Kleiner mistook his scream for a shout of “Dive!” and the order was hurriedly relayed as the captain staggered back to his feet. The first he knew of the mistake was when he cleared his head and Kleiner reported that U-616 was now holding steady at two hundred metres.
Another splash heralded the dropping of another depth charge, but either U-616 had moved sufficiently far away, or the Sunderland had miscalculated their position. Krauser gave the order to travel submerged for a good couple of hours before sending the periscope up to check the coast was clear.
“Yes, sir,” replied Kleiner, adding, “Captain, you are bleeding.”
Krauser looked down, and saw that the right sleeve of his shirt was completely saturated with blood.
-EIGHT-
The damage to the U-616 was extensive, even without taking into account the four men dead from the Sunderland’s original strafing run. Krauser sat on his bunk as Dr Arnold tended to his arm. It turned out that it was not broken, but that he had in fact taken a bullet from the Sunderland. He had obviously been so distracted by the action around him (“adrenaline”, the doctor called it) that he hadn’t noticed at the time. Dr Arnold was able to remove the bullet, but the wound still hurt like crazy.
After a couple of hours running silently beneath the waves, Krauser gave the order to surface and begin repairs. He left Hertz in charge of the control room, and lay on his bunk with a bottle of whiskey, to try and rest and blot out the pain of his new gunshot wound.
He couldn’t deny that he felt a palpable sense of relief upon surfacing. He was never fazed by being underwater – one could hardly rise to the position of captain aboard a U-Boat if one was – but after a tense experience like being depth charged, it felt like literally coming up for air.
He managed to doze a little over the course of two hours while the men carried out their preliminary repairs. This time his dreams were dark and fitful, full of sudden explosions and dark teeth in the water. He was in particular haunted by the dead black eyes of the Great White Shark he had seen on shore leave, and the spinning driftwood of the Freyr’s lifeboats.
He was eventually brought fully awake by Kleiner at his bedside. “Sir?”
Krauser blinked away sleep and pushed himself up using his injured arm, causing him to groan between gritted teeth. “Yes, what is it?”
“I have the damage report, sir.”
The captain rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Tell me.”
“We’ve lost ten men in all, sir. The four men up on the deck, two were crushed when a torpedo broke loose in the launching bay and four more suffered head or neck injuries as a result of being thrown about in the explosion, sir.”
Krauser groaned. Of a crew of forty-two, that was a substantial loss. “Get names for me. I will write the letters to their families. And prepare them for burial.”
A ship as tightly packed as a Type VII U-Boat didn’t have the capacity for a morgue, and all the men knew that. In the event of their death, they would be buried at sea. The phrase “fish food” leapt into Krauser’s mind, followed by the glimpses he had had of the shark that had demolished the crew of the Freyr (and the Freyr itself, if Dahlen could be believed).
Kleiner nodded before continuing with his report. “Yes, sir. Also, the flak gun is inoperable, and two of the forward torpedo tubes are jammed. We still have two in front, two in rear and the deck gun, sir. They, at least, are all fully operational. Unfortunately, the manoeuvring planes are damaged. We can rise and dive okay, but our speed and manoeuvrability are not what they should be. In short, if we run into trouble again… I don’t know that we’ll be able to get out of it so easily. We’d struggle to get away from a destroyer, and another Sunderland would have us dead in the water, sir. Hell, if we run into that shark again I-”
“What?”
“Nothing, sir. I was just making a little joke.”
“Are the crew concerned about the shark? Genuinely, I mean.”
Kleiner hesitated before replying. “I’ve heard some of the men talking about it, sir. There seems to be a feeling that if it could destroy a freighter, then it would make short work of the U-616.”
“The North Sea is a very large body of water, Mr Kleiner. Our chances of encountering the same shark again are minimal; and I have to say that I don’t like my crew being frightened of sea monsters. I want you to quash these sentiments wherever they arise. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Captain, sir.”
“What else?”
“There is one last thing, sir.”
Krauser grabbed his cigarettes and matches, feeling the need for a smoke on deck. “Oh? And what is that?”
“There is a fracture in the hull. We took in a little water. Nothing major, and we managed to pump it out and patch it up. We’re stable again, but… I really don’t think we should push our luck in the event of another attack.”
“You mean the water pressure?”
“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess as to how far we could dive safely, but… just not too far, if you follow me, sir.”
“I do. Thank you, Mr Kleiner.”
After dismissing the chief engineer, Krauser headed to see Dahlen, the Norwegian “prisoner of war”. “How are you doing, Mr Dahlen?”
The Norwegian man was now occupying one of the dead men’s bunks, reading a battered and foxed novel he had found, attempting to drink another viscous coffee. For a man used to working in the wind and spray, he had adapted remarkably well to the noise, stink and humidity of the submarine. To see him relaxing with a coffee and a book, he looked like a gentleman on holiday, rather than a prisoner and recent torpedo and then shark attack survivor. He looked up, his eyes flitting momentarily to Krauser’s bandaged arm. “I am better than you, it would appear. Did you cut yourself shaving?”
Krauser laughed. The deadpan humour was somehow even funnier in Dahlen’s Norwegian accent. It was hard not to like the man. “A little gift from a fleeting visitor.”
Dahlen nodded. “When the explosions started, I thought they had us. Is it always that terrifying?”
Krauser was stone faced. “Yes. Always. You know, I think that this must be worse than being shot at in a combat zone, or in a dogfight with a Spitfire. There you can dodge. You can return fire. You can call on your comrades for assistance. You can at least see or sense where the enemy is. A U-Boat is different. We attack out of darkness, and when we are attacked, we sit in darkness, waiting to see if it is our turn to die.”
“So, what was it that made you want to work in a submarine?”
“I’m not sure. A series of choices and events that led me to a job that I do not particularly enjoy, but that I do not hate, either. It is as such with most men, yes?”
“Indeed. How bad was the damage?”
“It is not good. I am considering returning for home. We simply don’t have the equipment available to repair it here, and both our offensive and defensive capabilities are hampered.”
“Then we are heading home early?”
“I said I was considering it.”
Dahlen nodded, thinking for a moment. “What will you do if we run into the shark again?”
Krauser hardened his gaze. “I do not think that will be an issue. I am truly sorry for the fate that befell the Freyr, but the North Sea is a large body of water, Mr Dahlen, and we are a relatively small boat. I think it exceedingly unlikely that our paths will cross again.”
“Captain Krauser, do you forget my story so quickly? The beast followed our freighter for three days, travelling at a speed that I would imagine far exceeds any that your vessel is capable of. If it has decided to hunt us, then it will catch us. You can count on that. Do you intend to torpedo the thing before it crushes your hull in its jaws?”