This is the most enjoyable reading I've done in a very long time.

It's addictive!

The sound of the diesel starting was never more gratifying. The deep rumble, the first belch of smoke. Music to our ears.

Anton and I noticed the hull rising, thanks to Heinrich blowing the ballast tanks with diesel exhaust. But our list to port increased as well. Had he added more ballast to starboard to compensate, that would have kept us low in the water, thus cutting our speed. Not acceptable.

"Poor L.I.," Anton said. "This puzzle must be driving him crazy."

I called into the voice tube, "Ahead full! Steer to new course, 340 degrees!" Even without charging the batteries, we had at least nine hours to go before reaching the relative safety of the coast. And it was less than two hours to sundown.

I wanted to relax and savor the sunshine and the gentle wind on my face. But that was impossible; the fighters had robbed me of any sense of certainty. With a nagging apprehension I went below.

Oskar was playing a jazz recording on the gramophone. "Mind turning it down a bit?" I asked. "I like jazz, too, but--"

"Of course, Herr Kaleun," he answered. "Looks like the Tommies are done with us, eh? Must be tea time on Malta."

"Tea time, ja... But while those pilots are having tea and crumpets, maybe they're being briefed for their next mission." I could just see their commander now, pointing to the wall map with the circle drawn on it.

From my locker I retrieved the latest intelligence report for the Mediterranean Theatre, issued prior to our departure from La Spezia. I re-read it, searching for a detail that caught my attention for a moment, before being swept away in the flood of last-minute preparations.

Just before the changing of the watch, I found Willi and Dietrich by their adjacent bunks. Dietrich towered over Willi like a big brother, which in effect he was, especially as a lookout. After years serving on various boats, his face was reddened and scoured by the elements. Though Dietrich's eyes were perpetually squinty from salt spray, he knew how to use them. Plus he understood the fine art of guiding a newly-hatched officer without ever appearing insubordinate.

"Thought you should see what we're up against," I said, directing their attention to the report. "Just before we left La Spezia, 272 Squadron arrived on Malta. And they brought with them the latest Beaufighters."

Anton was just coming off his watch. "Anton, you better see this, too," I said, showing them the aircraft recognition card.

"Looks a lot like the Blenheim," said Willi. The rest of his watch crew crowded around the mess table and stared at the twin-engined fighter-bomber.

"You could say it's a descendant. Only much deadlier. Packed with cannons, machine guns, and bombs. And radar, too."

"Tailor-made for killing U-boats, sounds like," said Anton.

"It can fly all the way to Napoli and back, with fuel to spare," I said. "If the Tommies are coming to deliver the coup de grâce, chances are they'll be coming in this."

Willi and his lookouts nodded gravely. Anton's watch crew made way for them in the Zentrale. As Willi started up the ladder, I told him, "The moment you see anything, call the gun crew on deck and clear the bridge at once! Understood?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun!"

Mein Gott, I thought, why isn't this kid in school??

Dietrich set his giant boot on the first rung and said, "I'll be on the port quarter, Herr Kaleun. No worries, eh?"

"No worries, eh?"

I love the understatement of it.

By this time the Aeolians were out of sight. The Tyrrhenian Sea never seemed more vast. I could not shake the feeling that some kind of reckoning was at hand -- if not for the whole crew, for myself at least.

Every man who remained with my first U-boat, U-53, was already dead. I remembered their faces vividly. All the good times we shared. We had it so much easier then, but of course we didn't see it that way. I wondered if I would be seeing them again soon.

What tormented me most in these last hours of daylight was the corrosive self-doubt and fear that I could not share with anyone aboard. Should I have diverted to Salamis, or Taranto, or Messina, when I had the chance? Did my fear of another massacre like the one at Lampedusa cloud my judgment? Or was it my pride that kept me from seeking refuge? It was too late now to change anything. Even if we had steered due east to reduce our travel time to the mainland, we would have remained deep within the combat radius of Malta's aircraft.

Can one ever fully prepare for death? Unless one is absolutely convinced of what awaits on the other side, I think not. Either the lights go out permanently, and there's no one left to suffer anything, or there is something, and someone to experience it. A big difference.

