U-2 War Journal

[Steeltrap]

Originally Posted by Bosje

Yes, I had the engines stopped when i drew out a new course line, completely forgetting that it automatically goes to ahead standard

HaHa!! I avoid that by dragging the waypoint to the new course I want rather than deleting it/setting a new one. Even if you give manual orders so you're no longer following the plotted course, the Nav oficer can return you to course without changing your speed.

NYGM prevents you from sitting still - you can't maintain depth and slowly sink. OK if you want to go deeper, but useless for waiting in ambush.

Great read - really enjoy it!!

(on a final note, and I apologise for being picky, but this is a mistake I see all the time and it drives me nuts: IT'S means "it is"; ITS is the possessive.
For example: if a ship is facing you bow-on, it's (i.e. it is) showing its bow (i.e. possessive: the ship's bow) at a zero angle.
I know this is picky, but just about everyone who writes stories here seems to get this completely incorrect...stuffed if I know why!)

[sharkbit]

(on a final note, and I apologise for being picky, but this is a mistake I see all the time and it drives me nuts: IT'S means "it is"; ITS is the possessive.

"To" and "too" is always my pet peeve.

[Bosje]

Originally Posted by Steeltrap

HaHa!! I avoid that by dragging the waypoint to the new course I want rather than deleting it/setting a new one. Even if you give manual orders so you're no longer following the plotted course, the Nav oficer can return you to course without changing your speed.

NYGM prevents you from sitting still - you can't maintain depth and slowly sink. OK if you want to go deeper, but useless for waiting in ambush.

Great read - really enjoy it!!

(on a final note, and I apologise for being picky, but this is a mistake I see all the time and it drives me nuts: IT'S means "it is"; ITS is the possessive.
For example: if a ship is facing you bow-on, it's (i.e. it is) showing its bow (i.e. possessive: the ship's bow) at a zero angle.
I know this is picky, but just about everyone who writes stories here seems to get this completely incorrect...stuffed if I know why!)

Its / It's... yeah I know, I try to make a point of reading and re-reading the whole thing before posting it but that type of error tends to slip past me. I usually edit that kind of stuff several weeks afterwards. English is not my native language, throw me a bone here

As for the course change... I dragged it, didn't delete/set it, but it still caused the engines to go. Either way, realistic play requires propulsion even at silent running so it was my own damn fault.

next chapter coming soon

[Steeltrap]

Hey, if English isn't your native language then it should be, as you seem to write it better than many native speakers.

Just on that, it's interesting that many of the most 'correct' English users are those for whom it is a second language, especially some European nations. I'm guessing it's because they are taught 'correct' grammatical structure in their native languages and their tuition in English carries that over. Native speakers tend to learn all sorts of bad habits and aren't taught grammar (even elementary grammar).
Then, of course, we have our friends from the USA, who perpetrate all sorts of atrocities on the English language.
As Churchill put it (I think it was he):
"England and the United States are two nations separated by a common language" or words to that effect!

Either way, really enjoy your story and am in no way seeking to discourage you!!!

Cheers

[Bosje]

'Bulkheads giving way, something is going down, Herr Kaleun.' I look at the clock, it says it's exactly midnight. 'We got one!' The word is spreading fast, but there is little time to celebrate as the escort's screws are getting louder once more. Hold on, boys! The familiar game. 'Warship closing in at 200.' 'Rudder 20 port, AK voraus!' 'Wasserbomben!' 'Schleichfahrt.' And yet another near miss. They keep it up for well over an hour but we are never in any real trouble, most of the boys are well used to it and before long, the boat is secure from action stations. While we pop back up to periscope depth, I finally get a chance to concern myself with Ringelmann. My First Officer joins me as we reach the nco quarters. Ringelmann is in his bunk, hands and feet tied to the bunk railing, his face and pillow soiled with vomit and a stained gag hangs around his neck, pulled down by the armed guard to keep him from choking. He had to endure the engagement without knowing what was going on, the overhead screws and the depthcharges must have been a horrible thing to endure. I start feeling sorry for him and the same sympathy registers on Hans' face. 'Are you alright, boy?' His eyes bulge as he snaps. 'YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS! You just wait till...' I put a premature end to the drama by looming over him, ignoring the stench of the vomit. I grab him by the chest and pull his upper body out of the bunk, putting us face to face. Fury is boiling within me, we were feeling sorry for him just seconds ago but now I can not control all the emotions which are flowing through me. This boy will be on the receiving end of a year's worth of frustrations and fears. Not many have ever seen me lose my temper and both the boy and Hans are taken aback. 'Don't even think about threatening me with your political connections, you swine. Do you understand your situation? I could execute you here and now on the grounds of sabotage and I would never hear another thing about it.'


