The screws of the corvette slowed, and Rolf cursed. The hunter had found them. Splashes followed. Rolf counted nine. He looked up. He wouldn’t be able to see the charges, of course, and explosions under the hull were just as harmful as explosions above the hull—maybe more so. But the ship that dropped the weapons was above, and Rolf wasn’t the only crewman whose eyes turned in that direction.
The first charge exploded. The U-boat shook, but no more than it would when surfaced in a storm. Too shallow. Köhler had taken them deep in the hopes of slipping away silently now that they’d sunk their ship and gained a victory.
The next explosion was closer. Rolf swallowed as the third rocked the U-boat enough to make him grip his table for balance. The next was closer yet. A pipe cracked and hissed until one of the crewmen cranked a wheel and stopped the leak.
Köhler ordered a Bold launched. Two more depth charges battered the ship while the decoy canister was prepared and released to confuse the enemy asdic. But it couldn’t do anything to deflect the charges already dropped.
The next three explosions were farther away. The U-boat shifted and groaned, but no glass shattered, no pipes or valves burst.
Rolf wanted to relax, but the screw noises above told him they weren’t out of danger yet. “It sounds like they’re coming around for another pass,” he reported to the kommandant.
The wretched corvettes could turn even more tightly than a U-boat could. It would be over them again in an instant. Helpless to do anything else, Rolf prayed the corvette would drop its next round of depth charges on the Bold instead of on the U-boat.
* * *
“Anything new to report?” The captain’s voice came through the telephone, faint in Karl’s ears because he spoke with Dykes, not with Karl.
“The Minstrel is no longer transmitting,” Dykes said. “Lily and Kadesh are chasing a U-boat on the north of the convoy. It sank a tanker. The ship in question went down before having a chance to transmit.”
Worry about Millie almost consumed Karl, but he was grateful she hadn’t been on the tanker. Reports from the Lily had given a few sparse, terrifying details. An enormous ball of flame. No lifeboats sighted. Ship down in two minutes.
“Dykes,” Lieutenant Commander Clarke continued. “Have Eckerstorfer report to the bridge in case I need to send a message.”
Karl was out the door within a matter of seconds. Every man’s task was necessary for the success of the ship, but just then, Karl wanted to be in the middle of the fight, not sitting in a windowless room trying to guess how everything else was playing out. When he reached the bridge, he reported for duty, then stood where he would be out of the way.
“Can you hear the U-boat?” Clarke asked the asdic operator.
“We were close, sir. I heard the explosions and something else—hull damage, I presume. I think she’s still down there.”
“Even with the air bubbles we sighted?”
The sonar man frowned. “That could be a bubble target, sir.”
Clarke nodded. “We better prepare another pass, then.”
Karl closed his eyes and prayed the U-boat would be quickly destroyed. That wasn’t a new desire—he hated U-boats and the devastation they caused. But he also wanted the hunt ended so they could search for the Minstrel’s survivors.
* * *
The pinging of enemy asdic rang through the U-boat. The corvette had found them again. Rolf counted the splashes. Twelve. But maybe they’d miss.
The corvette’s screws picked up speed, undoubtedly wanting to put space between her hull and the explosives she’d just unleashed.
Rolf swiped at the sweat beading on his forehead and readjusted his glasses. He’d been depth charged before—so many times—but this one felt different. The first explosion of the spread pounded against the pressure hull. Rolf’s pile of phonograph records bounced with the force, fell, then scattered across the deck.
Another explosion, and the volatile crash of shattering glass and the hiss of broken pipes filled Rolf’s ears. The lights cut out.
The next explosion threw him across the radio shack. He tumbled into the bulkhead, headfirst, and then everything was silent, and Rolf sensed nothing more.
* * *
“Their engine has stopped.” The sonar man seemed certain as he reported to Clarke. “I heard what might have been the hull breaking up—definitely damaged, sir. She’s either dead and gone, or she’s stuck, which is as good as dead.”
“Are you sure she didn’t sneak out of range or call all stop?”
“I don’t think so, sir. I could hear her screws clearly. Then a screech, along with one of the depth-charge explosions. Then the engine noises stopped, but not before they knocked and squealed. I heard that engine die.”
Clarke turned to Karl. “Your wife was on the Minstrel?”
“Yes, sir.” The night in port when Karl had left the Fireweed to visit the Minstrel, he’d asked permission from the watch officer, but the skipper had been nearby. Clarke must have remembered, because Karl hadn’t said anything, and neither had Dykes.
Clarke looked at his charts and gave the helmsman his orders. “Thirty degrees, three-quarters speed.”
“Aye, captain. Thirty degrees, three-quarters speed.”
Clarke watched the helmsman for a moment as the Fireweed turned toward the last known location of the Minstrel. “Randall, post extra lookouts to spot survivors.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and, Randall? Find someone to take over for Eckerstorfer in the wireless room. I imagine he wants to be with the crew on the launch if there’s a need to take it out.”
* * *
Rolf couldn’t see or hear anything. The hum of the engine had gone silent. Pain pulsed behind his left ear. Something warm and wet trickled down his neck. Something cold and wet splashed on his right hand, but he couldn’t move it. He tried opening his eyes, but he couldn’t even manage that. Memory reminded him that opening his eyes wouldn’t do him any good. The lights had all gone out, leaving the U-boat dark.
Voices trickled into his consciousness. First, the voice of the chief engineer. “No, sir, it’s not possible to repair it that quickly. I’m not even sure it can be repaired. One of the jumbos is damaged too. The only way we can move is if we surface, and that will be at a limp.”
“If we surface, we’ll be captured.” The kommandant’s voice was close, as if the kommandant and the chief had slipped into the radio shack for a private discussion.
“If we don’t surface, we’ll suffocate. We’ve already lost all the men in the stern torpedo room, and our funkmaat and our cook and two mechanikers. Don’t you think the others deserve a chance to live?”
Rolf tried to move. Funkmaat? He was the radio petty officer, and he was most certainly not dead. He couldn’t open his eyes or move or speak, but he could hear the slight noises of the U-boat, taste its fetid air, and feel its leaks and drips.
The kommandant kept his voice low and firm. “More are bound to die if we abandon ship.”
“All of us will die if we stay submerged longer than another hour, and the repairs to the electric engine will take at least eight.” A pause. The chief engineer swore. “Some of the men are only eighteen! And they have families!”
“Keep your voice down. Their families will be proud of their sacrifice for the Reich.”
“Their death will do nothing to benefit the Reich. Give them a chance, Kapitänleutnant.”
Rolf couldn’t speak, but he said a silent prayer, pleading for mercy—for himself, for his crew, for his family. He wanted the kommandant to let them surface. He wanted to live. He wanted to see Frieda and baby Ilsa again. They needed him. And after the wedge that had come between him and his wife, Rolf was desperate for reconciliation. He couldn’t provide for his family or find peace with Frieda if he were dead. He had to live.
“One would almost think your protestations a sign of cowardice.” Köhler’s words contained venom.
“No one on this vessel is afraid to die, sir. Men don’t climb into a devil’s shovel without knowing the risks. That corvette already killed part of your crew. If your stubbornness kills the rest of them, then I pray you’ll rot in hell.”