I took out my life-vest and Tauchretter and laid them on the bed. I didn't want to put on either one. There would be time enough later. And if there wasn't enough...

"ALAAARRRMMMM!!! GUN CREW ON DECK!!!"

"ALL HANDS TO BATTLE-STATIONS!!!"

Despite the bell-ringing, there was no crash-dive stampede. I jumped into the Zentrale and saw the lookouts drop in, one after the other. Dietrich landed heavily on the deck plate, still wearing his dark glasses.

"Aircraft in the sun!" he panted, pointing west. Above us, Willi pulled down the upper hatch, out of habit.

"Leave it open!" I yelled. "I'm coming up!"

Without waiting for him, I raced up the ladder. To make way, he crammed himself between the TDC and the attack periscope. The poor kid was terrified, but I had no time for him. I put on my sunglasses and climbed up onto the bridge.

As Anton and his gun crew prepared the deck gun for firing, I called down the hatch to Heinrich, "Ahead maximum speed! L.I., give me everything she's got! Rudder, hard to port! Steer to new course 240!" By aiming off the starboard bow, we would make the port list work for us!

The plane was still just a speck, flying low, almost obscured by the blinding sun. Its crew surely had no trouble seeing us, though.

Anton signaled to me; the gun was loaded and ready. The crew pointed it towards the sun and cranked up the elevation.

"OPEN FIRE!" I yelled. The first shot blasted out with a tongue of flame. I wasn't waiting to ID the plane. We had anticipated an attack out of the sun. Our tactic was to fill the air with shells and pray. At this range, a direct hit would've been a miracle.

Time seemed to slow down. I heard every clank of the gun as the breech opened, the smoking brass hit the deck, and the loader slammed in a new shell. The layer pulled the firing lever and BOOM! Four seconds, at most.

Another shot. Then another. And another. I couldn't even see the splashes. The plane continued its approach. Given the absence of mid-air flak bursts, I wondered if the pilot even knew he was being fired upon!

Shading my eyes from the glare, I tried to make out the plane's shape. By now I could just see the twin engine nacelles. A Beaufighter, of course. Our gunners frantically cranked the elevation to keep up.

As our shells zoomed uselessly in the Beaufighter's general direction, I saw the plane bank; a slight course change. Going for our bow. Anton and the gunners! I shook like a leaf. It was Lampedusa all over again.

Please, Lieber Gott, not them! Take me, but spare them! Their lives haven't even begun yet!

Our gun was nearly at maximum elevation, still firing to no avail. Stricken with dread, I stared at the incoming plane, just beyond the sun's disc and easier to see now. At its new angle of attack, something seemed odd. Through my binoculars, I saw the plane's protruding nose.

Mein Gott, it's an engine! A trimotor!

"CEASE FIRE!!!" I waved my arms overhead and yelled until Anton got the message and stopped the layer from firing again.

The plane banked further to cross our path. Now its unique shape was clearly recognizable.

"It's Italian!" I called to the gun crew. The Sparviero droned by, its port engine sputtering. Battle damage, perhaps. They just want to get home, too, I thought. Buona Fortuna.

Through the cockpit window the pilot made an emphatic gesture to us, but at this distance, the intended meaning was unclear.

Anton shook his fist and bellowed, "IDIOTS!! WE COULD'VE KILLED YOU!!!"

Suddenly I had to lean against the bridge and catch my breath. Too much for one day!

i just had to laugh at how intense reading that was to me, was literally glued to the screen!
:yeah:

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

I heard the men below laugh and cry out as the news spread from bow to stern. We were all giddy with relief.

"Italian?!" "Ja, Italian!!" "Gott sei Dank!!"

Willi poked his head up through the hatch. "Herr Kaleun? Everything all right?" I must've looked like a wreck.

I nodded, pulled myself together and ordered, "Gun crew, stand down! Watch crew, on the bridge!" Then, into the voice tube, "Resume previous course! Ahead full!"

On re-entering the Zentrale I announced, "Swimming's been cancelled, meine Herren."