His expression makes it clear that he does not understand it. He looks intimidated by my fury but underneath that, there is still a dangerous sense of indignant outrage, he still feels untouchable by an unpolitical lowlife such as me. Very well, 'You think about how much you value your life for another couple of hours, you idiot boy.' I put the gag back on and we leave him steaming in his own refuse. Hans and I make our way back to the control room and I am deeply troubled after that encounter. 'Hans, what the hell are we going to do with him?' 'Maybe he could have an 'accident' while out on the bridge.' 'No, I won't have that.' I had in fact been toying with that very idea but I dismissed it, it goes against everything I've been brought up to be. A stupid sense of honour and nobility still lingers inside me, in spite of everything. 'If we dispose of him, I will pull the trigger myself. I alone will be responsible, Hans, don't even think about doing anything stupid now.' He shrugs: 'It was just a suggestion, Becks.' I sigh and we enter the control room. The boys in there are oblivious to my troubles, they are simply glad to have struck the convoy and to be alive afterwards. Back to business. 'Periscope depth, I trust Albert is working on those torpedoes?' 'Yes, Herr Kaleun, tubes one and two already reloaded.' The convoy is sailing off to our northwest. We heard two ships going down with a third one struggling to keep up, we may get a shot at finishing her off. No escorts are heard anywhere nearby. The typical high pitch noise of the carrier is not heard anymore, I count it as sunk but we'll have to wait for BdU confirmation on that one. We came out on top, after all.

2 am and it is nowhere near dark. Damn this eternal Arctic twilight. The Liberty has no propulsion but she is still afloat, not 1500 meters away. Faint traces of smoke on the horizon are all that remains of the convoy. I move back from the observation periscope and make a few decisions. 'Hals, release that idiot boy and bring him here.' We don't have the facilities for keeping prisoners on board and I'm gonna set him loose. I drag the boy into my cabin before we go back to action stations. He cleaned himself somewhat up and put on a clean uniform. He has a different look on his face now, a quietly defiant expression, momentary resignation with a promise of payback. Despite this dangerous look, I still continue my plan: 'Ringelmann, you are demoted to ordinary seaman. You will serve as the cook's assistant for the remainder of this patrol and you are free to finish your account during your spare time, you're also free to go anywhere on the boat when off duty. I trust you learned not to get in anyone's way again?' 'Yes Sir, I will not compromise the boat again.' 'Good. Write whatever you want about me but if you diminish even one of my men I'll throw you overboard with all of your stuff. Consider yourself lucky for still being alive at this point. Do I make myself clear?' 'Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant. I am sorry about my mistake and I apologize for speaking out against you and your officers, Herr Oberleutnant.' His reply is very correct and I don't believe a word of it. We stand opposite each other and I get an almost symbolic feeling of animosity between the old and the new, between military tradition and newfangled politics. The look in his eyes tells me that it won't end well, this little rat can probably pull a few strings and finish me with just one phone call to Berlin. But I am not interested, we are a long way from Berlin now, this is my territory and I won't be bullied by some snot nosed ignoramus with a handful of ideals. I have no ambitions anymore other than fighting the Battle of the Atlantic for as long as the war allows me. I'll worry about anything else when we are back in the Fjords. 'Get out of my sight, seaman Ringelmann.'


