[Schöneboom]

After dinner Karl-Heinz came to refill our coffee cups in person, as was his custom. "My compliments to the chef," said Rolf.

"Danke schön, Herr Oberleutnant," replied Karl-Heinz. "The men particularly enjoyed the Rotkohl. They asked for seconds."

"In that case, we'll surface in ten minutes," I said. "The sooner we ventilate the boat, the better!"

As I'd hoped, the dinner had a salutary effect on morale. We only had to keep the men on-duty alert with coffee, and let the rest snore contented in their bunks.

I turned to Heinrich. "We had no warning of radar this time. L.I., what's your honest opinion of the Metox?"

"In its present state, I don't trust it, and neither does Oskar," he answered. "Frankly I think we should just call it kaputt."

"I concur, Herr Kaleun," said Rolf. "The lookouts know they can't rely on it now."

"Was the repair faulty, or are there other possibilities?"

Heinrich scratched his beard. "The Tommies could be getting clever, too. For example, the operators could be using the radar only in short bursts. Or they might have switched to another frequency, outside the Metox's range."

Anton spoke up. "No one wants to work with unreliable gear. If we rely on our eyes only, it's actually better, in a way."

In the Zentrale, Willi and the lookouts prepared for the next watch. When I informed them that the Biscay Cross had packed up for good, I saw no sign of misgivings, but rather relief. It really was up to them now.

Upon surfacing we proceeded at our best speed towards the Peloponnese. "Our course will keep us out of sight of land, Herr Kaleun," said Willi as he took another sextant reading.

"It's a pity, Greek islands are so beautiful," I replied. "But we can't have the partisans spotting us. They could contact the British."

Leaving Crete behind, I began to feel confident that we had finally given the Tommies the slip. Or rather, they had decided that pursuing us into Greek airspace was not worth the risk.

After sunrise Heinrich did a thorough inspection of the boat's exterior. To our chagrin, the No. 1 starboard tank had developed a crack. "We're leaving a trail of fuel," Heinrich reported. "Anyone can see it."

I lost my appetite for breakfast. There was nothing to be done. "Will we have enough fuel to get home?"

"Running on one diesel, we'll have enough in the No. 1 port tank and the reserve," he answered.

"Then we'll continue on our present course," I said. "Carry on, L.I."

I could see in his eyes that he wanted to stop somewhere. Salamis, most likely. But I wasn't having any of it. Sheer stubbornness on my part.

Later that day, while Rolf typed a report, I started reading a book in the officers' mess. Anton asked me the title. "The Odyssey of Homer," I told him.

"I've never read it," Anton confessed. "What's it about?" Mensch, I thought, so much for education in the New Germany!

"The great warrior Odysseus is on a long voyage home after the Trojan War. All he wants is to see his wife and family again. It takes him ten years."

"Ten years?! What took him so long?"

"For seven of those years he was stuck on an island with a beautiful goddess named Calypso."

"Aha!! Now the truth comes out!" Anton exclaimed.

"She was holding him captive, though," I added. "Against his will."

Rolf paused from his typing. "For seven years? Who'd buy an excuse like that?"

"Well, it must've been a hard choice. Calypso even offered to make him immortal. But he wanted to return to his wife anyway."

"He doesn't sound very smart to me," said Anton.

"It's one of the classics," I insisted. "You can read it when I'm done."