Hi MantiBrutalis,

Just to say thanks for your story :up: This is nice to read.

Goog luck for exam !

Radio message 0817/07, 7th March 1941, 08:17.

To BdU: Clear sky, sea very harsh. Sank SS Wear (2228 tons), CF8919. 2 seamen second class picked up, interrogated. 10 torpedoes remaining, unable to load externals due to weather. Sea condition does not allow further operation. 8 out of 10 torpedoes failed. Requesting new orders. - U-104 -




Radio message 0841/07, 7th March 1941, 08:41.

To U-104: Proceed to Canary Islands for refitting. Increase torpedo maintenance rate. Non-officer prisoners unimportant, permission to let them go when possible granted. Report after 24 hours. - BdU -

Diary of Manfred Bollmann, 8th March 1941, 00:52, U-104 “Lucky Halibut”, 300km northwest of Madeira.

Yesterday we finally found a ship to sink and we did, although it cost us four more torpedoes. Damn useless torpedoes, failing so often this patrol. We had to take two British survivors on board, there was not a single working lifeboat for them. These two visitors and the fact that the sea decided to kill us is really sinking the crew’s morale.

The sea became our enemy. We spend most of the time underwater, since the waves slow us down, threaten to damage the boat or injure the watch. They also steer us away a lot, so we have to constantly adjust our course. Course to Canary Islands! It isn’t freezing now, but still, Canary Islands should be a warm paradise. We will probably stay there a few days to check everything on the boat, reload and store the extra provisions. Not that the quality of the resources matter with our cook, he makes horrible stuff. Also, we could dump our British friends there, although the captain hopes that we could place them on a lifeboat of the next ship we sink.

Anyway, back to reality. We are making less than 5 knots on average now. And we will really need to recharge our batteries soon, or we could be trapped in one place for a looong time. The sea can stay this way for a lot longer. We are surfacing for fresh air every couple of hours, but only for a brief moment. Recharging batteries could take a few hours. That is going to be unpleasant.



Note - Bollmann's diary acts like a recap lately, or as a tool to skip times when nothing's happening. Sometimes I feel it is a hindrance to tell the part of the story twice. Maybe I shouldn't continue with the diary. Maybe Bollmann should die... :hmm2: Just to justify the end of the diary. Any ideas/suggestions?

Radio message 0113/08, 8th March 1941, 01:13.

To BdU: Convoy sighted, DH1394, 6 knots, course 20. 20+ ships, 4+ destroyers. Small and medium cargos, 2+ tankers. Sea harsh, but we can shadow. Standing by for orders. - U-107 -



Radio message 0119/08, 8th March 1941, 01:19.

To U-107: Shadow convoy, report every hour. Await reinforcements.
To U-83, U-104: Intercept large convoy, DH1394, 6 knots, course 20. Report position every two hours. Report upon contact with convoy. Permission to engage not granted. - BdU -
 




As experienced by captain Georg Braun, 8th March 1941, 01:21, U-104 “Lucky Halibut”, 300km northwest of Madeira.

Jürgen Kriegshammer scratched his bearded chin before looking again at the charts. For the last two minutes, he has been drawing lines, circles and triangles far more complex that what they taught us at the Academy. I’d like to say I understand his creations, but I can’t. Half the stuff there has no meaning for me. But now we are running out of time to ask unnecessary questions, we dived to 20 meters just to be able to draw this.

I begin to lose my patience: “So?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters, “we might be able to get there in time. The convoy is 200 kilometers west of –“ he pauses as our submerged boat’s cracking sounds reminds us of its fragility “– west of us. Eight hours to this intercept.”
“Why can’t we make for this closer intercept?” I point at a different line on the paper.
“We’re not fast enough. We have to head a bit more ahead of them if we plan to make it. Even then, we have to do at least 8 knots on average,” Jürgen rests his head against the wall.
“Another IXB type shadows the convoy, which means they can do more than 6 knots. The Lucky Halibut isn’t just some IXB, it is the best one. It will not be beaten by another.”

Jürgen raises his eyebrows. To this point I have never accepted the name of this boat. After a brief pause, he nods: “Hard to starboard. Prepare to surface the boat. Ahead flank. We have a sea to tame and a meeting to catch.”

As experienced by doctor Fritz Matuszak, 8th March 1941, 05:03, U-104 “Lucky Halibut”, closing on convoy SL-67.

