[Bosje]

He didn't wait for nightfall, there was no point. Surface attacks were not an option against radar and if he had to attack from periscope depth, he might as well use daylight to his advantage. They intercepted the convoy at three in the afternoon and slipped down in a half-decent ambush position ahead of the fifteen or so ships. Now, Commander Hans Bremer was waiting for the convoy to come to him with nothing else to do but be very very quiet.

And so he sat on the rim of the open hatch, physically inside the control room but in direct whispering range of Stabsbootsmann Heinz Schmidt who was listening intently to the cacophony of screws and who now stuck his head outside the booth: 'Three destroyers, I think that's it.' - 'Very well, tell me if they do anything sexy.' Hans Bremer stroked his chin. This was the worst part of the attack, he found. He had already hated it when he was first officer on U-735. Now it was even worse. Contrary to popular belief at the homefront, being depthcharged or trying to sneak away from the enemy was not quite as agonizing as this. At least then you had decisions to make, input from all sides to occupy your mind. You could snuff it any second, sure, but you had no time to fret too much. It was different for the crew but for Bremer, this was far worse: waiting for the convoy to either present itself or to turn away from you, subject to the commodore's whims. All that remained was staying quiet as a mouse, wondering if the escorts would find you before you got a chance to shoot. Sitting still, taking care not to make even the slightest unnecessary sound, the boat around you pregnant with anticipation, waiting, stroking the stubs on your chin.

The convoy was going desperately slow, 5 knots at best. The U-boat was creeping along at 2 knots. They needed a torturous hour and a half to meet. A whisper: 'Schleichfahrt.' The Commander finally took his seat in the conning tower, it was almost time for action but the first obstacle to glory was the picket destroyer, doing lazy turns in front of the convoy, now rather close. He risked a very brief peek through the periscope, trying to keep the head from protruding too far out of the mild swell. To his left a pre-war destroyer, minus one forward turret. Conversion for hedgehogs. Bastard. Straight ahead a basic convoy, small prey on the outside, big prey on the inside. Second column first row, a large silhouette he didn't immediately recognise. Down periscope. He flipped through the pages of the book, quietly hoping to match the captured image in his head with that of a huge converted ocean liner. Wait, back one page, disappointment, there it was: Chatham troop ship. 6500 tons. Nothing impressive but still a priority target. Their positioning had been almost perfect. His whisper was passed on down: 'Port 10.'

Bremer was just about to take another look when the Asdic startled him so abruptly that he dropped the ship identification manual. Busted! At the worst possible moment! They were showing the destroyer their port flank in all its sound wave-reflecting glory.

Ahead full! Hard to starboard! Maintain periscope depth! His commands were echoed through the boat as he pressed his eye to the ocular of the attack periscope. He was turning away as the destroyer was turning towards him. Before long, the two predators were roughly on the same course. 'Rudder starboard 15!' He would have just one chance before the destroyer got her own shot with the hedgehog. And he would have to be quick about it, too. Royal Navy bastards! How had they found him? 'Open tube 5, magnetic pistol depth 4, bearing 200 range 600...' - 'Set' – 'LOS!'
He desperately hoped that it was enough but he had the odds in his favor, this time. Tube 5 had been loaded with a homing torpedo. An incredible feat of engineering, it would hopefully follow the destroyer wherever it went, possibly finding and even sinking it but at least distracting it from the U-boat.

Hans Bremer climbed down into the control room while the boat took a deep dive and another sharp turn. That was about all they could do. All eyes were looking up although the ceiling of the control room was just the boring collection of valves and pipes it always was. Heinz reported the destroyer running and twisting all over the place. No hedgehogs or depthcharges yet. One and a half minutes later they heard an explosion above them. And then the unmistakable sound of a sinking ship, the shrieking steel as it was tortured by the water pressure. Amazed smiles, uncomfortable grins and relieved laughter all round the control room. The Commander took a deep breath and then he waved away the congratulations: 'Back up to periscope depth, go to 350, ahead standard. Reload the sterntube.'

The path to the convoy's inner lanes now lay wide open. He was not done quite yet.