Rolf and Heinrich gladly doffed their life-vests; the rest of the men followed their lead. Everyone felt it: we had a new lease on life.

"What on Earth were those Italians thinking, coming at us like that?!" Heinrich asked.

"Their plane was damaged," I said. "They didn't have the luxury of taking the long way round."

"No one got hurt, that's the important thing," said Rolf.

Peering forward through the open hatches, I saw Anton relating the tale blow-by-blow to a rapt audience of Unteroffiziere. Complete with the Italian pilot's rude gesture; at least that's how Anton saw it. The men split their sides laughing.

"I guess we're a lucky boat, eh?" I said to Rolf. He nodded.

We continued undisturbed for the rest of the evening. After dinner, when we finally reached the coast, I went to the radio shack. Oskar had just put a polka record on the gramophone. He lifted the needle when I switched on the intercom mike.

"Well done, men," I said. "The Tommies used all their tricks, but they still couldn't sink us. Even the Regia Aeronautica couldn't sink us!" Laughter and cheers burst out.

"If we've been lucky on this patrol," I added, "I doubt it's due to rabbit's feet or anything like that. I can only conclude that the luck comes from you, meine Herren. You're the finest crew I've ever served with. Danke."

I heard applause from fore and aft. Oskar gave me a thumbs-up. His smiling eyes flicked towards the Bugraum, as a hint. Of course, I hadn't forgotten.

"Ja, meine Herren, it's time..."

http://www.thomas-loderer.com/fotogr...Becks_Bier.jpg

The final 500 kilometers of our journey to La Spezia were fortunately uneventful, with only sporadic sightings of Italian fishing boats and merchant vessels.

Though every passing hour brought us closer to safety, my nerves steadily deteriorated. The nightmares were even worse than those I'd had right after Lampedusa, which made me afraid to sleep. Lying awake in my bunk, for the first time I suffered intense claustrophobia. To look up at the curved wood paneling made me feel I was inside a coffin.

Deprived of sleep, I became lightheaded and hypersensitive. When a crewman dropped a spanner on the deck, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Everyone tried not to notice my shameful condition. Had I been seen on a city street, I could have been mistaken for an alcoholic tramp.

I had to carry on, pretending as best I could that I was still fit to command. The next night, during one of my frequent visits to the bridge to escape my tomb, Rolf finally whispered to me, "Herr Kaleun, I'd be glad to take on some of your duties until we reach La Spezia."

"I'm fine, Rolf," I said with barely-suppressed rage. "Mind your own duties! You'll have your chance to command soon enough!" I regretted my outburst, but I didn't apologize.

I knew something was broken inside. When I shut my eyes, all the horrors I had ever witnessed and imagined swept over me like a rogue wave. I wanted to believe that all I needed was a long furlough.

One vision sustained me during that interminable night before our return to La Spezia. Standing under the full moon, I imagined her beside me, on a balcony overlooking the calm, glittering sea, in a world finally at peace.

It was not Eva I was thinking of.

After breakfast the next morning we came upon a minesweeper south of the harbour. We announced ourselves by Varta-lamp, then drew alongside to communicate by megaphone. They radioed the base about our impending arrival and escorted us the rest of the way.

Our four victory pennants could not be displayed in the usual way; both periscopes were jammed in the down position, and the Wintergarten railing and flagpole had been blown off. Still, we managed to string up the pennants from the DF loop antenna to the deck gun.

Given our severely damaged decking, I decided against having the men stand on it for the cruise into port. As we approached the breakwater, Heinrich joined me on the bridge.

"I hardly ever see you up here, L.I."

"We're home, Herr Kaleun. That's reason enough," he said. "Sorry I couldn't fix this port list."

"Doesn't matter now. They'll take care of it in drydock."

"If we were based in Kiel or Lorient, and we brought the boat home in this condition, they'd say, 'It's totaled, forget the refit! We'll get you a new boat, fresh from the shipyard. Better for everyone that way.'"

"That's not going to happen here," I said.

