[Bosje]

A week later. Hans has the bridge watch and I join him to smoke my pipe. It's the middle of the night and there is a decent swell. Perfect conditions for a night raid on a convoy, if only a convoy would be near. We have not received any contact reports for a week and we ourselves have not had anything to report. We are in our assigned patrol area, south of Iceland, diving every 2 hours to listen on the hydrophones or diving away from radar signals. Those radars give me the creeps, their range is said to be some 10 kilometers, depending on the conditions, and I want to learn more about them. After all, you have to know your enemy to defeat him. I think if we keep our hull down in the waves, we can get closer than that on a night like this. Our wizard antenna can pick up their signals before they should be able to detect our boat, we usually get a nice early warning and we have not been attacked since that first terrible encounter. But that is not enough, we need to be able to run on the surface if we want to have any chance of intercepting the convoys. The days of surface charges into convoy columns are well over, of course, but the cat and mouse game is still there. Even if it is played at a new level. A plan starts to formulate in my head, as Hans tells me what he has learned of RAF radar. Then Jakob calls up from below: 'Radio message, Herr Kaleun, contact report!'


We sit in the officer's mess. The LI, Hans, Kurt, Obersteuermann Petersen, Jakob the radio operator and me. It is early in the evening of October 8th, 1942. The convoy is reported steaming outbound, more or less towards our position. Petersen has the interception plotted in 4 or 5 hours, depending on what speed we can maintain.
'Also, meine Herren, we are going to attack this one. Full speed interception. If we pick up radar signals on the way, we will keep running on the surface until they come close to 10 kilometers, with the decks awash but maintaining a speed of at least 10 knots, turning our tail directly towards the signal. We dive only when they get even closer than that. The sea is our friend tonight, the waves are as high as the bridge will be. Watch crews will be relieved every 2 hours. Let's make the most of our headstart. Jakob agrees they will have a hard time spotting us and he is the radio wave expert here', I smile, 'Any comments?'


There are none, they simply get it done. Only Hans seems less than happy but surely he realises that we are here, after all, to sink ships. 'Herr Kaleun, what if they have their radars turned off to surprise us? That is how that first bastard was on us without warning.' 'We'll just have to take it as it comes, 1.WO.'
Thats the best I can come up with. I hope to God that I am not horribly under-estimating my enemy. 'Ok boys, prepare for a long night. That is all.'


I am scared. They should just make a big flying bomb with a radar, which flies itself into the enemy ships. Yeah, like that will ever happen. It is down to us to sink them: stinking bearded boys inside a small steel cigar, trying to stay hidden from so many eyes. To hell with it, we are going full speed ahead.


Sure enough, after an hour Jakob reports a signal to our stern. We get low, keeping the signal right behind us as only the bridge sticks up out of the sea. We maintain a decent speed this way. Jakob constantly gives me his best estimate of their range. At around 9 or 10 kilometer away it seems to turn away to the east! 15 minutes later Jakob does not get a signal anymore. That's it: a first inclination of their restrictions. 10 kilometers in mediocre waves. Back up on top of the waves, full speed once again.


An hour later: another or the same radar is registering on our wizard tool. 7 kilometers, Jakob says. We dive, we are not attacked. Half an hour later we let it get as close as 5 kilometers. The entire boat is rigged for an emergency plunge down into the cellar on my command. I am still on the bridge, together with the third watch. 'Aircraft! Bearing 170!' 'ALAAARM!'
The boat takes a nosedive and drops down in seconds, I barely have time to close the hatch. The crew are doing an excellent job. 'Hard to port, level off at 40 meters, ahead 2/3'
Bombs explode somewhere off our starboard bow, where we would have been had we maintained speed and heading. Heh, these guys should learn to take a gamble every once in a while and drop their bombs anywhere but on the observed position, that's what I would do. 15 minutes later the plane is already gone and we are back on track.


The crew are visibly affected by the action. The excitement of the hunt starts to increase morale: they are being taken by it. Just like me, so very long ago. Hans is affected too, he is not as calm as I would want my 1.WO to be. But he seems to regain some of his confidence in me as we get ever closer to the convoy without a scratch. He served on coastal boots for about a year but he never saw much of the enemy, except the planes which he learned to fear so much. The rest of the crew are completely green, even if well-trained. I hope they don't fall apart when things heat up.


Midnight, we are at 20 meters and it is now down to Klaus on the hydrophone to find the convoy. Yeah there they are, a cacophony of screws, very long range but getting stronger. Back up to the surface for the final approach. Verdammt! Those escorts have radar too. Of course. 10 minutes past midnight, we are not yet where I want us to be. At least 4 radar sets are transmitting, still at very long range. God knows how many more escorts without radar. Decks awash, we creep to our attack position. First estimate on convoy speed 9 knots, coming straight towards us, the closest picket escorts about 15 kilometers away. Conditions are brilliant: a nice swell to hide our periscope and to mess with their asdic, visibility is quite decent despite the overcast. The hunt is on.


In spite of all his new tricks and toys, the enemy are still just guys, like us. I play the game of cat and mouse and the crew are executing my orders to the letter. This is still my territory, my game. We sneak into the convoy, slipping right through the escort screen. Things are happening very fast now: doubleshot on that fat merchant, range 2000meters speed 7 knots 20 degrees port. Fire tubes 2 and 3 on a 3 degree spread. LOS! Fast running torpedo impact depth 3, medium merchant bearing 10 starboard 1200 meters. LOS! Fast running impact depth 3 on the fat one right in front of us. LOS!
As the fourth torpedo leaves the tube, the first two find their target. A chain of enormous explosions rumbles across the waves, through the convoy, and as if a giant switch were flicked, dozens and dozens of searchlights suddenly turn night into day.
'Down periscope, 20 degrees starboard rudder, full speed ahead, maintain periscope depth. Mister Speaker! Start reloading tubes 2 and 3!'
As the obermechaniker of the forward compartment gets his crew together to reload the tubes, the men in the control room look at me in horror. Hans is the first to speak: 'We do not dive?'
'No we do not dive,' I say and I turn to Klaus to ask him what the escorts are up to. Before anyone can say anything else, 2 more torpedoes find their mark. A crack and a rumble and I start to grin. 'This is my turf, boys. Trust me.'
Christ I hope I am right on this.


The Duke