[UKönig]

the last voyage of U-110, part 2

...And the merchant takes it on the port flank, aft. Bad news Herr Kaleun, you didn't do as much damage as you had hoped. However, you did wreck his rudder and damage his engines. Normally a ship would stop dead with that kind of damage, but he is still managing to make 3 knots headway. It's unbelievable. It's like I'm not supposed to be attacking these ships and that's why they're almost indestructible. Whatever alloy or welding process they're using we NEED to get some of that! I have one torpedo left, and it's outside. I really did not want to give this order, not now, but I have no. choice. left.
"Torpedo loading crew, stand by for surface action" comes the order.
That means get your slickers on boys, because it's wet out there. And soakers are the order of the day.
"Raise the snorkel, let's get some distance on this thing, we have to get into position to use the aft torpedo." I tell the Chief Engineer.
After about 30 minutes of careful maneuvering we get into a position where I feel safe enough to give the order to surface. Once the decks are clear and the tower hatch opened, the torpedo crew goes to work on the after deck, to extract and load our last chance at victory. I am sitting at the attack scope, even though we are surfaced, keeping watch over our latest victim. We have him stern on when I give the incredible order "Both engines, full speed, reverse". The liberty is struggling in the swelling seas, a heavy trail of foamy water churned up by her desperately turning propeller. For all that, she is still able to make a pathetically tired 3 knots, and we, stuck in reverse can make maybe 4, so this rate should give us enough time to extract and load our last fish and hopefully, the skies will remain clear. That is, free of aircraft, for now would be a very good time for them to score a U-boat kill.
The weapons officer (our former Ensign) tells me it will take about 40 minutes to complete the loading. I accept his report with stoicism, as I know that for at least 45 minutes, we are totally vulnerable. Unable to leave my post at the attack periscope, I become extremely uncomfortable, as if my saddle has come to life beneath me. I fidget constantly. I check my watch for the 37th time in two minutes, as if I could somehow speed up the dial by looking at it. "C'mon, C'mon.." I mutter under my breath. And then it happened. Between looking forward at the status of the limping liberty, and looking aft, at the crew working furiously to load our last torpedo, I caught sight of 4 incoming short sunderlands. I felt my heart run out the hole in my willy. I checked my watch, and quickly conferred with the Ensign. Still 2:30 to go and we will be loaded. If we dive now, we will have to start this whole process all over again. I think, this is going to get ugly...
I tell the Chief "Lower the snorkel, we are going to have to dive quickly and soon and I don't want anything tall for them to aim at".
"Aye sir".
We are in the act of lowering the snort mast when all of a sudden, my world is tipped sideways. A violent jarring motion to the left. I was at the attack scope when my torpedo mechanic gives me a 'thumbs up' to indicate they had loaded the torpedo into the boat and are sealing the after loading hatch now, I swung the scope around to the front, and that's when the shock came. All at once, the deck gun was blown away and the foreship turned into an obstacle course of jagged metal. The forward jumping wire was next to go, it simply fell off with the previous damage. Our electricians and radio mates were able to restore our communications antenna, but the radar warning device was still kaput. We had no adequate warning of the approach. A textbook u-boat bombing run, coastal command should be proud.
The snorkel got jammed as we were lowering it, and is now stuck at a 45 degree angle. That's not good. Not good at all. The torpedo crew ran hell for leather to the conning tower hatch and as fast as they dared, dropped back into the boat. They cleared the decks in record time, mostly because there was no aft railing to impede their progress. The next shock came and this time the port diesel was ripped off its support bed. The drive shaft was bent savagely not far out from the flange, but the clutch for the electric drive was undamaged. The engineering team cut out the bent part so the drive shaft could turn for underwater travel. Assuming, of course we survive this surface bombing.
"Is the bridge cleared"? I ask.
"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun". comes the reply.
"Take us to periscope depth".
The chief uses all of his training and skill to dive the boat while we are in reverse, and we are just under the waves when the next shock hits us on the starboard side, aft, and staves in the pressure hull. The shockwave turns our aft quarters and galley into a disaster area, but the hull itself shows no breaches.
All at once, a hissing from under the floor plates in the POs quarters. Someone says "not again".
The Chief says "neutralize with limewash", and soon the hissing stops. Got it in record time this time.
"Is the aft tube still usable"? I ask.
"yes sir, no damage".
I put my eye back to the lens and see the limping liberty trying to gamely gain ground but with a damaged rudder they're mostly going in circles. It seems they can go straight ahead and right, but left turns are out. As such, our last fish in tube 5 is ready to go. "Tube 5, fire"!
The boat shudders as it is relieved of its last burden and 2 minutes tick off the clock before we score another hit. As soon as I am satisfied we have sunk this vessel, I lower the scope and return to the command room, itself a disaster area, now that I notice it, and take stock of our situation. Unfortunately my sound guy was unable to confirm a sinking, so I ordred us to forward drive again and down to 30 m to find calmer waters in which to start making repairs.
We managed to avoid the aircraft and they never did resume their attacks against us. We did not sink the damaged liberty and it managed to slink away from us. It was right around then I decided to set course back to Norway and report. And probably be demoted for my failures on this mission. I'm not sure my tonnage count will help this time. After 3 days we were just south of the Faeroe islands and surfaced to send a message to HQ, informing them of our status. Within an hour, we received a reply, in the form of 4 depth charges from a sunderland. Our rickety old boat survived the crash dive and 70m depth (not sure that it would), and we were forced to stay under for a few hours. We surfaced and tried to get a response, but HQ did not reply, so we sent another message, and, less than an hour later, the same thing happened. After surviving the latest crash dive, damage to our radio and hydrophones, I decided to just stay under until we got closer to Norway. They will see what happened when they see the boat.
May 13th, 1944, we are just outside of Norway, about to surface and sail through the fjords to our base in Bergen. I am in the officer's mess with my 2WO and chief engineer. The electricians and radio mates are trying to restore our yet again damaged radio set. Not sure if the repairs will work this time. My chief is looking pretty grim. He's had a few days to assess the total damage to the boat and from the look on his face I can see I am not going to like what's coming. My 2WO is kind of a 'downer-debbie' but I don't really blame him. I shudder with the memory. Leaning back on his bunk with my back against the woodwork, I ask the inevitable question.
"Well chief, how bad is it"?