He leaves for the aft compartments with a purposeful step. I shake any thoughts about him from my mind, it's time to do some more sinking now. 'Surface the boat! Volkmar, get your boys ready for the deckgun. Jakob, send off a contact report and status report as soon as we are surfaced.' U-735 comes up in an unfussed fashion. Everything is in shades of gray when I get up on the bridge: the boat, the sea, the sky, the faces of the men and the crippled merchant nearby. The only remotely colourful things are my dark blue woolen deck coat and white cap but even those are sallow after a year of hard service. We get into position and then it's all set: range on the freighter 1350 meters. Aim for the waterline. Volkmar and me are the only ones on the bridge while the boys are training the 88. Ringelmann is on the deck with his camera, it turns out he had a spare lens. Everyone simply ignores him, he is tolerated after I released him but the boys have taken to a scheme of acting like he isn't there at all. The boy reacts to this by having no expression on his face at all while still acting very deliberately and purposeful. It takes a lot of effort on my part to shake the worries from my mind. 'Open fire!' Volkmar goes to work on the merchant and I find myself startled by the crack of the gun. Dammit man, pull yourself together. I leave the Liberty to Volkmar while I scan the horizon, with special attention to where that convoy steamed away from us. A voice calls up through the hatch: 'Jakob reports an awful lot of chatter on the radio, Herr Kaleun, the merchant is calling for help.' That was to be expected, of course. 'Volkmar, get this over with quickly!'


A shell screams over my head and splashes into the sea behind us. This bastard is shooting back at us and he is shooting well. We only put two shells into her waterline so far and if this turns into a long gunfight, they will be at an advantage. As a gun platform, the drifting freighter is a lot more stable than our narrow decks. We should have just used a torpedo to finish her off. Another shell screams towards us, it throws up a fountain very close to our bow, showering all the boys on the the deck and throwing a few of them off their feet. This is getting too hairy. 'Secure the deck gun! Quickly, quickly!' The boys will need a few seconds to scramble back onto the bridge before we can open up the valves on the ballast tanks. 'Ahead flank, hard port rudder, prepare to dive!' I yell the orders through the tube for the benefit of Anton down below while the boys hurry back to the bridge. Then I see Ringelmann still by the gun, taking a last picture of the listing freighter as its two guns open up on us again. 'Verdammt noch mal, boy! Get back here now!' Two more shells scream in, one zips right past my head, causing a terrible ringing in my ears, and the other slams into the boat, in front of the conning tower, throwing the boat hard on her left flank. My head collides violently with the periscope housing as I lose my footing and a sharp pain erupts behind my eyes while Volkmar shouts 'FLOOD HER!' Someone drags me by my leg and I slide down through the open hatch, barely holding on to the ladder. Several bodies follow me down and the hatch is closed while the first gush of sea water already spills through it. The salt water stings uncomfortably on my head, I must have cut my head during the fall. I feel very hazy and dizzy, I'm only just able to keep myself standing on the the floor of the control room but I'm unable to take charge of things. Hans and Anton are shouting orders while the doc drags me off to my bunk. Warm liquid is flowing into my neck, I'm bleeding quite a lot and the pain behind my eyes is not going away. The doc spills alcohol into my wound, another violent sting and then I lose consciousness.


