[Bosje]

Someone shakes my leg to wake me up. 'Herr Kaleun?' I need a while to remember where and how I am. 'Ah Christ.' My dream involved a pleasant, peaceful life with money, cars, alcohol and women. I close my eyes, desperately trying to hold on to the image but it is too late, I am awake. Navigator Hals Petersen stands by my bed, handing me a cup of coffee which smells like something more than coffee. 'If you are feeling better, Herr Kaleun, we would like to discuss our next course of action.' I sit up and take the coffee. There is a good helping of rum in it. 'Doctor's orders.' Petersen smiles. I start feeling better, but only just. With the coffee, my body begins to desire nicotine too but my stomach does not agree and contracts. I gag and am barely able to contain the reflex to throw up. 'Are you sure you are alright, Duke?' 'I'm fine, give me a second.' I get up and my legs are now able to support me. I need some help with the hatch but then I am standing more or less upright in the control room. 'Well, look who we have here! Morning, Herr Kaleun.' I force a relatively cheerful: 'Good morning, Sirs. So how are we?' 'No contacts for hours, boat and commander in bad shape. Maybe we should go home now, Herr Kaleun.' Have we really done all we can on this patrol? 'Yes, maybe we should.' I give in, I too am longing for Bergen. 'Course 170, take us home, Hals.'


We will need just a few days at full speed and we have plenty of fuel to maintain that speed. U-735 turned its tail and the boys are both sad and relieved to abandon the convoy. I talk the cook into giving me some more of his upgraded coffee, doctor's orders, and I spend the rest of the morning in my hut. Back and forth between miserable and relieved. A bad headache is reluctant to go away. I fear that a lasting migraine will remind me of this patrol for the rest of my life. Only twelve hours have passed since we first made contact with the convoy but it seems so much longer. I try to sleep some more but every time I put my head down I get sick. This concussion is really messing me up. Then Volkmar comes calling. 'We were clearing out his bunk and we found this, Becks. We thought you might want to see it.' He shows me a notebook. Ringelmann's notes. I flip through them and come across the first draft of his article:


'The boat cut through the waves like a silver dagger. Sharp and lethal, yet so vulnerable and fragile. All the odds were stacked against them but the bearded men were not concerned. They fought for their country and were prepared to sacrifice even their own lives. Anything for their fatherland, their families, their Fuhrer. Life on board was tough but these brave warriors were used to it. The men worked hard in the cramped spaces, the officers stood ever watchful on the bridge and the commander smiled when he made his round, proud of his men, proud of his boat. A distant sense of chivalry from times gone by hung around him. But now, he did not think of glory or heroism, he thought of home so far away. The home he fought to protect. A German hero in the true sense of the word, who puts himself in the path of the hated enemy, who keeps ahead of them, always looking for a way to defeat them, to destroy them. The boat cut through the waves like a silver dagger. Sleep well, dear mother, dear sister, we will keep you safe.
These, then, are the men who stand watch over Germany: Beware, those who take up arms against us! Against these bearded U-boot men, these knights of the high seas!'

I hurl the notebook across the radioshack. 'Damn that silly boy!' I hate him for making me feel patriotic. But the words took hold of me, they make me hate the enemy even more, for killing him when he was one of ours, in spite of everything. He was still my responsibility. I feel like throwing up or crying or cursing but I hide those emotions far away, for when I am back home again. Now, I must be strong, I force myself to get up. 'Anton? Hans! Where are my officers!' Minutes later we are gathered in the officer's mess. I have a fresh bandage around my head, another spiked cup of coffee and a grim resolve. My staff are anxious, they know me well enough by now. 'Anton, what depth can she still take?' 'Impossible to tell but I should think test depth at least. Trimming will be difficult though, that shell made a mess of the starboard saddle tank.' 'Hals, interception?' 'Six hours at flank speed, Herr Kaleun.' 'Albert?' 'All tubes loaded, one spare aft.' 'Alright then.' Hans gives me a hard look: 'You stubborn bastard, do you really want to go back there?' But I already made my decision: 'Yes, 1.W.O. To hell with them. To hell with them and their radar and their sonar and their hedgehogs. New course 285, flank ahead.'


And so it comes to pass that on a gray late summer's noon, U-735 rejoins the battle. Because I want to avenge a man I hated. Or maybe I just don't know how to do anything else. Or maybe I am even under the influence of the doc's medicine.

At noon we eat and my stomach barely manages to hold onto the food. After eating I go up top. I have some trouble climbing up to the bridge but I want to get out, get some air and have a cigarette. The cold, fresh arctic breeze hits me like a bag of bricks in the guts and I throw up my lunch over the edge of the bridge. I forget about the cigarette but I stay outside, holding myself up, firmly holding on to the boat. My boat, getting further and further away from home with every minute, in pursuit of the convoy. Come on, girl. Be strong for me just one more day, one more day. If only these white flashes would stop interfering with my eyesight. I throw up again but my stomach is empty, the bile burns in my throat. Hans ignores his quarter of the horizon for a second and puts his hands on my shoulders. 'If you come up with another brilliant way to get yourself killed, feel free to leave the rest of us out of it, Duke.' But he does not mean it, he is a hunter just like me. Jakob comes up for a breather, casually balancing a cup of hot brew in one hand. I take the coffee and Hans raises an eyebrow when he catches a sniff from the steaming mug. Jakob cheerfully declares: 'I thought you gentlemen would like to know that we have radar signals ahead to the north, we'll have flanked them by 1700.' We allow him his break, even if there are radar sets transmitting. Far too cocky, boys. Far too cocky, but like me, they just don't know any other way. They don't know about the rum in my coffee, either. I think.



The Duke (and it's only 1943)