[Missing Name]

Master Simon suddenly found himself awake on the deck, a dull throbbing sensation surrounding his head. All sound seemed to drain from the cabin until the only noise he could register was a ringing in his ears. Funny, he'd never noticed that before. Perhaps he shouldn't have played with so many firecrackers as a kid.

Slowly, the world came into focus and there was a banging sound near his head. Where was he? This wasn't the Nantucket cottage. Why was the floor moving? It's as if he was on a ship or something.

Oh. Realization dawned on him. He sat up, head spinning. The banging at the door was the radioman, going by the frantic yelling.

"CAP! CAP! WAKE UP! WE'VE BEEN HIT! CAP! No, he's not answering! He might be injured! CAP!"

"Get a fire axe, see if he's alright!"

Simon tried to speak, but he didn't recognize any words. What the hell was wrong with him? He lay down again because he was feeling quite dizzy by now. When the frantic crew finally opened the door, the master had already succumbed to his injury. After all, there's not much to be done when the back of one's skull is shattered against a bulkhead.

* * *

<<We got her! I see her back breaking!>> A cheer came from below, loud enough to be heard above the storm. <<The Black Wolf strikes again!>>

There was a slight glow of flames from the wrecked ship. It was enough to see the target - much smaller and closer than originally thought. The torpedo must have just reached the end of its safety run before hitting. It might have also explained why there was only one strike.

<<Full speed ahead, rudder full port! Get ready to run for it, the escorts will be snooping soon!>> The boat accelerated and began to turn west.

* * *

MV Bobwell's lookout called it in to the escorts. The Trumpeter had been maybe 600 meters forward and port of the big collier. The churning ocean was illuminated to the tiniest degree, which was actually making his vision worse. As he watched, the strained deck gave way. The after section tore off of the twisted steamer and sank within seconds, while the forward began to settle much more slowly. The boiler exploded, throwing up a giant column of water.

There was something else though ahead of him. A crate? No, then it would be going with the wind, not against it. Was it...?

"U-booooaaaaaaat! Dead ahead and closing! Rudder hard to port!"

* * *

The waves parted again... and suddenly there was the huge bow of a merchant meeting them head on.

<<WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM? AHEAD FLANK! RUDDER HARD STARBOARD! MOVE IT! ALL HANDS BELOW! READY DAMAGE CONTROL!>> The two ships continued to close the distance to each other rapidly. As the 1WO watched in horror, the enemy began to turn right at them. Was he trying to ram? <<BRACE!>>

It didn't do any good. The collier's reinforced bow struck just forward of the deck gun, knocking it off, tearing open the pressure hull while rolling the boat over. The entire boat was dragged under, water pouring in both the open conning tower hatch and the new one that had been installed just seconds before. Kptlt. Schueler struck his forehead hard on the periscope and died instantly. Then the massive propellers struck the hull, ripping the aft off the boat apart, leaving it hanging by a few strands of steel.

U-127 took its last dive, spiraling like a demented maple seed. If only the rest of the crew had gone as easily as their captain...

* * *

The hit had disintegrated the engine room of the Trumpeter, taking eight in an instant. Elsewhere on the ship, the master and the second navigator had been thrown about like eggs in a coffee can. Two fell overboard and were lost, while two more drowned after the aft dragged them down. Taking a gigantic risk, the master of the damaged collier maneuvered alongside the fore section of the stricken steamer and pulled the remainder off of the sloping deck.

The crew of the Bobwell grabbed blankets, coffee and sandwiches for the survivors. It would be another three mouths to feed for the remainder of the journey. They were forced to break off from the convoy due to damage to the propellers, but made it to Wales with no further mishap.

All in all, sixty men were lost in less than five minutes, without fanfare. Such is life in war.

* * *

Soooooooo in case you were wondering, no, my last career didn't end well. No vampire vision + storm = terrible hunting conditions. We struck a Passenger/Cargo, with the intent of then returning home due to low fuel and an SH3C-created engine malfunction. Very shortly after though, we were struck by a merchant zigzagging in formation that had gone unnoticed. All lost.