oh thanks, people

i dropped it for a while, holidays and some RL stuff and so on

gave SHIV a try too, but i just like writing this journal too much to quit, and I realise it has to go on as long as Beckman lives, anyway

reading comments like that keeps me going, cheers!

Bosje

The boat is taking a nosedive while turning slightly to port, damage control party ready to leap into action while the Lords are sweating like crazy in the forward compartment, reloading tubes one and two. I sit by Klaus as he tries to gather what is going on up top, with the homing torpedo and the escort. We took the slight turn to port, knowing that the escort would most likely follow us there. The torpedo is definitely turning, following the escort in it's wake. This is very discomforting for me, I feel detached from the goings-on, I do not fully understand both how the escort and how the torpedo are working their magics. Unbearable to not know the how and why. If we make it out of here, I will have to learn a lot more still. Stay with the program, as they say, or forever lag behind, at the bottom of the sea. 'Torpedo converging with the screws... torpedo hardly distinguisha...' BOOM! The explosion crudely interrupts Klaus while he was wording what he was hearing. 'QUIET!' I roar across to the control room: 'Hard to starboard, maintain speed and depth.' The boys started cheering but we do not yet know if the explosion had any effect. Still, the urgent sound of fast screws moving overhead has gone. Always the subject of our nightmares and now we have struck back. 'And?' I ask Klaus.


'Engines stopped, some rumbling going on, I think she may be on fire, Herr Kaleun.' I dare not yet declare it a victory but we are definitely looking good. 'Back to heading 285, maintain three knots, maintain 90 meters.' Slowly I start to grin, getting ahead of myself. And then we all hear the bulkheads giving way. 'She's going down, Herr Kaleun!' Now I allow the boys to cheer. Their elation releases the agony from all those long hours we spent trying to get away from the escorts, now we have a terrible weapon of our own, something to return the favor. The Ocean Liner is still surrounded by escorts of course, but we are no longer in immediate danger. Klaus tells me that the Liner and the warships are all sitting still in the water. I can't imagine why, but I am sure we will get a clear shot to punish that behaviour. Klaus listens to the Liberty and the other large freighter, somewhere aft to our starboard, struggling to stay afloat while we get ready to deal our next blow.


Two hours later, it is all over. My Second Officer is positively beaming as he finishes the entry in the log:


July 31st, 22:00 Engaged convoy grid AM41. 22:20 Large merchant, Liberty, sunk shortly after one hit each. 22:23 Engaged Corvette with Falke Torpedo. Sunk, torpedo detonation after running towards propeller for approx. 30 sec, homing device surprisingly effective. 22:30 HMT Aquitania identified within torpedo range, already listing and on fire. Cause unknown. 2 torpedoes fired, both hits. 22:35 HMT Aquitania sunk. No trouble from escorts.


August 1st, 00:14 convoy outside of hydrophone range. End battle stations, surfaced to outflank and re-acquire convoy for second attackrun. Interception plotted in 6 hours. Weather deteriorated, heavy seas and heavy rain. Visibility minimal.
-


And that is that, really. It all seems very dull and to the point when I read it back in the log, but I suppose it was not our most tense moment we ever had in this boat. Three big ships and one corvette sunk for seven torpedoes. Over 60.000 registered tonnes. And not once did we get the feeling we were in trouble, not once did the depthcharges come close. I am confused as I am washed over by a strange sense of anticlimax, even though this is our finest hour. Stupid how the mind works. All those poor soldiers on board the Aquitania, they were only doing their bit for their country. Much like us. I have the feeling that we were not sufficiently punished for what we just pulled off. And that feeling has no place at all in the head of a U-boat Commander. Straighten yourself out, Beckman! You have a boat and crew to bring back alive, so in actual fact this was a perfect attack! I guess I'll feel better about it once we make it back to Bergen. But for now, I feel like I am addicted to danger. Addicted to the feeling that, after hunting them, I become the hunted in turn. The navy backed away too easily and, stupidly, I have mixed feelings about that.


Maybe I simply feel insulted that those escorts did not give us a hard time at all. Hey we did just sink one of the biggest Ocean Liners in the world! And right under their noses, too. Whatever my personal feelings about all this, the crew and the staff of U-735 are looking at their Kaleun with a new sense of admiration in their eyes. They are all doing fine, the boat is doing fine, we shall undoubtedly be showered in laurels and medals. First things first, however. The boat is doing a decent fifteen knots, crashing into the heavy seas as we are running a wide turn around the convoy. This is not over just yet, I am putting us into the Royal Navy's sights once more. Maybe they will put up a better fight this time. Cocky and aggressive is good, Freiherr Beckman. Too cocky? Only time will tell.



