[UKönig]

December, 1944
The rickety old U-73, the Bull of Scapa flow emblems on the conning tower, with us since 1940, are now fading away because of the length of time we are forced to spend submerged, reliant on the snorkel, has been finally kicked out of its berth at Saint Nazaire. Our changing military fortunes and a certain dockside reputation, that, in many societies would be considered "negative" (looking at you, 2 Watch Officer!), got us "reassigned" a new port of call. Henceforth, we are to operate with the 11th Fleet out of Bergen, Norway, and we'll let the French take their stinky port back. We left them a little going away present anyway...

So now we operate from Norway. I love Norway. I've always wanted to go, but as a civilian, I never had time for it. Now we pretty much live here. The locals are ...tolerant, but, they have a slightly different regard for us than the French ever did.

Our patrol was to take us into the convoy lanes just south of Iceland. The NORTH North Atlantic. Never really did like that area. Too cold. I never envied the Captains that operated on convoys through spitzbergen island, either, *shudders*. Anyway, we had a spate of good weather, and being the pirate that I am, stayed on the surface. With all the radar/electronics our lagging industry could provide, going full choke. The only things we lacked were flashing lights or siren sounds, although there was the typhon horn...

The First Watch Officer was on duty that day, I was on the bridge with him, leaning against the bulwark, looking aft at my AA crew (we won't make *that* mistake again!), casually having a smoke (because I could) when my reverie was shattered by the radar operator calling out a contact. Seems our little fuzz-buster started chirping, and it got him all a flutter. Had to share it. Radar warning huh, I thought, and passed the order to fire on all targets. The 1WO, instantly searching the skies. I checked the time, 05:30. Pretty nice sun rise all else aside. Nothing? No, still nothing. Does anybody hear anything? "What?, asks the Exec, "over the sound of the diesels?"
"Nevermind"
Down below, a shift change was in progress. I have arranged aboard my boat, that the aft quarters is not for the Petty Officers alone, but for the engine room crew, of all ranks. The higher ranks getting, of course, the best lodging first. I want them closer to their duty station, in case of emergency. They also act as the damage control party, because they know best the reason and meaning behind most, if not all of the pipes, handles, valves, and wheels on this tub. And lately, they've been getting many chances to ply their knowledge...
The cook has just finished serving up breakfast to the on going engine room watch, and the stewards are to soon serve the retiring watch, so that there will be less need to fuss between compartments when everyone is ready to eat. Unfortunately, it is also being served in the bow compartment to the retired watch in their respective areas. The Officers and I have already been taken care of, which is why I am on the bridge now, having a smoke. The kid really needs to learn how to cook Navy Eggs (I shudder again).
Five minutes goes by, nothing. Then suddenly, there they are! Four Sunderlands, incoming. Aft. At speeds that long lost lovers suddenly reunited could only dream of. Pfft, I think. Sunderlands. We've dealt with them before. Very well, I might add. I send the Watch Officer below and direct the gunners myself. The first one gets into range and the AA team earns their pay. Scratch one. A hail of incoming fire makes me change my mind a moment later and I yell out "Alarm!!!"
Bells...Bells for breakfast. Not a good combination. I turn and head for the hatch when a massive explosion rocks the boat.
The blast forces the boat down at an even steeper angle, spilling all the coffee, tea, plates, crew, into one big pile. Yeah, breakfast time really isn't the best one for the alarm bell.
When I awoke, I found I was lying on the deckplates in the control room. Oh, nobody get the Captain a pillow or blanket or anything...jerks.
I also found we are down at 70 meters...barely. The explosion that forced me bodily into the hull had also killed my AA team, and destroyed everything on the tower, and our 88!
It was right around then that I called a meeting of the crew and told them that I was never actually trained as a U-boat captain. That I got my commission because of a few favors owed to my father, from members of the government, whom shall remain nameless -you know who you are!
The only way I was able to prevent a mutiny was to remind the crew of what their uniforms looked like back at the base. You know, the ones the ladies can't seem to keep their hands off of? You guys never did thank me for that. What's a mistake or two? I see the crew nodding their heads in agreement, looking at each other, with smiles on their bearded faces, as they picture themselves in full kit, with women pawing at them - yes, these women got paid still, but, who cares, anyway. It worked. A round or two from the "secret stash" helped heal some bruised egos as well.
I ask for a damage and then an inventory report. The damage is serious. There is a pretty big leak in the galley. The cook has to empty a bucket of water into the diesel bilge once an hour as part of his regular duties now. And the leak is under some pressure, so it doesn't always spray out in a stream, and frequently splashes him in the face. I smile with justice when I think of it and his "cooking" even now.
The radio is totally destroyed as well, which is good, because it saves me the trouble.
"How many torpedoes do we have on board?"
The answer is swift. "All of them, Sir"
"What?"
"All of them..? Sir? ..."All the torpedoes are still on board"
"Ok. Look. Here's what we're gonna do. I'm just gonna 'forget' this little incident, and I will edit the war log to reflect something a little more noble." I order the weapons officer to fire off a few torpedoes, as evidence backing the story I am concocting, and retire to my bunk to come up with something half ways believable. When I am happy with my drafts, and accepting inputs from the crew so to ensure their complicity with the plot, (the captain may go down with the ship, but I won't go alone!), I end our patrol and return us to base. Oh well, we will be back for Christmas now, a lot of the crew were griping about that. It's pretty important to Germans, although I never held much interest. But, like a lot of other things, traditions last, last even longer than ships. In any case I'm telling the crew that we will get a better boat as a present for the new year. For surely they would just junk this thing. Why repair it? Right?