This wound doesn’t look good, I think to myself.
The owner of this bloodied and torn arm, the chief engineer Peter Zeisller, nervously asks: “Come on, patch me up already. I need to check the port engine’s oil now!”
I avert my eyes from his arm to look at him: “Do you want your arm or not? I can let you go, you can lose your arm.”
“Whatever, just do it fast. The engines don’t operate themselves, not when strained this much.”
“If you don’t hold still for a moment, there won’t be a chief engineer to do it.”
“Yeah, sorry. But the sea calmed a bit, we can still make it in time.”
“Right… Sure…”

Lucky Halibut cuts through the harsh sea, battling it, metal moaning with stress. I can’t stitch in these conditions, bandages have to do it for now. At least he won’t bleed to death. I start working as soon as the boat rams through the next wave. Nothing is falling off the walls in the entire boat anymore. What did fall off was fastened where it ended up. This entire boat was a mess now, but it is still bravely fighting the sea in this mad race to battle.

“Done?”
“For now. Take it easy, you could still easily lose it.”
“Thanks, doc,” he trails away through the boat.

Lot of injuries in these conditions, mainly the watchboys. Nothing too serious yet, but that might come sooner than I’d like.
“Next!”

Radio message 0748/08, 8th March 1941, 07:48.

To BdU: Convoy report, CF8891, 4 knots, course 20. 30+ ships. - U-107 -



Radio message 0756/08, 8th March 1941, 07:56.

To BdU: Developed engine problems due to sea conditions. Unable to intercept convoy. Port engine not operational. – U-83 –



Radio message 0803/08, 8th March 1941, 08:03.

To U-83, U-104, U-107: Escort reinforcements reported from north. ETA 10 hours.
To U-83: Abort pursuit. Safely proceed to CF8891, permission to engage ships breaking off the convoy granted. Leave the area before 14:00.
To U-107: Attack immediately. Leave the area before 16:00.
To U-104: Attack immediately upon arrival. Leave the area before 16:00. - BdU -

As experienced by captain Georg Braun, 8th March 1941, 10:17, U-104 “Lucky Halibut”, engaging convoy SC-67.

This waiting will kill me. I am looking through the periscope for an hour and half already! And I can’t see bloody nothing over these high waves. Max stopped trying to count the ships; he says there is just a giant wall of noise on our entire left side. But the periscope is under the water half the time, and I don’t want to raise the boat more, the tower could emerge between the waves. The visibility is perfect, the enemy could spot us so easily. We’re taking 10 minute shifts with Jürgen at the periscope. It’s his turn now.

Just as I prepare to relax for a while and let Jürgen take the periscope, a broadside of a destroyer emerges above the waves.
I immediately report my sightings to Jürgen: “Destroyer, V class, dead ahead. 1000 meters. AOB 90, going slow.”
“That means the convoy is right on top of us. Anything else?”
I turn the periscope to our left side to check: “I think I can see smoke.”
Jürgen chuckles: “Let’s start hunting.”

Patience is a virtue http://www.psionguild.org/forums/ima...ies/pirate.gif

As experienced by captain Georg Braun, 8th March 1941, 10:40, U-104 “Lucky Halibut”, engaging convoy SC-67.

We hear last of the four torpedoes leave the tube to meet the Inneroy, a Norwegian tanker.

“Ahead flank, hard to starboard.”

There are only a few small ships behind us, so I intend to turn around and shoot our stern tubes at a tanker following the Inneroy. It also means we could be heard miles away, but I will risk it. The sea is bad enough to conceal us and the torpedo trails. Also, it appears that U-107 did score a few hits; two smaller ships are quite low in the water and there seems to be a strange gap in the convoy’s columns left of us. On top of that, I can’t see any of the escorts, but one can hardly be sure in these waves.

An explosion interrupts my efforts to identify the second tanker. I look at my stopwatch. “Premature.”
“Another,” Jürgen mutters.
I return my focus on our current prey: “British Captain.”
“What?”
“The name of the ship, write it down.”
“Silly Tommies,” Jürgen adds as he notes the name.

I shift the periscope back to the Inneroy, the remaining three torpedoes should be arriving any time now. A wave swallows the periscope as the explosion goes off. It takes a few seconds for the wave to pass and when it finally does, I witness the second torpedo arrive right in the middle of the Inneroy. The first one probably hit it somewhere under its first mast. The third one arrives dozen seconds later under the smokestack.

“Well this one is done,” I say as burning oil leaks from the breaches and engulfs the Inneroy in a hellish inferno.
“Let’s send the British Captain down too.”



@ Jimbuna: Time goes by very quickly when you want to sink two tanker which you can barely see...

As experienced by Richard Manfold, probably 8th March, German U-boat.