He shook his head ruefully. "Not in La Spezia. No new boat for us. We'll fix this wreck and send it out again and again and again... till it doesn't come back."

"Ja, ja... She'll need a lot of inspection and testing. You've got your work cut out for you."

"I'm still taking my furlough, of course," said Heinrich. "Don't want to go crazy, you know." He glanced at me again, instantly regretting his choice of words.

"You and me both, Heinrich."

it would be awesome if someone could illustrate all this! would make an excellent short story

The first sign that we might not be receiving the standard heroes' welcome was the crowd's initial reaction. As we drew closer to the dock, the spectators who had been cheering and waving suddenly stopped and stared. Jaws dropped. They had not expected to see such a mutilated U-boat. It took them only a moment to snap out of it and resume their hearty greetings. The press photographers were discreetly hustled away.

Fritz Frauenheim, our Flotilla Chief, did not come aboard once he saw there was almost no deck to stand on. It hardly mattered; our men were more than eager to come ashore. The hunger in their eyes was plain to everyone. The thanks of a grateful nation was always appreciated, of course. But upon their first glimpse of female flesh in weeks, they had no need for the formalities. A quick wash and change of clothes, then look out, La Spezia! They didn't call us the Grey Wolves for nothing!

"Menschenkinder!" Fritz exclaimed as he shook my hand. He couldn't take his eyes off the demolished conning tower behind us. "Your boat!"

"We, uh, ran into a little trouble," I said.

Fritz sighed and glanced at Kptlt. Erich Zürn, the Flotilla Engineering Officer beside him. Zürn's critical eye was already tallying up the damages. "Welcome home, Ullmann," he said with a forced smile.

"Jawohl! Glad to have you back!" said Fritz with renewed vigor. "Let's get you cleaned up, eh? There'll be a party for you in the Officers Club!"

To be back on terra firma was a bizarre sensation, but one that I always associated with coming home. Wobbling on my sea legs, I laughed like a drunkard on my way to the officers' barracks. A long hot shower, a nap, a fresh uniform, and I felt almost human again. Though I never believed that any Divine Being would lower Himself to take sides in this ghastly war, I felt like thanking someone for my life. So Gott sei Dank!

"Where are all the U-boatmen?" asked Anton, helping himself to a glass of prosecco. The Officers Club was less crowded than we'd ever seen it; the vast majority of those present were base personnel, in the company of the alluring local women.

Fritz piled his plate with Italian delicacies from the buffet. "Eight of our boats are still on patrol, near Algeria. Everyone else is on leave."

"Any news about U-331?" I asked.

"The Tommies rescued 17 men, including von Tiesenhausen," said Fritz. "He's wounded, but expected to recover."

"Now he gets a free ticket to England," I said. "What a shame."

"Ja, just like Baur. At least most of his crew survived."

Rolf joined us. "Herr Kapitänleutnant, is it true that our boat was the only one patrolling east of Tunisia?"

Fritz nodded. "Sorry you missed out on Algeria. But we needed a diversion."

From behind me came a jolly slap on the back. "Good job, Ullmann!" It was Kptlt. Gunter Jahn, our flotilla's newest member. "You beat me this time!"

"What do you mean?" I asked. Gunter and Fritz snickered. Clearly I was still in a post-patrol haze, or else his meaning would have been obvious.

Our musical entertainment was provided by three identically-dressed young women who sang in close harmony, like an Italian version of the Andrews Sisters. As they say, you had to be there. We didn't understand a word, but we showered them with lusty adoration anyway.

"You know, they sound just like the Trio Lescano," said Heinrich between bites of prosciutto. "Pity, what happened to those girls."

"Absurd is more like it!" I muttered. Like the Comedian Harmonists in Germany, the Lescano sisters were banned in Italy, their careers ruined -- all because of their Jewish mother. Fritz's expression had a diplomatic tightness, but by this time I was too drunk to care.

After the singers took their bows and departed, Kptlt. Zürn took the stage. Finally I realized what Gunter had meant by his earlier remark.

