Position BE63
Smell level: moderately low
Sept 13, 1943
08:28 local time
Shaking, sweaty hands flipped through recognition manuals and moved cartographical instruments about the attack chart. Leutnant Skywalker was in mortal fear of his life.
He had all the data in front of him, and he was sure that an actual weapons officer from an actual uboat could easily and quickly calculate the final bits that he needed - but that was beyond him! He never had trig in his school curriculum!
As another officer would later put it, absolute silence filled the boat as the whole crew was waiting for the Bavarian to finally come up with the correct numbers to feed the Rechner with. The officers inside the Zentrale began stealing nervous glances at the WO. The chief diveman even slyly extracted a very strange and unusual slide rule, which landed on the chart, shining with strange and hypnotizing colors.
Okay, okay get a grip...the manual says the liberty has a draft...oh my god I'm going to fail at this...okay, let's set the draft at 9.5 metres...range...uh, the kommandant called 1400...
"Verdammter Narr!", the chief engineer barked quietly from his station, "Do the calculations quickly before we are too endangered!"
The strange holdup was starting to draw the ire of the Kommandant himself, but before he could properly berate the WO, Der Arishkoch ventured into the Zentrale, and drew the ire instead.
For the Koch was sharpening a metal cleaver, which created a very finely resonating sound.
"Achtung! Der Koch is hereby ordered to leave the Zentrale and will be subject to further discipline for illegally leaving his post during combat! After said combat is done!"
Quickly quickly finish this while he's distracted!
The Koch theatrically put a hand over his mouth, giggled and left the command room, his hat waving floppily. The distraction allowed leutnant Skywalker to finish inputting his data. He hesitated before turning the speed dial, for the assault slide rule somehow transformed and pointed to 5.5 knots as the answer...but the Kommandant said eight! Eight knots!
He decided to settle on seven.
"Firing solution set, herr kommandant!", he yelled with a voice two octaves two high.
The Kommandant's angry glare made him shrivel, but not fall over dead - which was probably good.
Fuming over a blatant violation of discipline, Kommandant Thanas leaned back to his periscope and glanced at the targets available to him. Soon, he found a nice and juicy large merchant.
Jawohl, he thought in his finely tuned superior Thanasian brain, Zat eest ein gute target fur oppression!
He took careful aim, and said the sacramental word...
"Los!"
Somehow, leutnant Skywalker found the correct button and pressed it. The boat shuddered, and a blast of compressed air shoved ze eel outside.
"Running time is two minutes and twenty seconds!", the weapons officer read from the assault slide rule, whose spectral aura danced and twisted before his eyes. He could feel the rush, the adrenaline of a task well done, and enlightment of understanding mathematics. It was incredible.
Before he could collapse onto the deck, Der Kommandant ordered a dive. Ze Boot began to move, and plunged beneath the waves, escaping any curious eyes.
One minute. The crew was absolutely silent, stealing glances forward, towards crewman von Dokken's station.
Von Dokken himself was concentrating immensely, listening to the faint sound of the torpedo's screws, as they lined up slowly with the target merchant...they grew closer...and closer...and closer...
On the surface. 1400 metres away.
Smell level: neglible
Sept 13, 1943
08:34 local time
...deftly realize the convoy was under attack when a torpedo exploded some half a kilometer to port.
They immediately started their alarm sirens and warned the commodore via radio. The commodore began signalling all ships to begin evasive maneuvers, and increase speed to eight knots, and signalled the dreaded attack signal, SSS - attacked by submarine.
Escorts turned, rushing into the area, but fortunately, they were obscured by the convoy's merchants themselves. However, air units and hunter-killer vessels would soon be rushing into the immediate area.
Whatever submarine was responsible for this dastardly, though ultimately futile attack was in a lot of trouble now...
Excuse me while I go find a gun and shoot myself...I refuse to work in the galley...of course that's assuming the Kommandant doesn't shoot me first...this is why I said I needed more help. Why me...
I warned you this would happen...well, time to find that gun before I get handed over to whatever the Thanasian Gestapo-equivalent is...
!
