Lt. Schmenk continues his tale:
The airplane was gone. Our crew worked fast removing the life rafts from the casing. The sea was calm and people kept popping out of the hatches.
The stern was below the surface and water reached the conning tower. Our ship was going down.
Two people lifted me and placed me in a raft as water reached the forward hatch.
I didnīt know if I was the senior officer surviving. The glow of phosphorense indicated the spot where U-123 had stood. The sea was deadly still, only the gurgle of bubbles broke the silence of the night.
"Roll call," I ordered.
The bosun, who knew the crew list by heart, started calling out names.
With great sadness, I remembered the excentricities of our captain. His tea cozies, his music, his unrestrained ego.
"Zwei Matrosen confirmed as dead. Only our Komandant is missing," the bosun said after the roll call.
"Am I missing something? Besides my boat, my tea cozy collection and my fine Habana cigars?" Balz said from another raft. "Now, tie our rafts together, make an inventory of the supplies in each raft, Sanitater, check or injured people. Choir, be ready to perform at sunrise."
With an oar, the Sanitater fixed a splint for my leg. Morphine eased the pain and I could start thinking clearly.
By 10:30 the sun was beating hard on our pale-faced crew.
"Shiff gesichted," one of our duty lookouts announced.
On the horizon, a number of smoke smudges appeared.
"It's a convoy," someone said.
Stay tuned for more Balz.