I awake with a start, bathed in sweat and with a great feeling of dread. I shiver and try to sit up straight but my body is not responding well and it turns into a slumped position, half leaning against the wood paneling. My head throbs so hard that my eyes fail to focus properly. Jakob is quick to get up from his seat and gently pushes me back down with a whispered 'We are alright, Herr Kaleun, but you must rest now.' I try to resist his push but I lack the strength. Instead, I whisper back: 'I am needed in the control room, man. Help me get up.' He smiles and says: 'Hans can handle things for a while, Sir. Doc says you have severe concussion and you need to rest.' 'I'm fine, help me get up. That's an order.' He smiles again but doesn't help me get up. Instead, he keeps talking. 'Two escorts came back from the convoy after we dived. Hans fired three eels at them from long range before diving. We have a bit of a hole in the outer hull but the pressure hull is still holding. Flooding was soon contained and we are fine up to 100 meters. The torpedoes didn't get them but the escorts didn't get us either. An hour ago, we finished off the freighter and we are now sitting still, licking our wounds and loading our last torpedoes into the tubes.' I need a minute to take all this information in. So the boat is still sort of in one piece and Hans nailed that Liberty with a torpedo. Good man. Then I remember the shooting. 'What about the gunners, Volkmar, Ringelmann?' Jakob smiles again. 'Volkmar got all the boys safely inside while the boat took a plunge down, they are fine, just some bruises. Your injuries are the worst we sustained, apart from Ringelmann. Volkmar says that the boy got swept away when that shell hit us. We dived without him, he is gone.' I feel a knot in my stomach, this is not how I wanted it to end: 'So Ringelmann is gone, is he?' 'Nothing could be done about it, Sir. We think it's for the best, don't you?' 'No, Jakob, I don't.'


The truth is that I was seeking a fight with the establishment, I wanted him to write about how one of Germany's more famous surviving commanders was an old-fashioned and bitter aristocrat, rather than a believer in the Party and the Final Victory. I wanted the people back home to read about how the war is lost on all fronts, starting here on the Atlantic. Of course, that was never going to happen. The truth is on nobody's list of priorities. I rest my head back onto the bloodstained pillow, the big bandage is not sufficient to stem the flow from the gasp in my head and I try to rest without much luck. The pain in my head, the fate of the boy and the urge to drink hard liquor keep me from falling asleep.



The Duke (sorry to have kept you so long)

[sharkbit]

Awesome story.

Keep 'em coming. I was starting to go into withdrawals.

[nikbear]

Edge of the seat stuff thisExcellent

[Jimbuna]

Nice

[bookworm_020]

Nice writing!

[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)

[Bosje]

November, 1943


Noise, smoke and shouting are all around me but they are not the result of violence and death, not this time. The train has come to a stop, the civilian baggage handler opens the compartment door for me and moves out of the way, bowing and saluting in all the wrong ways. I step onto the platform and immediately squint against the bright sun. This is what autumn looks like over here? I could get used to this place. The handler follows me onto the platform with my luggage, still bowing. I do not usually wear my full uniform with rank and decorations but it has its advantages and it saves a lot of trouble on a long journey like this. On the far end of the platform, a navy officer is looking at me and after a while approaches. He, too, salutes. Correctly. 'Duke Beckman, Sir?'
'Ah, no, well I'm Beckman but I'm not a duke.'
'Oh, sorry Sir, it's just that we figured...'
'Never mind, long story.'
'All right, Sir. I am Rudi Papendorf, your first watch officer. I'm here to pick you up. Welcome to France, Sir. Had a good journey?'
'Thank you, Leutnant. The journey was not good, no. Train got bombed by the Amis. Twice.'
'Ah, so our comrades in the Luftwaffe were...'
He swallows the rest of his sentence and glares casually at a man in a leather coat and black hat who walked round the corner into hearing range.
'...We have a flotilla staff car just over there, Sir. I'll take you to the boat.'


