“More propeller noises,” Rolf whispered. “Another ship is joining them.”
Rolf’s pulse quickened. The first vessel had already dropped at least two dozen depth charges, shaking the boat and making the lights blink off for a few moments before they came on again. After the first cluster, the U-115 had released a Bold canister to create a mass of bubbles, hoping to convince the surface ship that they’d succeeded in sinking the sub. Then the U-115 had headed even deeper into the ocean and tried to creep away at the seven knots the electric engines would allow them. The tactics didn’t seem to have fooled their pursuers.
Both engines passed over their position, and another pattern of depth charges splashed into the water. The air of the U-boat, already fetid in normal times, grew tense. It felt thick, as if they were running low on oxygen.
One blast sounded, gently rocking the hull. Then four more, with equally mild results.
Rolf forced his hands to relax. He’d been squeezing them so hard his nails had left an imprint in his palms. Baumann’s whisper carried to him. “Everyone not on duty, lie down and try to sleep.”
Sleep while depth charges were dropped on one’s head? Difficult to manage, but men lying down consumed less oxygen, and the U-115 had a limited supply, one unlikely to be refreshed anytime soon if the surface ships kept circling.
Crewmen went to their bunks or hammocks, but Rolf stayed on the hydrophones. He closed his eyes for a moment. The U-115 had been in worse scrapes than this one. Few kommandants were as skilled as Baumann. They’d make their escape and find new targets. Rolf was confident in his crew, but he still said a silent prayer. He wanted to get home to Frieda and Ilsa again.
More metallic noises, followed by splashes. He had to relax, cut back on the oxygen he and the rest of the crew were using.
Another explosion, and the lid to the Enigma machine slammed closed. Pops and hisses sounded throughout the U-boat.
Then another blow that resulted in shattering glass and another jolt that made Rolf grip the edge of his desk.
A third, and the lights went out.
A fourth, in the dark, and it became easy to think they were all going to die.
The emergency lights flickered on. The U-115 groaned, and something shrieked along the starboard side of the vessel. None of the crewmen shouted in fear or desperation. Those on duty would work in silence, in the hope that the hunters above would think the U-boat dead and no longer worth pursuing.
The bow of the boat tipped forward precipitously, making the pile of records in the radio shack topple. Why were they diving, and at such a steep angle? Baumann had already taken them near to crush depth. Surely he wouldn’t flirt with the massive water pressure below the U-boat’s limits.
Unless he couldn’t stop it.
Whispered orders made their way through the ship: everyone was to head to the back of the boat to help it balance. At a nod from Baumman, Rolf joined the others and headed aft past the control room, utility room, and quarters for the petty officers, then through the galley, both engine rooms, storage, and finally into the stern torpedo room, where part of the crew had already congregated. Another explosion rocked the U-boat, and the spare torpedoes hanging on chains swayed with a force strong enough to knock a man to the ground. One missed Rolf’s head by centimeters.
“What happened?” Rolf asked when the second watch officer strode into the room. Everyone else looked as if they’d been hiking, but despite the slant of the deck, he walked with apparent ease.
“Flooding in the forward torpedo room. They’ve managed to stop it, but it will take the pumps some time to clear it out.”
“How much time?” Rolf kept his voice level and hoped the panic he felt wasn’t audible. If the excess water in the forward torpedo room kept pulling the U-115 down, the pressure from the ocean would crack her hull.
“We have to trust the kommandant and our boat.”
Rolf nodded. He could almost picture the depth meter dial spiraling deeper and deeper as the U-115 slipped closer and closer to the bottom of the Atlantic.
“The diving planes are jammed,” someone said. The men around Rolf had all worn stern expressions before, but the news made them even more somber.
The steady popping of the hull continued, as did a hiss from outside. One of the ballast tanks was losing air. With no air, they couldn’t rise, and that seemed to seal their fate.
