As experienced by doctor Fritz Matuszak, 8th March 1941, 05:03, U-104 “Lucky Halibut”, closing on convoy SL-67.
This wound doesn’t look good, I think to myself.
The owner of this bloodied and torn arm, the chief engineer Peter Zeisller, nervously asks: “Come on, patch me up already. I need to check the port engine’s oil now!”
I avert my eyes from his arm to look at him: “Do you want your arm or not? I can let you go, you can lose your arm.”
“Whatever, just do it fast. The engines don’t operate themselves, not when strained this much.”
“If you don’t hold still for a moment, there won’t be a chief engineer to do it.”
“Yeah, sorry. But the sea calmed a bit, we can still make it in time.”
“Right… Sure…”
Lucky Halibut cuts through the harsh sea, battling it, metal moaning with stress. I can’t stitch in these conditions, bandages have to do it for now. At least he won’t bleed to death. I start working as soon as the boat rams through the next wave. Nothing is falling off the walls in the entire boat anymore. What did fall off was fastened where it ended up. This entire boat was a mess now, but it is still bravely fighting the sea in this mad race to battle.
“Done?”
“For now. Take it easy, you could still easily lose it.”
“Thanks, doc,” he trails away through the boat.
Lot of injuries in these conditions, mainly the watchboys. Nothing too serious yet, but that might come sooner than I’d like.
“Next!”
|