He is a talkative man, my new 1.WO.
'The men are keen to meet you, Sir. They are excited to be putting out under one of the Arctic veterans. We heard about....'
He keeps blabbing while the car finds its way to the U-pens and my mind wanders off. One of the Arctic veterans. The images visit me again, they are still not gone after a week in hospital and a month in the sanatorium. I recovered from the severe concussion although the doctors say I have to expect chronic migraines. But I have yet to recover fully from the mental impact of that last patrol in the Arctic wastes. The convoy, the eternal daylight, the pain in my head, Ringelmann, the hedgehogs. God, the hedgehogs. We went back at the convoy because I ordered to. We even succeeded in sinking two more ships. Payback for Ringelmann. And then they got their own revenge. Three escorts taking turns. One maintaining contact, a second one nailing us down from behind and launching the forward firing bombs on us, then two depth charge runs in close succession. And then the same all over again. We survived but only just. Volkmar was just standing there, looking up with tears in his eyes, crying 'Not fair! Not fair!' Hans was swearing like a dockworker while trying to drive the boat. Anton and Albert were with their boys in the forward and aft compartments, trying to control the flooding and keep the boat alive. And I was desperately trying to think of a way to outsmart them, to avoid those bombs. I failed. The tommies dropped their stuff on us so vigorously that they quickly ran out of ammunition and then they suddenly steamed off, perhaps to hunt another boat. It lasted only an hour, but that hour wrecked my U-735, it wrecked the crew and it got the better of me. We returned to Bergen and I was carried off the boat by two sailors, headed straight for the hospital. U-735 was nothing more than a good-looking scrapheap, Hans was promoted and issued his own command, the rest of the boys went to various postings and I was considered for retirement. After hospital I was sent to a sanatorium in Bavaria. An old and bitter man at the age of twenty-nine, a month among other senile, sullen and worn out warriors with hollow eyes and pale faces, hardly any of them over thirty.


But the fresh mountain air, the sun, good food and a lot of rest can work miracles. I stopped feeling like a drink all the time, I traded cigarettes back for an occasional well-stuffed pipe and after a few weeks I was born again. The Bergen patrols still haunt me sometimes but I suppose that's only normal for a combat veteran. Otherwise, I'm fine. And here I am, on my way to a new command. They wanted me for training duties but I requested a front boat posting. Being an ace, I got it. A new boat, freshly slipped into the Med, only one casualty from making it through the Gibraltar Straits, the commander whose job I will take. They say the Med is terrible but it can't be all that bad. For starters, the climate is wonderful.
The first officer stops his monologue as the car enters a heavily guarded harbor. 'Ah here we are, Sir. Toulon U-boat base.'

[nikbear]

Great to have you writing the next instalment again Bosje....The Duke will have his hands full with a new command AND in the Med things are going to get tough

[bookworm_020]

A change in location and new women and convoys to go after!

[Bosje]

The first port of call is FdU, our meeting is short and to the point. 'What do you know about the Mediterranean, Beckman?'
'Different latitude, same war, I suppose. The Tommies and the Macaronies being their usual annoying selves. But with a nice climate.'
'Exactly, Oberleutnant. Things are a bit awkward now that the Italians switched sides, but no matter, you can expect any contact to be hostile. Plenty of targets, plenty of enemies. As for the climate, it helps them more than it helps you. Try to keep your boat and crew in one piece, we are on our last legs here in these waters. Your boat is the latest to have made the crossing through Gibraltar. Did they tell you what happened?'
'No Sir, all I know is that there was some trouble and the Kaleun got killed.'
Rudi is standing beside me in the office and he stirs a little. Flotilla Commander Jahn looks at him. 'Perhaps you can indulge us, Herr Leutnant?'
Rudi's voice is shaky: 'Ehm well, first patrol, all the way around England and through the Straits into the Med. We were almost through, as deep and silent as we could. Then the Kaleun wanted a look around and we were both in the conning tower at periscope depth. Foggy, smooth sea, sound contacts all around but we could not see a thing. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a destroyer charged straight into the periscope and made a mess. Water rushing into the conning tower, Kaleun was crushed between the periscope and the hull, he shouted at me to get down and close the hatch, leave him there, save the boat. I did. We limped all the way over here. I'd rather talk about something else, please.'
I raise my eyebrows. So now I know how he got that Iron Cross. Quite a tale.