There is a sudden whizzing noise. I don’t like that noise, but all we can do is look at the always closed curtain of our bed. Nothing else, just the nerve racking whizzing. Then metal cries loudly, being torn in half, the boat shaking violently. Suddenly it stops and the whizz leaves somewhere. I try to listen to what happens next. No screams, that’s good. Flowing water? That is not good. A lot of water, too! I can’t scream, because my mouth is bound. And we are tied to the piping! Water begins to appear on our bed. It is fast. I pull the rope on my arms, but it doesn’t care. I try to get as high as I can, the water is getting higher every second. This will be the end.

A pair of hands shakes me into consciousness: “Wake up. You need to move.”
I jerk up in panic, but the pair of hands holds me firmly. I realize I am staring into Manfred’s eyes while panting heavily though the gag in my mouth. Stupid nightmare!
“Shh,” come from Manfred, as he unties our hands while someone else covers our eyes. Then we are led somewhere, lots of noises behind us. The Germans probably need something below our bed. Someone makes me sit against a wall, another body being placed just beside me.

Manfred’s voice comes again: “You will return to bed soon. Rest now.”
I would like to reply. I would like to ask. I need to know what day is it, what time is it, where are we…

With my eyes out of the way, my other senses sharpen. As my sleepiness finally wears off, I suddenly realize what is wrong in here. Explosion after explosion in the distance. One after another, just a few seconds between them! We are under attack! Or are we attacking?

As experienced by Max Wermuth, 8th March 1941, 12:02, U-104 “Lucky Halibut”, behind convoy SC-67.

The ruckus made by loading our last few torpedoes has finally ended. Manfred stands up to lead our British friends back to their place, while I have a much better chance to grasp what is happening 50 meters above us.

One of the tankers is still blazing at 340, but the explosions are almost gone. Just a few here and there. The fire must be enormous to be heard down here. Also, from time to time, a single engine makes itself heard at the direction of the fire. I wonder if there is still someone alive and waiting for rescue. There is a lonely ship at 255, probably an escort based on its speed. The rest of the convoy passed us, I can hear them all the way from 0 to 30 degrees.

“Ahead slow. Course 160,” the captain’s whisperings travel through the boat.

We slowly start turning right, I remember the number 340. I need a reference point when we’re turning, it can get confusing. The tanker on fire isn’t going anywhere and is quite loud – the best solid point I can wish for. As always when changing course, one must promptly check what was right behind him, as we can’t hear what’s at 160 to 200 degrees. I listen for the 160 – the edge of what can be heard behind. Nothing. Unsurprising, there shouldn’t be anyone. There was nothing an hour ago, and ships don’t fall from the sky.

I can hear someone approaching from the command room. No need to look, the captain is easily distinguishable. He has a special aura around him all the time.

“How’s it going?” a whispered question comes.
“We’re fine. They have no idea.”
“Where are the esc-“ “Ships fall from the sky,” I interrupt him.
“What?”
“Two merchants, right behind us. Very slow… Coming right at us.”
“Range?”
“Maybe a kilometer, God knows in these conditions.”