The Duke

How many soldiers in a Division as it is carried across The Atlantic in a converted luxury Liner? Around five thousand. How many navy personnel on your average corvette? A hundred? Sailors on a 7.000 ton freighter? Thirty? Fifty? A lot of souls to answer for when your time comes. Verdammt, Becks, stop this useless train of thought and just go to sleep, will you? I know, I know, but I can't. Idiot. With an annoyed sigh, I throw the blanket off me and sit up. I feel like a smoke. And a drink. And a lay. I wish I was home, where the latter was easy enough to arrange. Not so on U-735 while she rolls and pitches and thunders her way across the North Atlantic. Unfit for command, Herr Oberleutnant. Getting soft, getting old, getting worn. With that thought, I am completely awake and still more annoyed with myself. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Another sigh and I get up, the flimsy curtain is all that separates my place of refuge from the smoothly operating killing machine and I rip it open with a muffled 'scheisse'.


'Morning, Herr Kaleun.' A surprised rating greets me an hour after he wished me goodnight. Morning, Fritz. Nothing new, I suppose? Nope. Fritz is the guy who mans the radio shack when Jakob takes his well earned naps. I offer him a cigarette after I light one up myself. Smoking inside the boat, completely against regulations. But a nice draft is passing through my girl, as the hatches up to the bridge are all open, despite the water. We are laboriously making our way back home through horrible weather after having spent all but one of our torpedoes. I allow smoking inside, but only in the radio- and control rooms when we are not at action stations. I shouldn't really allow it but I tend toward hypocrisy as I myself frequently use the butt of one cigarette to light the next one. My pipe is reserved for treasured moments on the bridge, at sunsets and the likes. But I have taken to smoking ciggies like a chimney in between those rare few seconds of beauty and peace. I sometimes suspect it comes from a great feeling of unease, somehow induced by killing too many people. But I was never one for retrospecting analyses of the self. Who gives a damn, anyway. It's my job.


'Morning, Herr Kaleun. Can't sleep either, eh?' 'Morning, Hans,' I mutter. What is wrong with us? Sleep is a priceless commodity on a war patrol and we are both off duty. The boat is in the sufficiently capable hands of 2.WO Volkmar Vowe who dutifully stands his watch. But here we are, the Commander and the First Officer, unable to sleep but not having any business in the control room either. 'Join me in the mess, 1.WO.' 'With pleasure, Herr Kaleun.'

I doubt I will have the benefit of his abilities much longer, he is getting ready for his own command at an annoyingly swift rate. He'll probably make a better Kaleun than I ever was. You won't catch him agreeing with that, though. All the men under my command radiate an ever-present sense of newness, freshness, ignorance. They hold together perfectly and they do their jobs very well indeed. True and proper U-boat men, but only as long as their old Kaleun is there, watching over the whole thing. Arrogant, yes. Unbecoming, even. But that's how it is. Whenever I am ill or off duty, there is the sense of dread. It clears up as soon as the comforting sound goes through the boat: Duke on deck, they call it behind my back. And I can't help enjoying that. And I can't help worrying about it whenever I have one of my whims of lacking confidence. Still just a bunch of kids, in need of their leader.


'I've been thinking, Duke. I think we were very very lucky with that Liner.' Hans pokes my wandering mind back to reality. 'A French boat must have just attacked that convoy, that's why those escorts were sitting idly around that stricken old lady.' I suppose he is right, she was listing and, judging by the modest plumes of smoke which rose from her forward decks, suffering from some kind of crippling fire in her bowels. Our two eels finished her off quickly enough, kicking her to death while she was already down. Probably a complete surprise to those escorts while they were listening for whatever U-boat struck the first blow. Maybe we will learn what exactly transpired, maybe we won't. It will also depend on whether the other boat got away. 'Ya, I was thinking the same thing. But why in the hell did they let us get away so easily? Why not go after our arse for hours and hours and hours? That's their usual thing, after all.' Silence again for a couple of minutes as we both ponder this. 'Maybe they spent all their depthcharges on that other boat? They simply didn't have any ammunition left for us?' Hmm.


