%*#$%@ Sunderlands

[Sacs]

Trolling south just West of Ireland on my way home to Brest, trying not to be seasick with the interesting weather, when I happened across a decent sized convoy. Only 2 fish left, so lined up the juicy T3 in the center, one under the keel, one into the smoke stack. Boom. Boom! Woot!

Damn thing wouldn't sink - water lapping over her deck and her engines disabled. So after dodging the escorts decided to sit quietly nearby and wait for the weather to clear so I could finish her with the deck gun.

4 days! 4 damned days sitting at 30m waiting for the weather Gods, coming up at night to breathe.

Finally the winds drop to 6ms, still a lit fog, but finally! Surface the boat! Man the gun!

Aircraft spotted!

Crap!

Man the AA. 2 Sunderlands coming in directly from the bow. Can't bring the guns to bear! Before I could turn, dive or run-away they each dropped a stick directly on the bow. Blew the damn 88 right off!

To make matters worse they killed my two highly trained Sr Warrant Officer gunners who had been with me since the start of the war. (They could shoot the fleas off the Captains beard from 3000 meters!) Naturally the untrained seaman loader (eminantly expendable) survived with just stained pants.

I had to leave the T3 wallowing there and limp home. Inventing new swear words all the way.