It is late 1943 and life sucks.
31st patrol of the U-52 (VIIc) and all I seem to do is surface, detect radar, dive, repair damage from the aircraft. Rinse and repeat.
I am making an average of about 5 knots to my patrol area where I fear there will be no contacts.
Then we have the joyous 5 knot trip back to port. Surface, charge quickly, detect radar, dive, repair.
Why do I even have torpedoes onboard when BDU keeps sending me straight through where the British seem to 24/7 air cover.
If I am lucky all I have to look forward to is a convoy with overwhelming escort coverage.
We will continue to do our duty, even though we feel that our noble cause is lost.
(how am I going to survive another year and a half?)