All the same, it was we who sank her in the end. A great victory. But if Hans is right, the Navy let us get away with it only due to a stroke of sheer luck, we have no real reason to think they suddenly became incompetent or lazy. Of course I knew that all along, deep inside. Always fear those bastards and simply consider yourself lucky if you get away with apparent ease. We never engaged the convoy again, fate was very kind to us once more that night. As we started to get close to the convoy for our second run, we got down to listen in. While we were plotting out their course and speed, Klaus called me to the earphones. An incredible bit of luck, two merchants were sailing towards us, very close to the same path as the convoy only outbound, going the other way. We tracked them for a while and it seemed they would be crossing right in front of us. Two merchants, no warships, all bow tubes ready. It was a natural call, I let the convoy escape while I went after the easier undefended prey. Visibility was still terrible but we surfaced and used our own radar to get our firing solutions. This was the second time we ever used our radar, I never use it normally because I assume they can detect our signal at least as easily as we can detect theirs. Well, could, anyway. We launched our eels, we witnessed faint explosions through the squalls and when we got closer to have a look, two merchants were seen to be burning and listing. Estimated 3.000 and 7.000 tonnes, to be added to the score for this patrol. All but one eel expended, apart from the two spare ones in the external storage. But with this weather and the constant air threat, we have no chance of loading those eels into the torpedo rooms.


We ran away in a southerly direction, hiding deep inside the horizontal rains. None of the distant convoy's escorts turned back to give us any bad news, it was all ludicrously easy. Later that afternoon, I ordered a course back home. That was a couple of hours ago. We really did earn some sleep after doing an incredibly good job. But, like stupid idiots, we fail to seize it. Too much to ponder. I lean back on my seat in the officer's mess and start thinking out loud.


'So here we are, going home, an estimated 75.000 tonnes in the log. My most successful patrol. Ever. Even more praiseworthy than sinking that Ami battleship. So why the hell can't I sleep, Hans? Why the hell does it feel unworthy?' He looks at me, thoughtfully. 'Don't ask me, sir. I should feel pretty good about it myself. Still I can't sleep either. Maybe it's all those souls on board the Aquitania. Then again, maybe you are right, maybe we are just too accustomed to hell and damnation, maybe that's why it seems too easily won. But you were there in the happy times, surely you didn't feel bad about it then?' I consider this for a while, I guess he is right. I distinctly remember loving it all back then. 'No, no of course not. You're right. It's like the happy times. We simply got lucky and I should be glad. In due time, I will be glad.' I pour us both a glass from the last bottle of Dutch gin. Hals will need to produce a new secret stash. 'Prosit, Leutnant Bremer. Here's to being lucky bastards.' 'Prosit, Duke. Lucky bastards indeed.'




Oberleutnant Freiherr Beckman
(The Duke to his friends)

September, 1943
 

The office smells like peace. Nonsense, of course. Peace has no smell and neither has war. But the contrast with the usual mixture of diesel, sweat, rotten food and excrement on board U-735 is so great that I forget the war for a few minutes. Through the windows I can see the sun shining onto the iced tops of the mountains far away, while the valley of the fjord is a cheerful mesh of green and deep blue. Here I am, in a clean and well-ventilated office. The war seems to be a million miles away from Bergen's FdU Headquarters. I hear him talking to me but I'm not listening too intently, the view distracts me. Until he tells me that I will play host to a reporter from the Ministry of Propaganda. I scramble to the defensive: 'What? That is madness! It's no pleasure cruise out there, you know. We can't be asked to babysit some damn civilian, we have enough on our minds as it is.' 'Calm down, Beckman. The people back home need their heroes, things are not going well for us. So you will welcome this man on board and you will like it.' 'There is no room, he will be in the way, he will distract the crew during action stations. With respect, Herr FregattenKapitän, I will not do this.' 'Stop there, you do not get to have a say in this, it has already been decided. Besides, this man is a junior officer in the Kriegsmarine, he will do fine on your boat. He just happens to to be attached to the ministry and so he will be taking pictures and writing an article during your patrol. Besides, he is well connected. Some family member high up in the party. Don't make this difficult.' This is what happens when politicians decide that they know what's best for the armed forces. I want to protest more but I guess there is no point. FdU continues: 'Fahnrich Ringelmann will report to the pens later this afternoon. That is all, Herr Oberleutnant.' Fine. I turn on my heels and prepare to slam the door behind me when the commodore calls after me: 'Oh and Becks, be sure to bring U-735 back in one piece, won't you? We've had more than enough losses for one summer.' 'Of course, Sir. Don't I always?' I salute and leave his office. Not in the best of moods.


The U-boat pens are ugly beasts among the surroundings which are even more beautiful than they were this afternoon. These Bergen sunsets always make me feel better. I enter the building to check on our boat. She is once more in fine shape. Men are crawling all over her, hauling supplies into her bowels and stowing every square centimeter of free space with fresh food. It won't stay fresh for long but at least the eating will be good for the first week. Albert is overseeing a welding crew who are tinkering with the 8.8. Hals is standing guard over the gangplank, ticking off items on a list as the boys bring them on board. We will set out this time tomorrow. I check with Hals: 'We will be host to a reporter on this trip, some guy called Ringelmann. Has he reported here today, Obersteuermann?' 'Not to my knowledge, Herr Kaleun. Haven't seen anyone I didn't know.' 'Yes well, if he does show up, tell him to report to me in our lodgings, will you?' 'Will do, Herr Kaleun.'
Our lodgings are the big seaside hotel which is reserved for U-boat crews as they come back from patrols. We always get several weeks to unwind, bathed in luxury and alcohol, before we get sent out to meet our enemies again. It's all just a show, a facade. These days the odds of coming back are well below fifty percent. But that doesn't stop the boys from having a disgustingly good time in the hotel. And I like to think that we earned that.


Fahnrich Ringelmann doesn't show up the next day either and I am not planning on waiting for him. We have a job to do and, frankly, I am quite happy to leave port without some nosy Party-highflyer on board. At 17:00 on September 12th, U-735 releases herself from the safety of the U-boat pens and we are underway. Just the 46 regular crew on board. Volkmar is now officially Leutnant zur See Vowe and some iron crosses have been approved. My first officer has been promoted too, Oberleutnant Hans Bremer. The same rank as I have myself, in fact. Getting ready for his own command. Veterans are hard to come by these days, I guess it is only fair that he gets his own commission. But I will miss him when that time comes. It is another wonderful late-summer day and I lean back on the wintergarden to have an enjoyable couple hours with my pipe before we get out to the open seas.

The Duke

http://img117.imageshack.us/img117/4...gfried1yw6.jpg

We pass the lighthouse on the end of the quay and we wave, as always, back at the crowd who have come to see us off. Then I spot a Kriegsmarine uniform among the crowd. I raise my binoculars and now I can see the man is taking pictures of us. Look! Volkmar smiles and says: 'Could be a spy, Herr Kaleun, I bet I could hit him with the 3.7' 'Very funny, Number Two. No, I fear that this is our guest for the trip. Look, he is beckoning us to come closer!' Indeed, after having taken some pictures he started waving, his hand signals seem to indicate that he wants us to dock right at his feet. 'Who does he think he is?' 'Never mind him, maintain course and speed.' 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun.' I light my pipe which has gone out during all the waving and we continue on our track. Half an hour later we are getting caught up by an E-boot which starts to signal us with an aldis light as it gets close. It orders us to heave to. I ponder for a while if I should obey orders given to me by an E-boot's commander but then I find I am too curious not to find out what this is all about. Through the mouthpiece I give the concession: 'All stop.'


When the E-boot is alongside our boat, the young man I saw through my binoculars comes out of it's cabin, a kit-bag and a very expensive-looking camera slung over his shoulder. He jumps onto U-735's forward deck while I see the commander of the E-boot making a meaningful gesture with his hand: good luck with that one. The boy climbs the bridge, drops his kit-bag and gives me a lazy salute while he opens his mouth: 'Hiya, Cap. Fahnrich Ringelman reporting for duty. Didn't you see me waving for you to come pick me up at the lighthouse? Anyway, I'm here now, that's the main thing.' He then turns around, takes a couple of pictures of Bergen and disappears through the hatch with a casual: 'Don't worry, I'll sort myself out somewhere.' During all of this, Volkmar's face had turned slightly red. 'What the...' he started. 'Never mine, Number Two, I'll deal with this. You just keep an eye on the sky.' 'Sir.' And I follow the boy down through the hatch.


I find him in the control room, looking a bit surprised by the smells and inspecting all the handles and dials like an excited child, I see Anton looking at him with an annoyed frown. I decide to take the boy to the mess for a little chat. 'You, follow me.' 'Ah, ok Cap.' I lead him to the officer's mess where my 1.WO and navigator are playing cards. 'Sit down and show me your file and your orders.' He produces both from the top of his kit-bag and hands them over, I start reading. After gathering the essentials, I summarize them out loud for the other staff members to hear: Fahnrich zur See Siegfried Ringelmann, Academy graduation 30-7-1943 with only mediocre grades. Attached to the Ministry of Propaganda on August 1st, due to a recommendation by a certain Undersecretary Ringelmann. Requested duty on a combat unit, approved for 11th flotilla September 1st, due to recommendation by same. Orders: join the first boat to leave port, write inspiring article during patrol. 'So that's it then, is it? You are going to write an inspiring article about us?' 'Yes sir, that's the idea. And I hope to take a few good pictures. Look, This camera can hold color film, it's great!' 'Right. Well, Ringelmann. You are a junior officer and the youngest on board. As such, you will do your share of usual duty. This, (while I point him towards Hals) is Obersteuermann Petersen. You will serve as his aid. You take four hours of his daily watch and in the remaining four hours he will teach you how we do things on this boat. That leaves sixteen hours of free time for you to sleep and to write your thing, which should be more than enough. You will report to Oberbootsmann Schaefer to be assigned your quarters. I suspect you can find him in the forward torpedo room. Is that understood, Ringelmann?' During all this, the boy had started to lose some of the bright-faced innocence. He muttered: 'Understood, Cap.' 'You will address me as Herr Kaleun or Herr Oberleutnant. Furthermore, you are free to go anywhere on the boat but if I catch you interfering with operations, I'll re-introduce the good old-fashioned practice of keelhailing. Understood?' 'Jawohl, Herr Kaleun.' 'Good.'


I stay with Hans and Hals in the mess while the boy goes off to find Albert. Hans kicks it off: 'That kid spells trouble.' Hals joins in: 'Great, Duke. Thanks for making him my responsibility.' 'Sorry about that, Obersteuermann, but would you rather have him serve as watch officer or weapons officer? His Academy record is poor, I feel he can do the least harm at the charts table, be sure to keep an eye on him. The boy seems well-connected, so some discretion is called for. Don't mess up your careers over this, you know, leave that to your already ill-liked Kaleun.' 'Fine, fine. But I have a bad feeling about this patrol.' 'We'll pull through, just be sure to stay sharp.' With that, I go back to the bridge to enjoy the last moments of wonderful cruising through the fjords. During the course of the night we will be in Coastal Command's territory already.


The Duke
Pictures added later, courtesy of Fahnrich Ringelmann



http://img182.imageshack.us/img182/2...gfried2vy1.jpg

Sorry about the fact that it reeks of a familiar theme (Das Boot) but I have some screenies I wanted to justify and the patrol will turn out to warrant my own version of Bernard von Unfall

more later

If you can get a photo of him being lauched from the stern tube, that would be excellent!:up:

The boat is in the strange void of the Arctic once more. We were here about half a year ago and I remember hating it then, but during the summer it is hardly any better. Temperatures and conditions are less cruel during the summer but it doesn't get dark. The best we can hope for is a kind of enduring twilight with the sun sitting forever near the horizon, very faint but always there. We are occasionally treated to the spectacle of the Northern Lights and all in all, I find the Arctic quite beautiful. But we are not here to enjoy the scenery, we are here to bleed the Bolshevist life line. The Norway Flotillas are no longer in a position to annihilate an entire convoy, like PQ17 one year ago, but we can still deal a blow. If only it wasn't so light and clear all the time. Intelligence reports a returning convoy from Murmansk, not as valuable as an inbound convoy full of tanks and planes and oil but still, a convoy. Shipping which needs to be destroyed. I intend to find this convoy and we establish a patrol line while every man on the watch and the sensors is waiting for a sign of the enemy. If we are lucky, the level of protection for the mostly empty ships will be mediocre at best.


As the boat waits for any contacts, Fahnrich Ringelmann is getting on everyone's nerves while he takes photographs and interviews for his report. One evening, I am in my quarters trying to read up on radio waves. My attempts at reading are disturbed by voices from the officer's mess. The boy is interviewing Volkmar, my second officer. 'How would you describe the commander?' 'Hmm?' 'Come on, I'm trying to create a picture, a character. The Kaleun has a reputation as an eccentric, a misfit in modern day Germany but all the same, covered in decorations.' 'You want to watch your mouth there, son. Insulting the commander on his own ship is not a good idea. The commander is different, yes. But you see, that's what keeps us alive. That, and the boat.' 'I'm afraid I don't quite understand. Being weird brings you luck?' 'No no no, it's about staying ahead of the enemy, about doing the unexpected. When we expect to dive, The Duke stays shallow. When any man would run, The Duke stops dead in his tracks. And he is still here, after almost a year of fighting. Every man on this ship knows it, do what he says, he always pulls through.' 'So we have the crazy eccentric aristocrat, defeating the enemy by being mad.' 'Well, whatever. But all those fresh kids out of the academy tend to never come back from their very first patrol. They die from being predictable and stupid. Personally, I'm quite happy to be here on U-735 under Kaleun Beckman.' 'Thank you, Leutnant, that was very useful.' 'Yeah alright.'


What do they know? I turn around in my bunk and try to fall asleep, but I can't help smiling at the image which got painted there. The next day, operations carry on as usual, we are still looking for the convoy. The staff sits in the mess at noon, lunch is served and we are treated to the last remains of the fresh meat and vegetables. It is our ninth day at sea and as always in the early stages of a patrol, the motto is 'enjoy it while it lasts'. It will be dried and canned foods before long. Hans engages in some after lunch conversation with the others while I rest my head against the upholstery. 'The convoy should not be far away now, why aren't we hearing anything from the other boats or from the Luftwaffe?' Petersen cuts in: 'Maybe the escorts got those Trondheim boys already.' 'Nonsense, we would have at least heard something on the radio.' 'But the convoy can't be that hard to find.' 'True, well all we can do is wait here.'
The chatter continues for a while but then Jakob produces a coded radio message. It turns out to be our coveted contact report on the convoy, heading west at five knots. 'Obersteuermann, join me at the charts table, please.' We plot to intercept the large convoy at between 21:00 and 22:00, so as to make the most use of what little night there is. That evening, we receive another radio contact report at 21:11. The convoy is very close, they should steam into our visual range within the hour, we go to periscope depth, the hunter is ready to pounce.

The Duke

'Forty plus freighters, one flat top, at least five escorts on this side, mostly frigates.' Hans whispers the details down to the control room, he is alone in the conning tower for now while I am at the charts with Hals, planning our attack. Hans continues to report what he just saw through the periscope: 'If they maintain course, our position will be favourable, Herr Kaleun, outer column will cross close to our current position.' 'Thank you, number one, keep the scope down, I'll join you shortly.' I look down on the map as Hals draws another line. The line extends right to the edge of the bearing ring which represents U-735. Volkmar enters into the log:


September 21st,, 1943
22:30, Boat evenly trimmed at 13.5 meters. Engaging convoy bound for Iceland heading West by South-West speed approx 6 knots.


He is grinning, as are most of the men in the control room. Morale is good, the boys are always in high spirits during the early stages of an attack. They simply do not think about the aftermath and I do not blame them. After all, it has been almost two months since the last depthcharge was dropped down on us, you tend to forget the fear and I suppose your mind does not want to think about how terrible it can be. Enjoy it while it lasts, you can worry about it later. Alright, time to earn our next month's worth of luxurious shore leave in Bergen. 'Action Stations! You know what to do, men.'


Ringelmann enters the control room, his camera in his hands. 'Permission to take photographs during the action, Herr Kaleun?' 'Very well, if you must. But don't get in our way.' 'No sir, thank you sir.' He has started to act more professionally and more like a U-735 man during the past week and the crew are tolerating him, for now. Good. I join Hans in the conning tower, Anton, my LI, is on his usual post and Hals is busy calculating angles and drawing lines at his table. The boat is ready to strike and the damage control party are casually leaning against the bulkheads, they have nothing to do for now and we all hope that it will stay that way. Over the next half hour we wait silently at periscope depth, we stop the engines to be quiet as a mouse. Anton is able to maintain our depth with slight manual trims for a while in these conditions: the sea is very calm. 'Up periscope.' A quick glance at the convoy as it keeps on steaming home. No starshells, no searchlights, no racing escorts. 'Down periscope.' Periscope exposure must be kept to a minimum. I look at the bearing ring, do a quick mental calculation and whisper to Hans: 'Target speed five, course 250.' Hans passes it on down through the hatch to the navigator, who whispers back: 'Angle 70 port on zero bearing.' Teamwork is everything, the boat and crew are operating like a Swiss watch and I am confident about the attack. 'Flood tubes one through four.'


I stick the periscope out for five seconds to take a look at my prize for tonight. The lead escort has passed us, the flank escorts are well ahead and aft of us and the convoy is about to present a solid wall of hulls to my bowtubes. I have seen it all before, but my heart is racing with anticipation. Our positioning was so good that we could let them steam into our sights without having to run the electrics at all. Anton is able to keep our bridge under the surface by manual trim manipulations and the enemy are oblivious of the killer which is ready to strike. 'Open bow caps, set all torpedoes for 3 meters, impact pistols as usual.' Silent, deadly, I feel the familiar rush of being the hunter, ready to spring the trap.


Suddenly there is a commotion from the control room and, to my horror, the electrics come to life. All the hairs on my neck and arms stand up and I jerk my head around to the conning tower dials. There it is, I see it but I can't believe it. The engine telegraph indicates 'Ahead standard' for both electrics. These engines are relatively quiet but after spending an hour in complete silence, the sound seems to roar through the boat. As loud as a thousand engines opening up on full throttle. I am unable to move, to think. A shout reaches me through the hatch. 'Nein! Verdammt!' Followed by the smack of flesh hitting flesh, then another thud. Before I can even give the order, the telegraph is already back to 'All stop' and then everything is silent once again, except for a few muttered curses. But I fear it is too late, the damage has been done. 'Hans, stay here, keep the scope down.' I scramble down the ladder into the control room. Most of the boys are just standing there, palefaced, frozen. Fahnrich Ringelmann sits slumped against the forward bulkhead, his left eye closed as the flesh around it is visibly swelling up, tears dripping down his face from his right eye. Anton stands over him, his left hand rubbing the knuckles on his right fist. 'He tripped and grabbed the telegraph, I was too late to stop him, I am sorry Herr Kaleun.' His report is brief, concise. Cold efficiency but the expression on his face is scary, unnerving.


A voice in my head says: This can not be happening. But I see the pipe near the floorboard, the valve on the pipe, the shoelace still stuck on the valve, the shoe still on the boy's foot as he is sitting there against the bulkhead, one hand clutching his camera, sobbing. He was taking pictures of the crew as they were preparing to destroy the enemy and he tripped, reaching out for anything to hold him up. It might have been funny in other circumstances but obviously, nobody is laughing. I feel sad and exhausted, my grip on reality slipping away, but I can not afford to show it and I start barking orders: 'Volkmar, this man is under arrest for violating silent running, I want him tied and secured in the warrant officer's quarters. Anton, maintain periscope depth, keep the engines down to a maximum 50 rpm if you can. Albert, get ready for trouble. Pass the word, absolute silence from here on.' The officers get it done while I squat down at the hatch to the radio shack. Klaus knows what I want and he turns to me, whispering the bad news: 'Nearest escorts all cut their engines, convoy slowing down and turning away to the north, Herr Kaleun. No asdic yet, they are listening.' Of course they heard the noise, but instead of charging straight at us, it seems they are waiting for us to make more noise, to run away so they can home in by passive sonar. I look up at the ceiling and I force myself to grin. 'If you want to kill me tonight, Englander, you'll have to work for it.' Gunner's mate Wellenberg is the nearest sailor and I give him a wink. Acting the part of Fearless Leader. He smiles back, but very faintly. I'm not fooling anyone, the boys know what is going to come.


The Duke

Yes, I had the engines stopped when i drew out a new course line, completely forgetting that it automatically goes to ahead standard :o
:gulp:

So you blame the photoghrapher for it!:nope: ? Its your story, Getting better by every tale!

Bravo,More,More:up:

Some five hundred meters, that is the distance. Quite far, if you have to run it on foot. Quite close, if the frigate has to run it before bringing death to us. She is sitting there, bobbing along, screws barely turning. Listening, waiting for us to make another mistake. She is slightly behind us, off our port, while the convoy steams across our bow on their northward leg, all ships now turning away from us, not worth a shot. I want to get them all, get rid of that escort and strike at the convoy but the angles are against us. To go for the escort, we must turn to starboard. But that means turning away from the convoy. Turn to port and our nose will stay on the convoy but we'll present our port flank to the frigate. 'LI, 50 rpm, rudder port 20.' I choose the convoy, desperately hoping that they are about to turn on a westward leg, hoping that they will soon show me their flanks. Seconds seem to last hours. Only fifteen minutes passed after Ringelmann stumbled but it seems like a hundred years, waiting. My only source of information is Klaus, his whispered reports are passed on to me in the conning tower. But I need to know more, I want to see what they are up to. I risk a peek, attack periscope up for two seconds, down again. I only got a glance but it was enough, all merchants are turning to port, back towards us. I made the right choice by going for the convoy. But the periscope gave the game away.


