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Capt Bathtub · 12-30-06, 08:50 AM

Our arrival back at port was heralded with the usual parade of people with nothing better to do, those that only turn up for the free drinks, a band that couldn't get any other gig (probably because they only know one song) and the inevitable earnest reporter trying to get the "big story". Well today they might be in luck, I might have caused an international incident with that sinking of the US ship. Maybe started a war...

No such luck, they only chastised me and I know why. We had lost our top three commanders in the weeks gone. This war of attrition grinds onwards taking all under its weighty pestle and other such superlatives. Thankfully Markewitz, our artistic gunner, saved me from getting too maudelin for my memoirs and dragged me off to a public house where we drank, caroused and sang the national songs loudly. And in English. Nothing gets the locals more perplexed than than a group of drunken submariners singing "German, German overalls!" at the tops of their voices, I can tell you.

Of course, when we got back to our billet, most of the other fellows were full of stories about luscious French mademoiselles and the things they could do with caviar. Why, for the love of Der Fuehrer, don't they ever invite their Captain? Svinehunds! I suppose I shouldn't complain, I could be married to some sturmtrooper of a fraulein and have pretty children that all wear white laced petticoats and black socks, like a good Ubermensch should. Instead I joined the Kriegsmarine. And don't get to cheat on my non-existent wife.

We've been trying to come up with a new name for our boat as, lets face it, numbers are endearing only to mathematicians. The previous nom de familiar, if you will, was for the U-1 and that was the "Bathtub". But now she is amongst the nether regions of the Baltic teaching cadets to swim whilst shaking one hand with the Bolshevik and slapping him in the face with the other. So we have a new boat and no name. We're holding a competition of sorts that will last until we find a good name but my suggestion of the sort of optimistic names the Royal Navy use found no favour with the crew. What's wrong with calling your boat "Splendid" or "Unruffled"?

Heading out for our next patrol and it's sunrise over the Bay of Biscay. I keep telling the watch that it's worth risking a visit from the RAF just to glimpse this. They keep telling me that it's the same sun no matter where you are in the world. Fine. As revenge I yell out "Alaaaarm!" and smile to myself as they kick and fall on top of one another in the mad scramble below decks. Must keep the crew well drilled otherwise they degenerate into the whore-loving, opium-smoking bastards that they are. And I'm stuck in this boat with them.

As some British admiral sir sea lord type once said, "submarines are underhand, underwater and damned un-English...and no occupation for a gentleman".

12-30-06, 08:50 AM	#14
Capt Bathtub Swabbie Join Date: Dec 2006 Location: in the bathtub Posts: 7 Downloads: 2 Uploads: 0	July 7th 1941 Our arrival back at port was heralded with the usual parade of people with nothing better to do, those that only turn up for the free drinks, a band that couldn't get any other gig (probably because they only know one song) and the inevitable earnest reporter trying to get the "big story". Well today they might be in luck, I might have caused an international incident with that sinking of the US ship. Maybe started a war... No such luck, they only chastised me and I know why. We had lost our top three commanders in the weeks gone. This war of attrition grinds onwards taking all under its weighty pestle and other such superlatives. Thankfully Markewitz, our artistic gunner, saved me from getting too maudelin for my memoirs and dragged me off to a public house where we drank, caroused and sang the national songs loudly. And in English. Nothing gets the locals more perplexed than than a group of drunken submariners singing "German, German overalls!" at the tops of their voices, I can tell you. Of course, when we got back to our billet, most of the other fellows were full of stories about luscious French mademoiselles and the things they could do with caviar. Why, for the love of Der Fuehrer, don't they ever invite their Captain? Svinehunds! I suppose I shouldn't complain, I could be married to some sturmtrooper of a fraulein and have pretty children that all wear white laced petticoats and black socks, like a good Ubermensch should. Instead I joined the Kriegsmarine. And don't get to cheat on my non-existent wife. We've been trying to come up with a new name for our boat as, lets face it, numbers are endearing only to mathematicians. The previous nom de familiar, if you will, was for the U-1 and that was the "Bathtub". But now she is amongst the nether regions of the Baltic teaching cadets to swim whilst shaking one hand with the Bolshevik and slapping him in the face with the other. So we have a new boat and no name. We're holding a competition of sorts that will last until we find a good name but my suggestion of the sort of optimistic names the Royal Navy use found no favour with the crew. What's wrong with calling your boat "Splendid" or "Unruffled"? Heading out for our next patrol and it's sunrise over the Bay of Biscay. I keep telling the watch that it's worth risking a visit from the RAF just to glimpse this. They keep telling me that it's the same sun no matter where you are in the world. Fine. As revenge I yell out "Alaaaarm!" and smile to myself as they kick and fall on top of one another in the mad scramble below decks. Must keep the crew well drilled otherwise they degenerate into the whore-loving, opium-smoking bastards that they are. And I'm stuck in this boat with them. As some British admiral sir sea lord type once said, "submarines are underhand, underwater and damned un-English...and no occupation for a gentleman".