The Flotilla Commander takes over again: 'We buried the man covered in posthumous decorations but it's a troubling affair. The only thing we can think of is that their radar can detect a periscope. Quite disturbing. Anyway, the boat has been fitted with an all new conning tower. And the rest of her was still brand new to begin with. She went through her sea trials back in the Baltic but I do not trust these local boys as far as I could throw them, they aren't too happy about our occupation last year. So your first order of business is to take her out for a test run, see if it all holds together at depth. Get to know the boat and the men, then you'll go out on patrol. Questions?'
'No Sir.'
We shake hands. 'She's all ready to go, all we were waiting for was you, Herr Oberleutnant. You'll set out tonight. Bon voyage, as they say.'


We make our way over to the docks. This was the home base of the Vichy French fleet, they scuttled all their ships last year when the tank divisions made a show of themselves, adding this part of the world to the Reich. The wrecks create a slightly surreal scene in the otherwise peaceful surroundings which remind me of Riviera holiday brochures. Then I am in for a shock. Several U-boats are moored against the quays, no bunkers, no heavily protected shelters, they are simply sitting there in the open air.
'Tell me, Rudi, what do you do when they decide to drop some bombs here?'
'I dunno, Sir. We've only been here a month. Pray perhaps?'
'Pray? When was the last time God favored The Stupid?'
'Ehm, well the Channel Dash was a huge success, wasn't it? And a pretty stupid idea, at that.'
'Ah yes, touché.' We both laugh.
'Look, there she is, U-293. Pretty, isn't she?'
My eyes follow his stretched arm to a dark mass of steel, small figures crawling over the deck. The first thing I notice is the absence of a deck gun. The only thing sticking up out of the familiar slender shape of a Type VII hull is the conning tower, like some kind of medieval weapon. A straight angle up from the decks at the front, gradually sloping down at the rear with a two-stage wintergarten AA platform. An unassuming paint job in shades of black and gray, everything about her is a testament to her role of predator: the silent hunter. I shiver. 'Yes, Rudi. Very pretty indeed.'


The Duke

[Bosje]

Fore and aft clear! Ahead one third. The same wonderful scenery is different at night, different in that you can't see a thing. Light discipline, bah. I have no idea where we are going, the only clue is the obscured navigation light on the escort which will take us out to sea. Rudi knows these waters better than I do.
'1.WO, you have the helm, just follow that minesweeper.'
While U-293 slowly makes her way out of the U-boat base, I take the time to feel her, hear her, get to know her. I think it is madness to send a boat through all these obstacles in a pitch black night but if we allow everyone to see us, la resistance will no doubt inform every Allied plane of everything they need to know. The navigator is down below with his charts and a stopwatch, keeping an eye on our track in the glow of the red lights. I join him in the control room which is almost exactly like it was on U-735, except for the personal items which are everywhere. Leutnant zur See Kurt Weber, the navigator is also the doctor. Not just a medic but a proper doctor, distracted from his hospital internship by the war. A smart man, it is comforting to know that we are in good hands. Unless of course he is the first casualty.


We spend a few hours running south at different speeds, waiting for the sun to come up. Over half of the crew is off duty but nobody is sleeping in their bunks and the boat is buzzing with activity. This will be a short patrol but the boys are still all over the place, scurrying around with items to be squared away.
4:45. ALAAARM! I start my stopwatch while the crew is startled and frantically switches to the crash dive routine. As the needle on the depth gauge touches on the 14 meter mark, I stop the clock. Thirty seconds, not good enough and the boat is messed up with things being knocked over everywhere. 'Oberbootsmann! This is not the Volkssturm, get your act together!' He is just as annoyed as I am with the poor performance. 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun, sorry Herr Kaleun.' Meanwhile, the LI completes the dive and levels off at 70 meters. After a full check of the boat, we can be sure that she is in good shape. U-293 is an improved version of the Type VIIC. Heavier, stronger, but slightly slower as a result. Supposedly, they can go significantly deeper even than my old VIIC. I'm curious to see just exactly how deep.


'Navigator, ping for depth.' 'Over a thousand meters.' Well that's deep enough. Amazing, we are still close to the French coast. Very well, I turn to my chief engineer who is with me in the control room, keeping an eye on the bubble. Anton's old spot, I can't help thinking about him. What will he be doing right now? Wake up, Duke!
'LI, how deep have you been with this boat?'
Heinz Rethmeier turns to me: 'These beauties can go very deep indeed, Herr Kaleun, we have been to 250 meters without problems on our test dives in the Baltic.'
'250? I have been deeper than that in my old boat, LI.'
He looks surprised. As do I. 'Well, only one way to find out. Take her down at 4 knots. Oberbootsmann! Have your boys keep an eye out in all compartments.'
And so there I am once again, leaning against the observation periscope, feet wide to balance myself against the tilted floor, my eyes fixed on the depth gauge.


The sounds take some getting used to, it can be scary but it's nothing more than the steel settling in as the pressure builds up. Booming, squirming, creaking, shrieking. Some of the crew are clearly not used to it. 'Easy, boys. This is just the satisfied sigh of the boat being in her element.' They are not convinced. My crew is still not quite washed behind the ears. Heinz sounds off the readings as we make it deep into the cellar.
'One six zero. Approaching critical depth. One eight zero.' Everything by the book, which is good.
'Two zero zero, we are diving too deep Herr Kaleun!'
'Deeper, LI.'
I remember the times on U-735 when we had trouble controlling the boat at slow speeds against the immense pressure at these depths. Let's see how this boat and crew take care of themselves.
'Level her off at 220, 100 rpm.'
They need several minutes but they manage it just fine. Good. 'Let's go a bit deeper, ahead two thirds.'
Heinz coughs but then acknowledges: 'Jawohl Herr Kaleun.'


'Two nine zero.' This is deeper than I ever went before. The needle is well off the scale but Heinz can make a good guess at the actual depth. I want to pass the 300 mark, just for my own satisfaction, that will do for today.
'All stop.' The boat becomes very quiet, except for the creaking, lifelessly slipping down. But I am still not hearing any of the warning screams which my old boat gave as we took her too deep. I grin while I take a look around me.
'Interesting boat, this.' The men around me are not amused except for Heinz. 'Yes, Sir. She is something. But ah, this is as deep as I would take her, Sir. Approximately three zero zero.'
'Very well, back full, maintain down angle.' As good a time as any to test emergency maneuvers.
The boat stirs a little while the planesmen turn their planes as the boat picks up reverse speed. We have to hold onto something for balance but the needle on the gauge starts creeping up, back to safety. At 250 I order all ahead flank, the boat shakes but does exactly what I want her to do. 'Blow all ballast.' The needle zips up now and very soon, we broach the surface. I am extremely satisfied.
'Well done, men. Well done.' I put my hand on the nearest bulkhead as I quietly whisper: 'And well done to you, too, young lady. I think we will get along just fine.'
Heinz overheard me and gives me a look. Ah, the silly habits of the new Old Man. 'Mind your own business, LI.' He grins. 'Yes Sir. But I don't blame you, Sir. I like her, too.'


Over the next three days we test just about everything there is to be tested, except for the torpedoes which I consider too expensive to waste. Dive time is down to 27 seconds, U-293 is fully operational, she and the crew are ready for war, as is the Kaleun. Well, as ready as can be expected, anyway.
We return to Toulon, take three weeks having fun and getting the boat ready for a long patrol. The boat receives the latest in anti-sonar coating and radar warning receivers and then we set off again. Into the Mediterranean, our destination is the triangular stretch of water between Sicily, Tunis and Sardinia. It's been years since I last operated that close to shore, as first officer. Whatever we will find there, I expect it will not be boring. The date is November 23rd and I am determined to be back in Toulon for the New Year's festivities, together with all my men. 'Course 170, ten knots will do.' Behind us, the Riviera fades on the horizon.



The Duke