[Laughing Swordfish]

Finally the charade is over. The band marches away, the crowd disperses, and even the propaganda merchants are told to leave us alone for their own sake.

The Boat is docked with a skeleton watch who will be relieved regularly, by men from U-711 (another new 7th Flotilla boat yet to go out, and are well rested comparatively)

But I insist we have at least some good men from U-46 in charge of things at all times

This should make certain everyone gets ashore at some point, and to put it euphemistically, 'freshens up' (That means ages under the shower, particularly for the engine crew) and then perhaps even more hopefully: take 'just some "light refreshment" in the local cafes and hostelries' that the fawning local mayor proudly announces are to be had in his fair town of St Nazaire.

I know they'll go off the leash for a night or two, but that's for another day

More importantly, I scribble a chit, written hastily against Otto's back, and my Chief is smuggled by the coxswain (by whatever means, I don't want to know) towards the train station, and home to his wife and impending child back all the way to Frankfurt.

He hardly mentioned it since we were last back here, and he stepped in brilliantly when we were dive-bombed that time, but as soon as we broke off from the convoy and started heading home, I noticed he was starting to spend a lot more time than he never had before around Willi and his chart table. Starting to count the hours and minutes.

God speed, Otto.

Most importantly of all, there was no sign of Heidi, after the excitement had died down. I had pinned my hopes on seeing her, as much as I'd pinned and gazed at her photograph in my cabin over the last few weeks.

Duty calls, I suppose...

But I'm sure she was waving from the flagstones...

Or a certain Luftwaffe pilot....

In the event of course, neither me or Reuben Francks, the senior survivor from the other boat that we, oh, so heroically rescued, are to see any off this.

We are promptly whisked away by staff car. Me with my full diaries, logs and reports; Reuben with nothing.

And now we stand in the well appointed office of our Uncle.

It is Francks' turn first to face the grilling, having lost his Boat, his Kapitan and most of the crew.

He is awestruck at first by Kerneval, as I was (and still am), but he stands his ground resolutely.

"Did you fight back, by any chance?"

"No, Sir. I don't think so. The flak was manned but the first we knew it, was the bombs. There was no alarm or sound of firing from us. And none of that bridge watch survived , Sir"

"So how many ships did U-467 sink, before you went down?"

(Doenitz through and through. Straight to the tonnage)

Reuben hung his head slightly

"None, Sir, we had no contacts on that edge of the Pack at the time

"Well that's not a good return, it'll only improve the British batting average. What about your codes? The enigma machine and other security items? Don't tell me they are in English hands?"

I could visualise, only from Reuben, for he was the last to see them, young Peter, the Kapitan, hopelessly trying to save his wounded signaller at the bottom of the bridge ladder; yet urgently ordering his Chief upwards to save himself, that no outstretched arm could help.

Those damned precious items and the man he'd gone back for, draped around his neck. The water swirling in around them.

"Our boat took pretty much everything with her, including the codes and our Commander, Sir" Reuben blinked hard.

"Ah, yes, your commander", Doenitz replied relentlessly

"What about Kapitan Sepp?"

"A brave man, Sir. A boy really. Fair to his men, and pretty good with his boat. But he had no combat experience, Sir, neither did they. He was sent out too soon, and.."

I'd put a restraining hand on Reuben's shoulder in the hope that he would shut up.

And he did. Doenitz's frosty glare and silence saw to that.

"And how would you tell me to give more combat experience to our crews, my friend, other than to send them to attack the enemy? How many boats and men should I keep training in the Baltic until they alone think they are ready for battle?

"I'm sorry, Sir..

"Don't be. I have a high regard for my men, all of them, to the lowest stoker, to speak their mind if they have something useful to say. And sometimes even if they haven't. It sounds like with your opinions, I should transfer you back to the Kiel or Wilhelmshaven depots, they could use of a man of your combat experience. You might tell them how easy it is to get sunk on your first patrol without firing an eel or a shot in anger...

"Sir! I respectfully request that I am assigned to the next front boat as soon as possible!" blurts an outraged Reuben.

Doenitz rising from his desk smiles, and pours three glasses of brandy.

"Well, we'll see"

And I suddenly realise that the Old Man, although his sea days are behind him, still knows how to score a torpedo amidships with his men