Close Call (story)

[Schöneboom]

U-77's third patrol under Kptlt. Peter Ullmann.
28 November 1942. North of Tobruk, in Grid CO56.

"Come on, men, we've been in tighter spots than this," I said.

Rolf, my 1WO, smiled nervously, straining to remember when. We couldn't help but notice our boat's ominous aftward tilt. Between wabo explosions, we heard the damage control teams working furiously to stem the flooding in three compartments.

Anton climbed down from the tower, shaking his head. "We lost both periscopes, the radio antenna, and the radar warning receiver," he said. "I'm sure that last barrage took out the Wintergarten, too."

"Could be worse. Any casualties?"

Rolf and Anton looked at each other. At last Rolf said, "Bootsmann Kern smacked into a bulkhead. Got a nasty bruise."

I sighed with exaggerated concern. "Ah, if only his Mutti were here, she would kiss it and make it better!" Compared to our last patrol, when we lost the entire flak crew, we were still lucky. For the moment at least.

The commotion astern began to subside. Dripping wet, our LI wearily hauled himself up from the engine room to join us. In spite of Heinrich's grim expression, the fact that he could even make a report now meant there had to be some good news. He caught his breath before speaking.

"The starboard diesel's wrecked, beyond repair," he began. "Aft batteries are all kaputt. Half the forward batteries are gone, too. Pressure hull's in bad shape. I wouldn't take her below 200 meters."

"And the bad news, LI?" I asked. That almost made him smile.

"We stopped the flooding," he said. "But it's knee-deep back there. And we still have slow leaks. Even after we drain out the Heckraum, we must keep the pumps on, if we want to run at 50 rpm and not sink."

More wabos exploded; Heinrich dodged a swinging salami. I said, "In that case, the Tommies will hear us, even with the thermal layer."

"Herr Kaleun, about that thermal layer," said Rolf. "It's lower than it was. About 160 meters now, I'd say." Marvelous, I thought, that's all we need.

The depth gauge now read 185 meters. And we were still sinking. Another set of wabos exploded directly behind us. One of our red lights shattered.

"Ahead full speed," I said. "LI, keep the pumps running, and do what you can about those leaks."

Heinrich nodded and clambered back down to the stern. The rest of us watched the depth needle climb with excruciating slowness. With our weakened batteries, the e-motors were turning only 150 rpm.

"Blow ballast!" I ordered. "We have to get higher!" Let the wabos fall, I thought. The more noise they make, the better for us. The compressed air hissed loudly; the depth needle rose at a more encouraging rate.

Soon we were at 130 meters. Like sharks, the two destroyers circled overhead, pinging for us. "Ahead slow, 50 rpm," I said.

At one knot, the boat began to sink again. Rolf realized what I was doing. With no further adjustments, in a minute we'd be under the thermal layer again.

"Not bad, Herr Kaleun," he said. "But how long can we keep this up?"

"All night, if necessary. "We won't suffocate."

"But we won't slip the noose this way," he said. "Even if the Tommies don't get a direct hit, they'll know more or less where we are."

"Clearly, everything depends on getting the boat trimmed and stopping those leaks in the stern. If we can't shut off the pumps without sinking to crush depth, well..."

Anton stifled a nervous laugh. The planesmen glanced at him. We all knew the rest. If our battery power ran out before we could slip past the Tommies...

Willi, our navigator, busied himself by changing the broken bulb. I imagined he was starting to regret his transfer to the U-Bootwaffe.

Scanning the map of the eastern Mediterranean, I considered our options. "Willi," I said, "I have a job for you. Plot us a course back home, first north to the Peloponnese, then west across the Ionian Sea."

"Then through the Strait of Messina?" he asked.

"Exactly," I replied. "We bagged four freighters. Mustn't be greedy."

"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun," he answered. The task would take his mind off the crisis at hand.

From the sonar station, Oskar whispered urgently, "Herr Kaleun! Destroyer at 210, closing fast!"

I checked the depth gauge: 170 meters. I turned to Rolf. "You know the routine. I'll be in the officers' mess." That raised a few eyebrows.

"Herr Kaleun, shall I change course as well as depth?"

"Yes. Zig-zag, about thirty degrees after each attack. Keep heading southward, generally." The destroyers would tag along, of course. But not forever, if we could help it.

Karl-Heinz brought me a sandwich and a mug of coffee. The word spread quickly, as I expected. At a time like this, the skipper was taking a break?! The effect was better than any speech I could've given. Most of the men had no choice but to lie in their bunks and wait it out. But perhaps the situation wasn't so hopeless after all.

What I think, but never say, is that hope is what you need when there is no cause for optimism.

In truth, the fate of the boat was not in my hands, but in Heinrich's. He knew it, too. I was not about to disturb him, though I badly wanted to check up on his progress.

Up and down, up and down we went for the next hour, with Rolf taking his cues from the exploding wabos. He was becoming quite proficient at evasive maneuvers. The Tommies must have been very frustrated!

My brief "rest" came at a price: the nagging fear that we would run out of time. At first we had only one destroyer after us. If they managed to get a second one to join the hunt, there might be more on the way to relieve them.

If only I had sunk that first destroyer when I had the chance! I was obsessed with getting that last freighter! Well, we got her, all right. A perfect shot.

In the dim red light we all waited, listening to the silence, broken by whispered commands, the groans of the hull, and the churning of propellers above. Little by little, our boat returned to its normal trim. The wabos missed us, again and again. And yet... could we slip past the destroyers in time?

I couldn't stand it anymore. I got up and went directly to the Heckraum. There I found the deck panels removed and Heinrich standing in a puddle below. Upon seeing me, he gestured to his assistants, Roitner and Giess. Utterly exhausted and soaked to the skin, they nodded and left.

"Well, how goes it?" I asked. Heinrich gave me an equivocal look, as if to mask his disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Herr Kaleun," he said. "I couldn't stop all the leaks. But I think we can turn off the pumps for an hour. Maybe two. Will that be enough?"

"Let's hope so," I replied.