Rolf swallowed. Frieda. He would have liked to hold her in his arms again, especially after his last leave, when they’d spent so much of their time avoiding discussion of that day in the woods. Perhaps she’d remember him as a valiant sailor who had always done his duty, who’d been loyal to the Reich. But some of the words she’d said . . . he didn’t think she valued his loyalty to the Reich any longer. Would she be careful when he was gone? And would Ilsa keep any memory of him or forget her father completely?
“Funkmaat Denhart, forward to the radio shack.” The quiet order came through the voice tubes.
Rolf practically ran, which was easy to do with the deck still tilted forward. When he entered the control room, a spread of broken glass from the faces of dials and meters crunched beneath his feet, but the crew on duty was focused, even while sweat dripped down their faces.
“Funkmaat Denhart reporting for duty.” If Baumann had called him, that meant there was a plan to get the U-115 near the surface again.
Baumann nodded. “I plan to blow the tanks. I’m not sure we’ll be able to dive again once we reach the surface, but it’s our last chance. Prepare to transmit: Damaged by depth charges, diving planes jammed, intend to scuttle our boat.”
Rolf nodded. The U-115 was doomed, but the kommandant would give its crewmen one final chance at escape. Whether the enemies above them would cooperate remained to be seen. Rolf prepared his message and waited. He heard the rush of air as the tanks were blown, felt the angle of the deck level and then slowly, ever so slowly, tilt upward as the U-boat rose toward the surface.
When they reached periscope depth, Rolf began his transmission. The U-boat didn’t pause but continued upward at a steady rate until it broke the surface and began to rock with the waves. Baumann disappeared up the ladder. He would be the first out to ensure it was safe for his men to follow. Rolf’s fingers slipped in surprise as a torrent of clinks sounded along the hull. Bullets?
The second watch officer rushed into the radio shack. “We need our medic.”
Rolf finished the final dash of the transmission. He had planned to repeat the message, had even hoped he might hear a reply, but if his crewmates—maybe even the kommandant—were bleeding to death on the upper deck, one transmission would have to be enough.
When abandoning ship, Rolf was supposed to destroy the codebooks and the Enigma machine. Wolfram stood at the foot of the ladder, and Rolf motioned him out of line. “I’m needed on deck,” Rolf said. “Someone’s injured.”
Wolfram looked up. “Probably several someones. Did you hear those bullets? They’re trying to kill us all.”
Rolf doubted that. The men in the convoy escorts might hate them, but they’d obey the laws of the sea. They would only shoot while they thought the U-boat a danger to them. “As soon as they see us getting out the rafts, they’ll know we’re abandoning ship, and they’ll let us go. I need you to transmit the distress signal. It’s on the desk. Then I need you to destroy the codebooks and the machine.”
Wolfram nodded and slipped into the radio shack.
Rolf ran for the first-aid kit, then cut in line so he could reach the wounded sooner. The clatter of bullets still sounded, but not as rapidly as before. Maybe the enemy crews had finally realized what was happening and would let them evacuate in peace.
The open air of the conning tower chilled his skin, but after the long hours in a U-boat badly in need of fresh air, Rolf welcomed the coolness. The wind whipped up the sea, showering him in a saltwater mist. A corvette and a destroyer hovered over the U-boat, far enough distant that the U-boat wouldn’t swing into them but near enough that Rolf could make out enemy sailors on the decks. The corvette was positioned so both the 102 mm cannon on the forecastle and the 40 mm pom-pom gun in the aft could shower the U-boat in a hail of fire.
Kapitänleutnant Baumann lay just outside the conning tower, dead. Some traditions said the kommandant should be the last to leave a vessel, but in their case, venturing out first had been a sign of bravery. The action didn’t surprise Rolf, but he would miss Baumann’s thoughtful leadership and mourn the loss of a hero.
Rolf followed the whimpers of a wounded man and gritted his teeth when he saw Schmidt lying on the forward deck, one of his legs nearly blasted away. Rolf started on the tourniquet as other crewmen broke out the rafts.