(U-51, patrol 6, continued...)
Wasserbombe! As I dropped from the ladder into the zentrale and stole a look through the fore hatch I could see Helmut tear the headphones away from his ears in anticipation of the impending blast. The last man tumbling through the gangway beyond disappeared as he rolled headfirst into the bugraum. I glanced at the depth gauge and knew in a heartbeat that only bad aim on the part of the Tommies would save us from a pounding this time.
But their aim was anything but bad. The sounds of glass shattering and bodies knocking into each other and their surroundings filled the sudden darkness as the first detonations rocked us side to side and doused our lights. As lamps were found and lit and damage reports came up from the bow our junior engineer - a trainee on this patrol, his first time on U-51 - sprang forward through the hatch in response. The LI had enough to do in the zentrale; we were still in a steep dive, soon dropping past the 80 meters I'd ordered with no signs of leveling off despite the chief's best efforts to bring our descent under control. A report of flooding in the bow, relayed back from his protégé now at work on the worst of it, gave a pretty good indication of why.
110 meters...
115...
120...
All back emergency!
125 meters...
127...
128...
Our descent was slowing, it seemed, but we continued down nonetheless, still pointed nose-first into the deep.
Anblasen!
The hiss of air forcing its way into the tanks joined the medley of sounds all around me: the ragged breathing and whispered prayers of the men in the zentrale, the muffled grunts and curses and clangs of damage control in the bow, the hesitant but hopeful shuffling of feet as crew and commander alike rearranged their bodies in response to every perceptible change in our angle of descent.
At last the needle on the depth gauge slowed to a stop and began to twitch happily in the opposite direction. We leveled off at 121 meters and, mercifully, stayed there. More depth charges exploded above and around us, but none near enough to add to the damage we'd already taken. As the screws of the attacking destroyer faded out of range of our naked ears I looked to Helmut for a better fix on the enemy's movements.
He had none to offer. The hydrophones, he reported, had been rendered useless by the first round of wabos. More damage reports came in as the moments passed. Our radio was probably knocked out as well as the 'phones; flooding was no longer a problem, but the forward battery was kaput; both 'scopes were inoperable without further inspection and repair that, in our present situation, would be impossible.
We headed east, away from the convoy, and prayed that her escorts would again decide that playing attentive shepherd to the flock was a far greater imperative than pursuing the injured wolf they'd left in her wake. And, much to my surprise and relief, this seemed to be the case. There were no more depth charges and never a hint of the hated ASDIC. Perhaps they weren't fitted out with it - hard to believe - or perhaps they'd marked us off as destroyed after that first successful and almost devastating attack run.
As time passed with no further indication of activity above us, we began a gradual ascent from the depths. Finally our best estimates told us we were well out of visual range of the enemy's last confirmed position. With a nod the LI leveled us off at 20 meters and another order from me brought U-51 to a dead stop in the water and all human activity to a standstill. In the silence that followed, every man aboard strained his ears for the sound of any nearby vessel that might pose a threat as we reached blindly for the surface.
Not that it made any difference. We had to surface. I gave the order and climbed the ladder to the tower hatch.
(to be continued...)
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