"Meine Dame und Herren!" announced Zürn. "By unanimous decision of the 29th Flotilla Engineering Department, this month's Wreck Prize is hereby awarded to... Kptlt. Peter Ullmann, U-77!!! Let's give him a big hand!!!"

Thunderous applause, whistles and cheers. With my best fake smile and a beer in my hand, I stepped up to accept der Wrackpreis des Monats, a battered trophy cup engraved with the names of its previous recipients. Half of whom were already dead. Paulssen. Friederich. Neumann. Becker. Schütze. But of course we couldn't let that spoil our fun! We were thumbing our noses at Death, after all.

Having witnessed the ceremony before, I knew my part:

"I'm sure I don't deserve this award. Shouldn't we wait for the other boats to return from patrol first?"

"Ullmann, if any boat were more kaputt than yours, it would be at the bottom of the Med! Accept it, you've won!!"

"All right then, if you insist. Danke schön. At least now you guys will have something to keep you busy, eh?!"

"Ach, ja! We're thrilled beyond words!" said Zürn, holding back tears. "How honored we are, with eight boats due to return soon, that against insurmountable odds you brought your wreck allll the way home for us to repair, when you could've just scuttled her off the coast!" The audience fell into hysterics. Even Heinrich spat his beer, he laughed so hard.

I examined the dented trophy in my hand. Our macabre front-line humor required each recipient to add some "battle damage" to the Wrackpreis, here on stage. After having passed through the hands of ten drunken, half-crazed skippers, it actually did resemble our boat!

I summoned Rolf, who fetched me a pistol. I set the trophy down and shot a hole clean through it (and the stage). The Wrackpreis tumbled end-over-end, and the crowd went wild! The jazz band started playing. I guzzled my beer and laughed like a maniac. I realized, these people are insane. We're all insane!

At some point, before I passed out, Fritz said, "Ullmann, you will come to my office tomorrow at 1330 for your debriefing. Klar?"

Nice of him to let me sleep it off, I thought. But his tone hinted that this might not be a pleasant meeting.

"Three months??!!"

"Don't act so surprised," said Fritz, leaning back in his chair. "You know we must give priority to the less damaged boats, to get the maximum number operational as quickly as possible."

He was right, of course. What was particularly galling was that he was enjoying my frustration, or so it seemed to me.

"What'll I do for the two months after my furlough?"

Fritz admired his panoramic view of the harbour. "I'm sure we'll find you a job around here. Or I might lend you to FdU in Rome."

"And my crew? What about them?"

"Well, there's your silver lining. Everyone will go back for additional training. You'll have a better crew, and a better boat, too. I assume you want the latest improvements."

"More flak guns," I said. "The 37 mm guns."

"Ask me for those next summer," he replied. "What I can offer you now are some 12.7 mm Bredas."

"Italian machine guns?"

"They're actually quite good. Our engineers have fabricated special mounts for them, so they're compact and streamlined when stowed."

"I'll take two, plus the 20 mm Zwillings," I said.

"Done. And the FaT torpedoes? They're finally here, but we'll need to modify two of the forward tubes for them."

"Ja, let's do it. The boat's being rebuilt anyway."

Fritz smiled. He knew I wouldn't like what was coming.

"Your 1WO Leutnant Blum will transfer to Pillau for commander's school, as you recommended. But I need three more men to transfer from your crew."

He had his pen ready to take down the names. "Ullmann, if you don't pick them--"

"Ja ja, all right," I said. "Matrosengefreiter Lindner..."

Fritz started writing. "Experience, Ullmann. Otherwise, what's the point?"

"Matrosenobergefreiter Russbild..."

He nodded and kept writing. "And an Unteroffizier... Come on, we all must make sacrifices."

Easy for him to say! This was like pulling my own teeth out. "Bootsmann Risse."

"Sehr gut. Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" He smiled again.

At the dentist's, this would be my cue to rinse my mouth and spit. Of course Fritz wasn't done with me yet, not by a long shot.

He leafed through my logbook. "On your return via Greece, you had the option of putting in at Salamis for repairs. Why didn't you?"

I replied, "They could not have made our boat battle-ready again, not without weeks of work."

