4
Position BF41
Smell level: low/rising
Sept 12, 1943
09:40 local time
"ALAAAAAAAAAAAAAARM! ENEMY DESTROYER, BEARING 090, COMING IN FAST!"
The orderly cheerness of the boat instantly turned into terrorized chaos. Alarm bells rang throughout the sub and sailors, who until a split-second ago were leisurely performing their duties in preparation for the hunt, sprung to their feet.
"Immediate crash dive!", der Kommandant yelled, "Watch crew below! All ahead flank!"
The Chief turned to his divemen immediately and began barking out orders with the speed of a Panzer speeding through Zenobian plains, "JAWOHL! Crash dive, now! Open main vents!"
The decks filled with the sound of thumping boots, bootsmen began to yell at the crewmen to run forward. von Shapp slid down the main ladder, landed on Shultz - the fat, lazy layabout who found himself in an unfortunate place while huffing slowly forward.
"ALL CREW FORWARD! Move move move! I want to see smoke coming out of your assholes, assholes!"
"Vents open! Forward planes 15 down!"
"Oh my god who yelled about the torpedoes?!"
"Get a grip you crazy bavarian!"
"We are going HOW deep?!"
The lights blinked off for a split-second and then went back on as the diesels shut down. An electrocuted turkey flew across the command spaces, chased by incomprehensible profanities thrown by the Koch.
U-1313 slid down beneath the waves just in time. On the horizon, a menacing silhouette of a lone destroyer was growing closer and closer. It was a race - would the enemy get close enough to fire his weapons, before the boot managed to stomp off into the safe depths? As the U-1313 secured for silent running, that was exactly the thought on everybody's minds.
Position BF41
Smell level: neglible
Sept 12, 1943
09:41 local time
"Ha! I told you, Ishmael! Told you they were close!", commander Achabowski beamed, "Today we shall hunt! Bring me my harpoon and prepare to launch the boats!"
Stone's answer was interrupted by the sonarman's report, "U-Boat is submerging, sir! We have strong ASDIC contact!"
"Blisters and humus! Make ready the hedgehog, arrrr!'
As the
Pekan relentlessly sped across the waves, its crew began pulling arming pins from the menacing clump of mortar bombs installed on the foredeck of the vessel.
"NA BAGNETY!", captain Achabowski yelled. Before his XO could wipe the spittle off his face, the hedgehog fired.
Chard von Dooken was praying. His little enclosed space one compartment in from of the control room has been his world for three days now, but he had little to do. Now he had plenty, but wished he hadn't.
The boot dived hard and fast, stomping through the depths, and as it did, bootsman von Dooken began hearing all sorts of sounds. The tortured groaning of the hull, as U-1313 dove deeper and deeper into the ocean in an effort to get away from the hated enemy. The vicious whooping of the destroyer's screws, like a howling of a wild beast let loose. He read out the bearings, in a hushed whisper necessitated by the boot's silent running regimen. Der Kommandant hovered over his shoulder, trying to paint a picture of the situation.
Suddenly, there was something else. Splashes. Very faint ones, but...what...
"HEDGEHOG!", he yelled, a bit too loud. The dreaded name, the antisubmarine mortar which has claimed so many Thanasian sailors, even their superior lungs unable to fend off the devillish Anglian invention. Only depraved minds of the people from this island could've come up with such a dishonorable weapon.
But dishonorable or not, it made the men clutch anything they could, and close their eyes.
Most men. In the dreary silence of the sub, Kommandant Thanas began yelling orders.
"All ahead flank!!! Hard to starboard!!!"
"Jawohl! Hard to starboard!"
WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!, Ian Skywalker was yelling to himself, quietly, inside his head, while he clutched the tube of the attack periscope. His hands were sweaty, though, and he was slowly sliding down to the deck.
The electric engines whined, and the boat listed to the side...too late.
The bombs began to detonate, shaking the submarine around. Bootsman Huber slipped and hit his head on the starboard ballast valve, and the lights went out.
The crew wasn't dead, though. Immense water pressure at this depth meant the hedgehog would have to score a direct hit.
"Silence! All machines stop!"
The turkey gulked in surprise, but was silenced by an expertly thrown butcher's cleaver.
"Bork bork bork!", der ArischKoch declared in a whisper.
Everyone's hearts raced, as they listened to the sounds of the groaning hull, and the distant, barely audible whooping of the destroyer's screws.
"Maybe it's lost us?", leutnant Skywalker offered. He was hushed by the Kommandant's icy stare.
The destroyer wasn't done. As soon as it passed over the circle drawn by its hedehog bombs, it began dumping depth charges for good measure. Once more the crew closed their eyes, braced and called for Mutter.
Position BF41
Smell level: low/rising
Sept 12, 1943
13:20 local time
Four hours into the depth charging
"Depth charges in the water, herr kommandant!", von Dokken rasped out again, in the darkness. The air inside the sub was stale, smelling of oil and sweat and fear. Men stumbled around in the dark with tiny emergency flashlights, trying to behave quietly and find the source of the electrical problems.
Heavy breathing could be heard, as shell-shocked, men tried to carry out their duty. Kommandant Thanas gave hushed orders - the sub would leap forward, then crawl. Change course, leap again, then sit perfectly still. von Dokken could appreciate this subtle dance, prancing around a faster attacker, slowly backing away from him by exploiting dead zones left by depth charge detonations. It was like a ballet, but danced with one's eyes closed and the choreography described by a reclusive stabsbootsman with a thing for whale erotica.
"It sounds...sounds like these will go a bit to the side! And the degenerate is turning...turning...", von Dokken concentrated mightily on the sounds and echoes of the deep, "...away!"
Der Kommandant nodded to himself. That was good.
"Rudder funfzig grad steuerboard. Ahead slow.", he whispered to the Chief.
"Jawohl. Ahead slow, funfzig grad steuerboard."
240 metres above
Smell level: neglible
Sept 12, 1943
19:32 local time
"Still no contact, sir."
The
Pekan was circling slowly around the suspected area. They've been depth charging the uboat relentlessly for hours now. The captain has called for air support, and for other destroyers, but they wouldn't get here for hours more.
And the beast seemed to have slipped away! He had it in his grasp, that vile creature, the Great White Uboat! He knew, deep inside, that it was the same boot which stomped on the face of Achabowski's last command, and bit off his leg before disappearing into the Atlantic!
"No contact. Watch reports no debris or oil stains."
"Arr...", Achabowski knew the contact was lost, and chances of reacquiring were slim. But he would get it yet. Oh yes, he would. He would chase it across the ocean and harpoon the beast in its fat belly, if it was the last thing he did.
For if there was one thing commander Achabowski was really good at, it was holding a grudge.
Position BF41
Smell level: low/rising
Sept 12, 1943
23:02 local time
"No. I definitely lost him. Nothing around us but sealife, herr Kommandant."
Sighs of relief sounded from around the boot. The crew was barely conscious, the thick air was now full of more smells than could be described - as use of the toilet was strictly forbidden while silent running, the crewmen had to resort to...improvisation. The fact they were all scared out of their minds didn't help. Neither did the fact Schultz rolled into the forward compartment during the depth charging, landing right on top of the twenty men squeezed in there.
But they've done it. Despite the destroyer's...unnatural persistence, they managed to get away, crawling slowly at 2 knots.
They survived, although right now, the crew could barely stand.
Edited.