The captains thinks for a few seconds before saying: “Ahead standard, periscope depth. Rudder amidships”
As he begins to leave I add: “Sir, they are probably quite small.”
He chuckles: “We are going to rearm at Canaries, we better use up every fish we have now.”

~~~Not part of the story~~~

Another fun historical fact time! Yaay!

U-83 and U-107 both made a brief appearance in the story, so let’s learn a little basic info about them. (Both U-boats were picked at random, U-83 wasn’t even anywhere close to convoy SC-67)

U-83 was a VIIB type, for a brief time stationed with 1st Flotilla at Brest, active there from June to December 1941. In middle of December 1941, she successfully transferred to 23rd Flotilla in the Mediterranean (later in 1942 transferred to 29th Flotilla, still the Med). The U-83 wasn’t very successful, during her 12 war patrols and 273 days at sea, she sunk close to 18 000 tons of shipping. U-83 met its fate on 4th March 1943, south-east of the Spanish coast, delivered by a British Hudson of the RAF. All 50 men died.





U-107 was a IXB type of the 2nd Flotilla based at Lorient. She served 4 skippers in 13 war patrols, staying whopping 749 days at sea (some patrols took over 3 months). As you probably guessed from the number of skippers and war patrols, she was very successful. She sank 37 ships, totalling over 207 000 GRT. As many other U-boats stationed in French bases, it was sunk in the Bay of Biscay. On 18th August 1944, the U-107 was sunk by a British Sunderland, all 58 men dead.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedi...t%2C_U-107.jpg
U-107 at Lorient, 1941





The convoy SC-67 departed from Freetown on 1st March 1941 and arrived at Liverpool on 26th the same month. It started with 57 merchants and 8 escorts. It was attacked by U-105 and U-124 on 8th March west of Mauritania. The attack claimed 5 merchants from the convoy with nearly 30 000 tons. On 10th March, somewhere around the Canary Islands, the convoy was reinforced by the battlecruiser HMS Renown of the Force H, and the aircraft carrier HMS Ark Royal. The Force H and the HMS Ark Royal were ordered to search for the battleships Scharnhorst and Gneisenau around Canary Islands on 8th March, while reinforcing nearby convoys. The HMS Renown and HMS Ark Royal were sent to SC-67 to discourage additional attacks by U-boats.

Tankers SS British Captain and M/T Innerøy were both part of the convoy SC-67, but neither was lost during that cruise. SS British Captain had 6968 tons and sank on 2nd December 1941 after hitting a mine close to eastern coasts of Britain. M/T Innerøy was sunk by U-553 on its way from Bermuda to Halifax on 22nd January 1942. The tanker had 8260 tons.


When encountering the convoy in the game, I chose the SC-67 due to its relative proximity, merchant and escort numbers in real life. In reality, the convoy arrived at the point of my virtual attack few days later. I also (to a certain degree) included the reinforcements of the Force H. The names of the tankers were established immediately upon their sinking, based on their nationalities and tonnage (actually, the SS British Captain weights exactly the same as in the game, while the M/T Innerøy is off by just a few hundred tons)

Sources:
en.wikipedia.org
uboat.net
www.convoyweb.org.uk
www.wrecksite.eu
www.warsailors.com

If you like these fast facts, please, let me know. I could do more on the featured HMS Walpole, SS Wear and other encountered vessels.

Diary of Manfred Bollmann, 8th March 1941, 14:24, U-104 “Lucky Halibut”, few miles southeast of convoy SC-67.

A lot happened in the past hours. We received an order to assist in attacking a convoy 200 kilometers away from us. It was a mad race across the raging sea. And it bruised the Lucky Halibut and its crew quite badly. We have a lot of minor injuries and the inside of the boat is a mess. Everything is everywhere, every single bit of this boat needs maintenance. All important stuff is working for now, but no way the Lucky Halibut is okay after such a madness.

Anyway, we did manage to get to the convoy, and we sank two medium sized tankers. Very good results in these conditions. We didn’t know where were the escorts, but they were not looking for us. Right now we are slowly closing on the Canaries. The sea remains harsh, so we aren’t making much of a progress. With the state this thing is in, we will have to stay there for quite some time. Not complaining.

As experienced by captain Georg Braun, 12th March 1941, 8:48, U-104 “Lucky Halibut”, entering the harbor of Las Palmas.

After days of wild hostile seas, we are finally arriving at the calm of this Spanish harbor. I finish some notes to my logs and leave my cabin.

As I finally climb up the tower, the boys greet me: “Morning, captain. Finally some peaceful waters, eh?”
“Yes, finally,” I answer as I note the seagulls, palms, and firm piece of land around. It is a good feeling.
“So, which one is the Corrientes?”
“No idea. I have never been here. Keep looking.”

We both scan the ships in the harbor for any betrayal of Germany. On my second run, I notice some seamen preparing a ship crane at the other side than the pier is. I point in that direction: “That’s it. Signal them.”

We are too slow with trying to make our signal light work, they begin to signal first. I miss the first word, but the second is clear. And disheartening. T-R-A-I-L.

As I turn around, one of the watchboys asks: “Oul trail? What does that mean?”
They didn’t get it yet, but I am already looking at a thin oil trail leading from our boat back to the open sea. Something we didn’t notice amongst the harsh waves. This boat is hurt more than I thought.

~~~Not part of the story~~~

Hello!

So, my girlfriend woke up yesterday and said: "Hey, how is that submarine story going?" And I was like: "Oh... err..."

So, a quick sum-up what happened. My life had a very sudden turn for the worse and a few weeks were very, very hectic. I did have a lot on my plate. And when it finally ended, my SH3 installation didn't work (I have a DVD-ROM-less laptop, so there was no way for me to get it back until I borrow a portable one). And on top of that, the shock of all the things that happened made me forget about the U-104 "Lucky Halibut" and her crew.


Well, since I now again have a relatively calm life and some free time, I may get back into SH. I actually want to try SH5 for a bit, since I have a friend's PC home for repairs (she travelled overseas before I could finish it). And then, maybe, I get back to SH3. And the U-104. So, officially, the story is on hiatus. Sorry for leaving without saying a word.

PS: And let me know if you'd like the story to continue, I may have the save somewhere!