"Oh, but they could have replaced your radio antenna easily," Fritz said. "Possibly your radar detector as well. Given your situation, you should've had these repairs done before crossing the Ionian."

"As I see it, the fact that we could not use the radio may have saved our lives!"

He smirked as if I were delusional. "So, you know better than our scientists, eh? Let me tell you what they think: the Allies have some kind of long-range sensor to pick up our boats' infrared emissions--"

"You've got to be kidding! Why should they bother with that when they have radar?! Don't you see?! It's us!! We're giving ourselves away with our constant radio reports!!"

"Enough, Ullmann! What concerns me is the reasoning behind your decision. I suspect it had more to do with Lampedusa than anything else. Admit it, you were afraid of ending up like Becker!"

He had me cornered. Without warning I flinched, as if I had touched a live wire.

"Chilly in here, isn't it?" I said. Fritz wasn't fooled for a moment. His sudden attempt at sympathy wasn't very convincing either, but I wasn't about to stop him.

"Peter, you're a gifted commander, and I'd hate to lose you," he said. "But it's time for you to think about your career beyond the front line."

"I'm all right, really. I just need some rest."

"Ja ja, of course. But listen to me anyway." He laid a hand on his mahogany desktop. "This may look like just a desk to you, but in fact it's my life raft. I earned it."

"I never said you didn't."

"But do you understand how I got here? I'll give you a hint: it wasn't just my tonnage or my seniority."

"Oh, I get the picture."

"Do you? Anyone can see you're turning into one of the Kaputtenhelden, like Becker. If you plan to stay on front-line boats, you'll need a thicker hull." He tapped the side of his head.

"I doubt Engineering can make me one of those," I replied.

"Then start pulling strings, Peter. There aren't enough life rafts to go around."

Awesome.

For those of you who've never tried it, lemme just say that writing believable, natural sounding dialogue is usually one of the most difficult things to accomplish. A lot of people who get paid big, big bucks to do just that can barely manage it on a good day.

We are getting to read it FOR FREE.

:woot: :rock: :salute:

[Vielen Dank, Frau Kaleun! That made my day. I will have something to say on that subject. But first...]

In the officers' locker room, I packed my clothes and collected my mail. There were three letters from Eva, four from my parents, and a slew of Weihnachtskarten from friends and relatives in Germany and France. The sight of these letters briefly lifted my spirits; this room was a somber place, given the number of lockers that had been emptied out. Those lockers would not be reassigned, at least not till next year.

Lt. Ludwig Brugger came in, pushing a mailroom cart. Luddi, as we called him, was a relic of the Kaiserliche Marine, whose destiny it was to run La Spezia's mailroom. To him fell the thankless task of collecting personal effects and sending them to the next of kin.

Luddi got out his master key and opened the lockers of U-595's officers. No one had heard from them for three weeks, and we assumed the worst.

I asked, "Na, Luddi, what's the news?"

He laid Kptlt. Quaet-Faslem's duffle bag in the cart. "U-595 went down off the Algerian coast. The whole crew survived, but they got captured by the Amerikaners."

That made three boats gone. And Faslem had just broken through the Strait of Gibraltar. None of us had even met him!

"Ironic, ja?" said Luddi. "Their things made it here, but they didn't. Mensch... Faslem's got a wife and two kids at home."

I imagined his poor wife opening the door and seeing our messenger with his bag. She'd probably break down on the spot.

"Luddi, can you give me his home address? I'll write to his wife."

"Certainly, Herr Kaleun. I'll just be a minute." Luddi removed the bag of Oblt. von Mirbach, U-595's L.I.

Just as Luddi wheeled his cart out, Rolf entered; he saw the bags in it.

"Dead?" he asked.

"Captured by the Amis," I said. "All of them."

Rolf sighed, opened his locker and started packing. "At least they're alive. I pity them and their families, though. Especially with the holidays coming."

"Rolf, what I said to you earlier, on the boat... It wasn't personal, and it wasn't professional, either... I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Herr Kaleun. We were under a lot of stress."

I nodded. Our eyes drifted to the empty lockers. "You're sure you still want to go through with this?"

"I've made it this far," he said. "There's no way I'll turn back now!"

"I felt the same when I was in your position." But that was another time, when one rarely saw the lockers being emptied. At that moment I realized Rolf was a different sort of creature; or perhaps the war had changed him.

His eyes gleamed. "To be honest, I'm looking forward to more action."

Luddi returned with his cart empty. He handed me a slip of paper with Faslem's address. "Danke, Luddi," I said. "I might not see you till after the Neujahr, so Frohe Weihnachten."

"Frohe Weihnachten, Herr Kaleun. One more thing. This letter just arrived..."

I recognized the handwriting, slipped the letter in my pocket, and closed my locker. "Na, Rolf, where are you taking your leave? Viareggio?"

He shook his head. "I've seen enough U-boat resorts. This is my last chance to see the real Italy. I'm going to Roma, Firenze, and Venezia, then home for the holidays. And you?"

"I haven't decided yet. I might spend a few days in Milano, and then... wander."

"A noble German tradition," he said, breaking into song. "Das Wandern ist des Müllers Lust..."

I joined in: "Das Wandern ist des Müllers Lust, Das Wa-an-dern!" We were like boys at school again, ready to go on holiday.

"Frohe Weihnachten, Rolf," I said, shaking his hand. "Mach's gut."

"Frohe Weihnachten, Herr Kaleun. It's been an honor to serve with you. And don't worry, things will turn around for us next year. You'll see." We saluted, and off he went.

While Luddi collected the bags of U-595's 1WO and 2WO, I opened the letter in my pocket. It was from Oberst Brandt, my handler in the Abwehr. As I was not officially in his chain of command, he cordially "invited" me to his office in Milano for a meeting. It was, of course, the kind of invitation that one never refused.

The La Spezia Centrale station teemed with Italian and German sailors departing on leave or returning to duty. While checking the schedule board, I spotted Rebholz, Dietrich, and Bischoff in a compartment of a southbound train. We waved goodbye to each other as their train pulled out. Off to Viareggio, most likely.

I once visited the seaside villa reserved for our personnel down in Viareggio. Much like the ones in France, it was an idyllic self-contained fantasyland, complete with an imitation Bavarian tavern. All the gourmet food you could eat. Huge luxurious rooms with sweeping views. Female visitors permitted, of course. I used to think these resorts were heaven on earth. But I couldn't go back now.

I worried about Rolf. After everything we had endured together... Somehow the perils of combat that were eroding my sanity had become his favorite stimulant. I'd met such men before, but I never understood them. "Things will turn around for us next year. You'll see." And this was an intelligent man!

Waiting in the bar for the train to Milano, I had a glass of vino rosso with some bread and cheese. I opened Eva's letters and started reading. Like her parents, Eva used custom stationery emblazoned with the von Kleist coat of arms. For a woman of her class, subtlety was a virtue; one often had to read between the lines.

Compared to her nearly poetic letters last summer, I saw a gradual but unmistakable shift to a more mundane, diplomatic tone. No overt declaration of breaking up, but I grasped her key points without an Enigma machine. From her most recent letter:

"Lately my father has been introducing me to his younger associates in the Danzig shipping industry, including, of course, our Kriegsmarine liaisons. They are not all crashing bores, Gott sei Dank.

"For example, Kapitän zur See Schröder, who, though not exactly young in my view, is certainly bright and entertaining company. For obvious reasons, I cannot describe here precisely what changes are forthcoming. But rest assured that if (I mean, when!) our Type VII boats are better next year, he will deserve much of the credit.

"You are sorely missed here, of course. My father has pointed out that the warmth and sensuality of Italy might delay your return. As I am reminded of that book you love so dearly, 'The Odyssey', I wonder now if Odysseus ever explained his long absence to Penelope -- and if she believed him.

"Well, I must go now -- the Women's Auxiliary has to collect and sort donated clothing for our brave soldiers on the Ostfront. Tschuss, meine Liebe."

Ach... Time for another glass of wine.

im still checking twice a day for a new post, these are great! :yeah: