Rolf interjected.

"Ja, ja, we'll transfer water to the starboard tanks to trim the boat. But we're not out of the woods yet. If the diesel induction valve still leaks, the engine can't be fully drained till we're on the surface."

"How long will that take?" I asked.

"At least one hour before we can restart the engine," said Heinrich. "We'll still have the e-motors to sail with."

"Can we dive the boat again if we have to?"

Heinrich snorted. "Dive again? Ja, ja, we can always dive again, Herr Kaleun. It's the coming back up that I'm not so sure about."

Brilliant!

I'm locked into this story.

Talk about suspense!

For the next hour, Heinrich met with all the machinists and damage-control teams, referring often to the boat's internal diagrams spread out on his table. He was in his element: the Maestro planning a concert with his orchestra. When the boat surfaced, every man would know where to be, what to do, with whom, and in what order. No wasted time, no wasted motion.

I saw Rolf watching this in the Zentrale. "You were right, Herr Kaleun," he said in a low voice. "This really is his boat."

Rolf, Anton, Willi and I had a lunch meeting in the mess. "Hard to believe, eh?" I said. "The Royal Air Force, north of Sicily. How the hell did those fighters get through?!"

"So much for the Luftwaffe and the Regia Aeronautica," Rolf said.

"I thought the Luftwaffe had radar on Sicily," said Willi.

"They do," Anton replied. "It's inexcusable!"

"Regardless of whose fault it is," I said, "The fact remains that the Tommies know where to find us now. By air or by sea, day or night."

"If we can't dive again," said Rolf, "We've lost our last defense against aerial attack. In the interests of saving the boat and crew, I recommend we divert to Napoli."

He had to say it. I knew someone would.

I replied tartly, "Tell me, what would we do in Napoli? Take the crew out for pizza? Catch the train to La Spezia??"

Anton spoke up. "Herr Kaleun, under the circumstances, no one would criticize if you--"

"Our boat is seaworthy, isn't it?!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun! But... up there, we'll be just like any other surface vessel!"

Rolf added, "Except that in the event of sinking, our boat is harder to escape from."

They were correct, of course. I was seething when I turned to Willi. He seemed anxious; this must have been the closest thing to a fight among the officers he'd ever witnessed on board.

"So, does the rest of the crew think this way??" I asked sharply. As Willi spent more time among the Unteroffiziere, he was likely to know.

Willi glanced nervously at Rolf and Anton -- he wanted to please them, too. "I... I hear mixed opinions, Herr Kaleun," he stammered. "Some would gladly stop at the nearest port. Some are ready to keep going. But... they're worried, too."

"Danke, Oberfähnrich," I said, calming down. Heinrich had his plan to save the boat. I needed a plan, too, to save us as a cohesive unit.

I said to them, "Meine Herren, our mission now is to return to base. With our boat, if possible. No Italian port except La Spezia can perform major repairs on U-boats -- the only kind that matters in our case."

I let that sink in before continuing. "Since we've been detected, the smart thing to do is to change course. Instead of the direct route to La Spezia, we'll hug the coast, from Napoli to Piombino. If the worst happens, and we lose the boat anyway, we'll more than likely be rescued."

The men glanced at each other. Rolf nodded thoughtfully. I could see we were on the same page at last.

Anton sighed. "I was looking forward to pizza."

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




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

Onward.

At the hydrophones, Oskar gave the all-clear sign. I entered the Zentrale as tools were being distributed to everyone assigned to Heinrich's "tour de force". In the engine room, Roitner and his team of machinists awaited their cue.

"Alles klar, Maestro?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun," said Heinrich.

"Time for the overture, then. Surface!"

Heinrich ordered ahead full and hydroplanes set for surfacing. "Blow bow ballast tanks 1 and 2!" Air hissed through the lines. The bow came up smartly. "Blow main ballast tank No. 3!" Under Heinrich's gaze the air gauge needle fell rapidly.

"Stop!" He always kept some air in reserve. This was just enough -- we were rising.

He turned to me. "Once the tower's above water, there'll be a bit of 'improvisation'."

"Very modern of you, L.I."

He smirked and called out the depth. "Twenty meters."

Anton and his watch crew assumed their positions by the tower ladder, next to the first repair team, led by Kern. Then Rolf joined us.

We heard the familiar rush of water as the tower broke the surface. Anton and the lookouts hurried up the ladder. I saw by the gauges that we were still decks awash.

"E-motors, ahead slow," said Heinrich. "Planesmen, stay at your posts."

From the bridge, Anton gave the all-clear. Kern's group went up, their tool belts jangling. At this point, the bow was high, but the list to port was not nearly as bad as we had expected. With our external tanks mostly full, we were just too low in the water.

As arranged, Rolf took the conn and Heinrich went up the ladder. I followed him. The sea was very calm -- a stroke of luck for us.

We knew the damage would be bad, but to actually see it took my breath away. Kern's men, attached to safety lines, stepped carefully on what was left of the decking around the tower. It reminded me of the acqua alta in Venezia, which could sometimes create the illusion of walking on water.

The water was clear enough that we could see the gaping holes in the deck, in the exposed air tanks, in the saddle-tanks, and...

"Lieber Gott," I gasped. The forward torpedo storage tube.

"Fritz sei Dank," said Heinrich. We were still alive thanks to Frauenheim's policy: the 29th Flotilla boats had recently stopped carrying external torpedoes because of this very hazard.

Kern called out from aft of the Wintergarten, or what used to be the Wintergarten. The upper flak platform was still there, but hanging in space, partly unsupported. The lower platform was entirely gone, just a huge hole.

Heinrich stopped short of where the bridge deck ended. "L.I.!" Kern yelled up, "Diesel induction line is ruptured!"

Given the routing of our diesel intakes, Heinrich had anticipated this. He hooked up his safety line and climbed down to the deck, avoiding the jagged metal and wood below. The gaping hole in the intake shaft, where it ran along the pressure hull, was still underwater.

"Verdammt! Must get the stern higher!" said Heinrich.

Far behind him, Matrosengefreiter Weber called out, "Dive Tank No. 1 is punctured!"

Heinrich gritted his teeth. "Of course, it would have to be that one!" He motioned Weber to come forward, to get his weight off the stern.

"Is everyone out of the Heckraum?!" This was pre-arranged; he was making sure.

"Jawohl, L.I.!"

"There's not enough air to blow all the tanks," I said to Anton. "Now comes the improvisation."

Facing astern, Heinrich crouched on the deck, the damaged induction line beside and beneath him.

"Blow Dive Tank 2!" he called out. His orders were relayed by one of the lookouts.

From the bridge, Anton and I watched for the boat's response. The tip of the stern broached. Good, but not enough.

I saw Kern report to Heinrich, pointing to the various external tanks, the punctured ones in particular. Heinrich took it in, scratching his beard.

"Pump all of Trim Tank 1 to Trim Tank 2!" he ordered.

The waterline slowly receded, exposing more of the after deck. Still not enough! Even from the bridge, I could see Heinrich losing his patience.

"Flood forward torpedo compensation tanks!"

Two of Kern's team retreated from the bow as it dipped, nearly submerging the deck gun. The waterline crept nearer the hole in the induction shaft. The galley hatch was fully exposed. Almost there!

"What's our speed now?!" The answer came back: "Two knots, L.I.!"

"Aft hydroplanes, down ten!" Heinrich yelled, "Come on, boat! Up! GET UP!!"

That did it! At last the break in the induction line was above the water. Right on cue, Weber and Kern brought out the welding kit and sheet metal.

"Bravo!" I called to the Maestro. With a parting wave, he disappeared down the galley hatch. On to the next movement: Roitner's team would drain and restart the diesel.

"Mensch! For a moment there I thought he would fire off our aft torpedoes," Anton snickered.

"That was next on his list, I think."

Love the details.

haha, im enjoying this greatly :D
a great amount of detail and understanding has clearly gone into it!
do you have any background that have you the interest for this?

[Danke, timmy41. I'm just another writer with a fanatical streak, esp. about historical accuracy. The tech info is easier to find nowadays, Gott sei Dank!]


I remained on the bridge while Heinrich supervised the draining of the port diesel. It was crowded enough down there without spectators. The rest of Kern's team not involved with patching the induction line focused on only the most critical repairs necessary for our journey home. The rest would be left to the shipyard.

"Good thing no one was on the bridge when that ammo exploded," said Anton. A shudder went through me. I recalled that fateful morning at Lampedusa, when our whole flak team was turned to Hackfleisch before my eyes -- on this tower.

I acknowledged Anton with only a nod. I'm sure he knew what was bothering me -- he, too, had seen the bodies. And here we were again, not quite sitting ducks, but close enough. The diesel fuel slick trailing behind us was noticeably larger now. It was as if our boat were a wounded sea animal, bleeding in the water.

Was this how Becker felt that day? I wondered. His boat was stranded in the harbour, still being repaired when the bombers came. I remembered the joviality that masked his desperation. It was as if he knew that his luck had finally run out.

I turned away from the twisted remains of the Wintergarten and surveyed the horizon through my binoculars. Anton did likewise.

"Once the L.I. gets the diesel started," I said, "He'll use the exhaust to blow the remaining ballast tanks."

"Just the ones without holes in them, I assume."

"Ja, trimming this boat will keep him busy, all right," I replied. "There's still the matter of what we'll do if--"

"If we're attacked again. I've been thinking about it, too, Herr Kaleun."

I looked down at the deck gun; the barrel made a small wake as it cut through the water. Anton saw me looking, as I intended.

"Useless thing, isn't it?" I said. "I'd gladly trade it for another flak gun. Maybe one of those new 37 mm guns they keep promising."

Anton shook his head in disgust. "Everyone thinks of us Germans as masters of efficiency. If only they saw our procurement process!"

"Ja ja... Factions in the Wehrmacht. Arms makers vying for contracts. You just know there's money being passed under the table!"

"They get rich, and we get killed. A perfect little racket," said Anton. I couldn't help thinking of Eva's father. Was he one of those types? You never know about people.

"Well, I'll see about getting us more flak guns, if they ever show up," I said. "But right now, all we have is that thing."

His eyes widened. "You're not joking, are you..."

"I wish I were, Anton. I know it's nearly impossible. So I can't order you to man the deck gun. But it's something to consider. Any chance is better than none at all, eh?"

"In that case, we might as well bring out the Mausers and MP-40s, too," he replied. He wasn't joking, either.

"There are always alternatives," I said. I felt a muscle in my face twitch. I couldn't tell if he noticed it.

"Herr Kaleun," he said, "As I see it, if the planes come back, our alternative is to go below, put on our Tauchretters, and wait for the explosions."

"So it would appear," I said.

He was struggling to look Fate in the eye, as I was. Then, his expression relaxed. He had made his choice.

"Well, if we go down, better to go with all guns blazing, eh?"

I took a long, deep breath. We resumed watching the horizon.

Karl-Heinz poked his head through the galley hatch. "Herr Kaleun! The L.I. says the engine's drained and re-assembled! They're ready to start her up!"

This is an awesome story.

I can't wait to see if they make it or die!

Steve