-Ping-


'Ahead flank! Rudder port 10! Set target speeds and angles for zero, fire on my bearings!' U-735 jumps forward while we hear gunfire. Gunfire? I do not stop to worry about that, they are not shooting at me, they are using starshells to light up the party. No use in trying to hide. 'Up periscope'. I take a quick look around. The frigate is off our port but she was facing the other way so she needs to turn around first, the other escorts are too far off to present any immediate danger. I look ahead and there is the wall of ships which I was hoping to find, the entire convoy has turned to the west as one in a disciplined and perfectly executed maneuver to prevent collisions and confusion. A fine tactic, provided that the submerged killer is diving deep to escape the escorts. But we are still here, at periscope depth, four torpedoes pointing right at them in the opened bowtubes. I do not have time to work out the speeds and ranges and angles, I'll simply have to aim ahead of them. I decide on a nine degree lead. If I miss the intended target there is every chance of another hull getting in the way of the warhead; the convoy stretches out before me, all the way to the horizon. 'Tube one, bearing 342, fire! Tube two, 356, Fire!' That was loosely aimed at two Liberties close to the center column. The flat top is right behind them, looks like a Bogue class. 'FaT slow speed, legs to port 800 meters...' 'Set!' 'Bearing 003, fire!'


The asdic pokes at us incessantly. God I hate that sound. I quickly look around at the source, the nearby escort completed her turn and is now coming straight towards me, bows pointing at me but no sign of a great foamy moustache to indicate the start of an attack run. 'Klaus! What is she doing?' 'Pinging the hell out of us, Herr Kaleun, but maintaining distance!' What? Why is she not charging into us? I had the order to dive deep already in my throat but I swallow it. The periscope has been up for far too long, doesn't matter, they know exactly where we are anyway. The pings are hitting the boat like bullets, sharp and urgent. Perhaps she maintains contact to guide in another escort? I make a full turn with the periscope but no escorts are about to charge in. So be it, I turn back to the convoy. Ore carrier in the next column. 'Tube 4, bearing 358, fire!' Four torpedoes on their way, I expect the first detonations within seconds. 'Klaus?' No need for whispers, we are running at flank speed, still slightly turning to port, making a hell of a lot of noise. Klaus calls back: 'Escort still maintaining distance, turning with us to port, she is keeping her bow pointed at us.' My eye tells me the same thing and I don't understand. Why is she not charging into us? Why is she allowing me the opportunity to strike at the convoy? Is this a trick? Some kind of new tactic? Am I running straight into a trap of some kind? Suddenly, a single word flashes through my brain and a shiver runs down my spine as I scream: 'Scheisse! Hard to starboard, dive! DIVE!'


Hedgehog, the word still lingers in my head while Hans and I scramble down from the conning tower. The needle on the depth gauge is quickly turning clockwise. As fast as the secondhand on the chronometer which Hals holds in his hand. 'Torpedoes one and two are overdue for impact, Herr Ka...' Whoom. Whoom. Two explosions rumble in the distance, some of the men can not contain an excited shout. Whoom. Torpedo number three, the carrier. The men are celebrating the hell which we unleashed on the convoy but I am waiting for another kind of explosion, much closer, an explosion which will destroy us. Sweat is dripping down from my face. 'Rudder starboard 20, keep going down as fast as you can, Anton!' We pass 100 meters, the boat is diving so steep that it is difficult to stand upright. Everyone is holding onto pipes, ladders, bulkheads, poles. 'Launch decoy.' 'Passing test depth.' 'Warship accelerating bearing 195. Attack run!' 'Hard to port!' 'Wasserbomben!' 'Passing 190 meters.' 'Level off, LI!' 'Passing 200 meters.' 'Level, come on, level off!' The commands and the feedback are shouted through the control room. The boat is sounding off a deep booming moan, we are going down too steep, too fast, too deep. But never mind that, we've been deeper than this before. The enemy is a bigger threat at the moment. The hedgehog did not get us, if it even launched at all, but now I am more concerned about the depthcharges which are on their way. 'Rudder zero' 'Boat is leveling.' 'Hold on, men!' The depthcharges start exploding, far away at first but quickly getting closer. And closer. The boat starts to shake as the sea is boiling up above us. The boat is thrown about a bit but I've seen a lot worse, no water is rushing into the boat, the lights are still on, she is still in one piece. 'Passing 220 meters.' 'Easy now, LI.' The needle stalls at 230 meters and the boat is straight and level. Good girl. 'Right, maintain 230 meters, rudder 10 port, 50 rpm.' Albert reports in: 'No damage, all compartments secure.' 'Thank you, Oberbootsmann.' Far away, we hear the fourth and last rumble of an exploding torpedo. Four torpedoes, four hits. And we survived, but this was only the start. Obersteuermann Petersen is marking the twenty-five or so charges, that first run alone takes up a quarter of the chalkboard. I put my hand on his shoulder. 'Never mind, Hals.'



The Duke

Bring on the next chapter!:up: