(story) The Grey Wolf

[DanBiddle]

The steady thump was unavoidable, filling every compartment with a rhythmical beat. The ominous sound allowed none of the men to relax, or forget what the noise was, and each and every one of them took hurried glances at the chart as they passed through the control room. They all willed each and every mile to pass that bit faster, wished to be that bit nearer to safety.

Kapitänleutnant Max Donath sat on his bunk, his hand poised over the logbook now resting on the desk in front of him. He had taken a look at the chart just minutes ago, and countless times since first light. The battered U-boat was only fifty miles from the French Biscay coast, but to Donath, it felt as if it was nearer five thousand. He had been nursing the stricken boat back towards France for the last few days, and the pumps had been working over every single mile.

Donath sighed and looked down at the logbook once more. He raised a hand and flipped back the pages, his eyes glancing down at the scribbled notes telling their own brief, yet personal account of the war. The last few months had been pretty much the same, entries accounting yet more crashdives to escape aircraft or destroyers, depth-charge attacks and then the steadily rarer entry detailing a ship sunk or damaged.

He flipped back the pages to the current date. Already the year of 1941 was drawing to a close, another year of war almost over. The Atlantic was fast becoming a graveyard. No longer were the escorts crewed by novices, or equipped with relics that were obsolete a few years ago. The Battle of the Atlantic was fast becoming even, and if they weren’t careful, then the Allies would gain the upper hand Donath thought to himself.

He looked up as a voice intruded on his solitude, “Captain, I’ve got some more news.”

Donath looked up as Oberleutnant Hans Vogel, the Engineering Officer peered into his small cabin. “Come in Hans.”

Vogel ducked and moved into the compartment. “It’s the pumps, sir. They’re finally going under.”

Donath closed the logbook. “They’ve stopped?”

“No. The flow is too much for them.” He shrugged. “They’re working fine, there’s just more water coming in than they can chuck out.”

“Very well. I’ll take a look.” Donath stood up and followed the big Engineer through the control room. Already the water was climbing above the deck plates, the pumps muffled by the sea. Faces stood out, searching his expression for a sign. Assessing their chances. He was the Captain; the one they turned to. Donath could feel nothing but the sense that he had let them all down.

Further aft it was the same, but the water was just deeper. The wounds the boat had incurred after the last attack were finally too much, the valiant pumps finally overwhelmed. The deck had a noticeable tilt to it now, and Donath could no longer shrug off his duty, or forget what he owed these men. He strode back into the control room and picked the handset off the wall. There was a click of static and then he spoke.

“This is the Captain speaking….”


-----------------------------


There was not room for them all on the two rafts. Some sat or lay on them whilst others gripped onto the ratlines that hung down from the sides, and others just swum around in circles hoping to conserve heat that way. Donath looked over the scene from one of the rafts. The bobbing red lights seemed to converge on the rafts, and Donath could faintly hear their grunts and gasps as they dealt with the fear and cold, whilst trying to stay above the icy waves that hit them in the face, or avoid the oil that burned their throats.

The swimmers quickly lost feeling in their extremities as the cold probed deep within them. They thrashed about to stay warm or fought amongst themselves to grab a place alongside a raft, all the time crying out for help, the desperate pleas affecting Donath more than he thought possible. So many times he had observed this scene from a periscope, yet he had never thought it would be he who would be experiencing it. He knew what would start to happen, and could even see it himself as men began to drift away from the rafts, the pleas begin to die down.

He shuddered to himself and thought back on what had happened, what he had been through with the boat. He remembered the event of only a few hours ago; the calm, ordered evacuation from the sinking submarine as Vogel had opened her scuttles and they had all watched the bows sink below the waves. U-31 had made her last dive and the icy December sea had claimed her.

He thought back further to the convoy battle, the silent attack though the fog before the dark had been shattered by a destroyer’s searchlight as she had pounded in from close abeam. Donath had managed to avoid the ram, but the following depth-charge attack had nearly done for them. Despite being in command of a Type VIIB U-boat, as agile as they came, Donath had needed to use all his cunning, all his skill to escape the escorts. Their attack had crippled U-31, the propeller shafts leaking more and more with each passing mile.

He though back further, to the day he had attacked and sunk HMS Rangoon, one of the large Queen-Elizabeth class battleships. He had won the Knight’s Cross for that patrol, and the attack had gone down as one of the most successful in the war so far. It had been one of his earlier patrols, and luck had smiled on him that day. When the hydrophones had picked up the distinctive revolutions Donath had already found himself in the prime attack position. It had been almost textbook – moving silently just below the waves, the periscope only rarely emerging above the scattered wavecrests as he stalked the proud ship. A salvo of four torpedoes had followed, streaking out and all hitting the Rangoon firmly on her flanks. Donath had dived deep, smiling as he listened to the depth-charges exploding harmlessly far away. The Rangoon had sunk within minutes, he later found out. One of his torpedoes had started a fire which had reached the main magazine. The rest was easy to work out.

He thought too of his very first patrol in command back in April 1940. He had taken part in the Norwegian campaign, and almost sunk the Warspite as she had attacked Narvik. Donath, like almost every other U-boat commander in that campaign had suffered disastrous torpedo failures. The torpedoes had all detonated prematurely, and it was only the actions of the German destroyers that had enabled U-31 to escape and regroup. He had been disheartened then, but his luck had soon changed. Over the years Donath had sunk more and more ships, his reputation placing him in the limelight. He would never have believed that he would become an ace, talked about throughout Germany.

Donath remembered his interview with Admiral Donitz himself. The Commander of the U-boat force had ushered him into his office the day he had been promoted. Donath had found himself in awe of the man, as most did once they spoke to him at length. Donath had been in the Navy long enough to know that interviews with senior officers took time. Donitz, it seemed, was no exception to the rule. Each had his own way, but all seemed to result in being kept hanging on a thread of uneasy expectation. Donath had struggled with his thoughts, his mind racing to try and work out why Donitz would want to see him. He had tried to ignore the man’s bowed head as he had read over Donath’s report. Would he be reversing his unexpected promotion? Donath had forced himself to look away and observe the room instead.

Donitz had said suddenly, “Your Captain speaks quite well of you.” He had rustled the papers in front of him. “Yes, quite well.” Donath had tried not to swallow and betray himself to the heart of the U-boat arm. It was strange, but Donath had never understood his captain. Sometimes Donath had felt his captain had disliked him, and at best only tolerated him, yet now, on this desk, under the eyes of Donitz himself, his captain had shown him in a different light.

Donath had remembered what had happened next in vivid detail. Donitz had looked up and fixed him in a gimlet stare. “I see every man promoted to commander, Donath. From now on, it will be up to you to prove your worth. You will be given orders, but those orders will only tell you what to do. How you achieve success and carry them out will be your burden alone.” Donitz had stood up and stared out of the window. “I have held many commands over the years. The first was, of course, the most exciting, but also the loneliest. No more could I ask for help from my companions in the wardroom, nor could I seek freedom outside my hours of duty. In earlier days I had always imagined my captain to be some kind of god, put on earth to command and leave the worry to subordinates. Now, I know different, as will you.”

Donitz had turned back to look at Donath. “You will think you know better than everyone else, which is as it should be. But somewhere along the way, in the teeth of a gale, or facing a relentless depth-charge attack with your crew going to pieces around you, you will know the true meaning of command. You will know it when you need help and advice the most, and there is none. You will know it when all others are looking to you, and you have the power of life and death in your hands. Then you will know, believe me. In this trade command is everything! Our seamen face too much to have to deal with those that abuse the right to command. You are about to embark on an eight week course, where men will teach you the technicalities of commanding our newest weapon of war. But if you ever forget the message I’ve imparted to you today, then I can assure you it will be the last thing you ever do in the U-boat arm.” He had added shortly, “You may wait in the room by the entrance.”

Donath had never forgotten that moment, nor the message Donitz had imparted to him that day. Now was one of those moments Donitz had mentioned. And now, Donath was experiencing fully what that word command meant. He gathered his thoughts and stared out over the dark sea. With a sudden decisiveness he threw himself into action, dragging his men with him. For the rest of the night, Donath encouraged, berated and forcibly roused his crew into action. None of them on the rafts rested that night as Donath threw them from one activity to another, always keeping them and their minds active.

When dawn finally found the rafts, Donath was shocked to find how few men were left. The wind chilled their bodies even as the ice-cold waves washed against the rafts, causing the harnessed men to bob around disjointedly. The dark had masked all of this, and now, in the weak sunlight, the devastation was fully revealed to him. Oil and wreckage covered the sea, and bodies drifted amongst it all. Only eight men climbed aboard the German destroyer when it picked them up an hour later. Eight men from a crew of fifty one. Donath shook his head sadly as he climbed up the rope ladder, and found that his voice would not respond to the simplest task of acknowledging the destroyer’s captain. He knew what command meant now. And there was no doubt in his mind that he had failed them.

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Hope you like it!

Cheers,

Dan

[azn_132]

Very Great Read!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Brag]

A good read -- Start working on the next one

[Lagger123987]

Be like the Laughing Swordfish guy!!!!!!!!!!!!! Good Read!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A must for you bookworms in this forums.

[azn_132]

Originally Posted by Lagger123987

Be like the Laughing Swordfish guy!!!!!!!!!!!!! Good Read!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A must for you bookworms in this forums.

Ur sugar high again Lag?

[bookworm_020]

Originally Posted by Lagger123987

Be like the Laughing Swordfish guy!!!!!!!!!!!!! Good Read!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A must for you bookworms in this forums.

This is one bookworm who's reading it! Bring on the next installment.

[azn_132]

Originally Posted by bookworm_020

This is one bookworm who's reading it! Bring on the next installment.

Im also a bookworm too, well, a former bookworm, too into comps now.

[DanBiddle]

Thanks for the comments guys!!! Glad you liked it

The next installment will be on the way soon!

Cheers,

Dan

[Jimbuna]

Nice read Dan

[DanBiddle]

Here's the next part! Enjoy

************************************************** ***************

In November 1940, shortly after the successful invasion of France, Admiral Karl Dönitz had moved his Headquarters and the whole of the BdU staff from Paris to a requisitioned mansion just outside Lorient. Kernevel was a striking building, and would have once been very beautiful without the large Nazi banners suspended from windows.

Kapitänleutnant Max Donath had been escorted to a waiting staff car almost as soon as the destroyer had docked in Lorient. He was still wearing the same dirty, oil-stained clothing and had barely been able to speak a few words to the survivors of his crew. The driver had not hung about, and Donath could scarcely remember a faster trip to the house.

As he climbed out of the Mercedes onto the gravelled drive, Donath looked grimly at the SS sentries before walking between them and into the carpeted hallway. A young lieutenant escorted him up the stairs and then down the long hallway to the double doors at the end. A small desk and a couple of chairs were outside the door, and Donath was confronted by a bespectacled lieutenant seated at the desk. He had white cloth between his gold stripes.

He snapped severely, “I’m Merkel, Admiral’s secretary. He’s waiting.”

The inner office had once been the master bedroom. Now it was cleared of all the previous furniture and the wooden floor was covered by a large rug. The walls were panelled in dark mahogany and bookcases covered one wall. A table and chairs sat in one corner of the room and a large balcony dominated the other wall. Dönitz was stood with his back to a radiator, his eyes fixed on the door as Donath entered. He waited until Donath had crossed the room and then thrust out a hand.

“Glad to have you back, Donath.” He gestured to a chair and then crossed to a decanter and glasses.

Donath watched him warily. Dönitz was just the same as he had always been. He was very close to his commanders and men, and Donath had known no better leader. Yet, despite all this, Donath had never been more nervous about an interview with the Admiral.

