[MantiBrutalis]

As experienced by Herbert Krauss, 7th January 1941, 6 AM, U-104, somewhere in the Atlantic.

Waiting under water again. Still going deeper, meter by meter. I hate being so deep. We are getting slowly to intended 200 meters. Yesterday, after a week of doing nothing, we had to reload all the tubes and we even brought down 5 external torpedoes. I am exhausted, but it hasn’t ended yet. The escorts should be above us any time now. After this attack, we will reload all the tubes again, and I doubt the captain will leave the last external up there.

Suddenly all things go to hell. “210.” I panic for a second: “I thought we were supposed to stop at 200? Why are we still diving?”

No answer. Then I hear the captain all the way from the control room: “What is going on? Level us up!”
“The dive planes are stuck sir!”
“In what position?”
“Neutral.”
“220, sir!”
Now the panic truly begins.

“Every free man to the stern torpedo room! Back slow! Do something with those damn planes!”

We are all rushing through the narrow corridor into the back of the boat. We hope that we can level it up in time.

“230!”
Quiet humming of electric engines. No sound despite that.

“240!”
Somebody reminds the captain: “Sir, this boat is not supposed to go under 220.”
“Shut up! I know. But we can’t be heard from the surface.”

“250! Sir, we are still not leveling!”
“Shut up!”

“260!”
“Back standard.”
“Sir?”
“Back standard, are you deaf?” He is. He works with diesel engines, he has to be deaf by now. Unlike the British up there, I fear.

“Sir, we stopped diving.”
“Depth?”
“265.”
We are very slowly leveling up, electric engines saved us from death, while at the same time they invited another death to find us.

Finally, a bit of luck finds us: “Dive planes working, sir.”
“Ahead slow. Maintain depth. We are deep enough for their sonars and with luck we have just enough time to get away before depth charges begin to fall. Back to your stations, men!”

I hope he’s right.