Dönitz offered him a glass. “Nice drop of brandy.” His eyes were fixed on Donath’s, very clear in the enclosed room. “The French certainly know how to make it!” He added dryly.

Donath sipped it slowly, waiting for Dönitz to begin. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I suspect you’ve learnt more about command in the last two days than the rest of your time in U-boats combined, eh?”

Donath nodded slowly, his hand gripping the glass tighter. It was empty, but he had not remembered drinking the brandy.

“Yes, sir. There was nothing more I could do. The escorts…”

Donath stopped as the Admiral held up a hand. “Stop yourself, Donath. I hold you responsible for the loss of U-31, as it should be, but in no way do I blame you. No matter how experienced or how skilful a commander is, eventually the odds are going to turn against him. Three of our greatest aces were lost nearly a year ago now. I don’t blame them either. Talk me through what happened, eh?”

Donath nodded again as Dönitz refilled his glass. “We had been ordered to attack the convoy, and when we received the order we were set up perfected to intercept. A couple of hours steaming and we dived and picked up their tracks a few thousand metres away. It was exceptionally foggy that morning, and we crept in on the surface, on electric motors to keep the noise down.” Donath stared into space as he relived the experience. “We had just fired a salvo of four at a large tanker in the central column when a destroyer came sprinting in from abeam and fixed us in her searchlight. We scarcely had time to avoid the ram, but avoid it we did. I steered hard a port at ahead flank on the surface to clear the destroyer and then crash-dived once we had some room.” He looked up and looked straight into Dönitz’s eyes. “I have no idea how he found us. There was practically no visibility, and we were silent, yet he came for us as if we were highlighted against the sea.” He shook his head. “It was uncanny.”

Donath took another sip of the brandy. “We went deep quickly, and had a moment’s respite before the depth-charges came. We were kept under for six hours, and one of the last charges ruptured the seals on the propeller shafts.” He spread his hands. “After that, it was game over. We managed to surface, but every time the shafts rotated, they enlarged the leak slightly more, made the pumps work even harder. Then, last night just before dusk they were finally overcome, and we could no longer keep the water out.” He took another gulp of the brandy. “I ordered Hans the signalman to send off an SOS and then put the enigma and codebooks in the weight bag. I dropped them over myself after everyone had got out. One of the rafts burst, so we only had two to use, and as you know we couldn’t all fit on them. We were picked up at dawn.” He lapsed into silence.

Dönitz cleared his throat heavily. “Donath, thank you for reliving it for me. It can’t have been pleasant.” He raised his voice suddenly, making Donath sit up with a jolt. “But now is not the time for brooding! I need all my men now, and experienced commanders are hard to come by these days. If I allow you leave, then you will come back a wreck, totally unsuitable for combat operations. I need you out there, Donath, at least for the next few months. What do you say? If you don’t feel up to it then I will pull you off combat duties.”

Donath sat up straighter, and looked Dönitz in the eye. “I need a command, sir, now more than anything.”

Dönitz nodded sadly. “Yes, everyone in the service heard about your loss, and we are all saddened by it. Now your boat has been lost as well." He paused. "Chin up, lad, you’ve got a lot to give yet.” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “I’m posting you to the 11th Flotilla in Bergen.” He held up a hand again. “I know, you haven’t heard of them. It’s a new flotilla, and still working up. The commander of U-335 was unfortunately shot by an over anxious sentry last night. It’s Norway for you, Donath!”

As Donath left Kernevel in another staff car, all he could think about was the new boat. A fresh start. He had never needed it more.



************************************************** *************



Cheers,



Dan

[Kpt. Lehmann]

Good stuff Mr. Biddle.

[U-104]

[Lagger123987]

More!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[azn_132]

Keep on comin, dont stop now.

[DanBiddle]

Thanks for all your comments guys! They make all the difference - it's nice to know it's being appreciated. The next installment will be along soon - although to be honest, Norway in January does sound decidedly cold!

Cheers,

Dan