“Sir, I really have confidence in our men and our equip-“
“Do you not also have faith in your Captain, Mr Hertz?”
The seamen accompanying them shifted awkwardly in the silence. Krauser mentally cursed. He hated that this showdown had happened in front of the men, regardless of their number. He didn’t need rumours of a rift between officers spreading across his boat.
Hertz blinked and composed himself before replying. “I have faith in my Captain, sir.”
“See that you do. I have faith in my men, and I have faith in my equipment. All I ask is that they have faith in me in return.”
“Yes, sir.”
Krauser eyed Hertz for a little longer, before climbing back down into the command room. “Prepare to fire a volley of three steam torpedoes.”
The U-616 carried two different types of torpedoes in its arsenal. The G7a was steam propelled, and was by far more reliable and had a greater range than the G7e. The G7e was propelled with the aid of a lead-acid battery, and while it was more susceptible to failure than its steam driven cousin, the lack of jet or tell-tale bubbles made it much harder to detect when fired. However, with no escort on hand to interfere, Krauser felt that the steam driven torpedoes would make a much better option.
Shouts and alarms and knocks and bells indicated that his order was being relayed to the men working the torpedo bay. This was their first attack of this patrol, and the men were ready and eager. The rattles and clanks and gentle groans and screeches rattled around the ship, and back to the command room as the seven metre long torpedoes were slid into their compartments, and the bulkheads sealed shut behind them.
Krauser peered through the periscope one more time. This moment was the one he hated and loved the most. The moment where he could feel the present being split into two different futures, one where he called off the attack, and was not responsible for the deaths of innocent people; and the one he knew that he had to take, where the war marched on, and his part was but a minor speck of ash in the fire that consumed the world.
The moment seemed to drag until he finally broke the oppressive silence. “Fire one.”
Shouts of “Fire One!” echoed down the noisy, humid length of the boat as his order was relayed once more. Then there was a shuddering jolt felt the length of the command room as the first torpedo spat forth towards its target.
“First torpedo away, sir!” called Hertz, sweat pouring off his forehead.
Krauser continued to watch through the periscope. The seconds ticked by.
There was no sign of any impact.
The Freyr could be no more than three quarters of a kilometre away. That meant that the torpedo should have impacted in – he quickly did the maths – forty-five, fifty seconds, maybe? “Time since launch?” he asked.
“Twenty three seconds, sir,” said one of the crew. Krauser nodded his thanks and continued to watch through the periscope.
Forty… forty-five… fifty…
“Any moment now…” the crewman added.
Fifty-five… sixty… sixty five… seventy…
“Dud round,” said Krauser, cursing under his breath. The steam driven torpedoes were more reliable than the electric ones, but not by much. He didn’t know the official figures, but going on personal experience, he estimated that as high as one in two torpedoes could be a dead duck. It was a frustrating and dangerous way to attack an enemy vessel, and it was why he had learned to fire his torpedoes in braces of three.
“Torpedo tubes two and three are locked and loaded, sir,” came Hertz’s voice. Krauser didn’t take his eyes from the viewfinder. When the torpedo hit, he wanted to see the damage it did. Fighting blind was not satisfying. “Fire Two.”
Again the echoing of his order, firing like synapses down the length of the U-Boat. Orders relayed, preparations made, controls operated until, finally, the torpedo slid forth from the submarine. The shudder, again, reverberated through the command room. Hertz actually wobbled on his feet a little, reaching out to grab a nearby strut for support. Krauser barely noticed anything, all his concentration focused on the periscope, as he counted again under his breath. Forty-five… fifty…
“They can’t both be duds, surely?” whispered Hertz.
A couple of the crew whispered among themselves, but Krauser remained silent. Sixty… sixty five… nothing.
“Someone run down to the engine room,” he said. “See if there’s a problem.”
A crewman turned and left. The control room had gone deathly silent, except for the gentle chugging of the diesel engines. Krauser could feel his jaw aching from the clenching of his teeth. He refused to let himself relax, his discomfort serving to fuel his frustration and anger. Hertz stepped up beside him and made as if to speak, but was cut off.
“Hertz, if you mention that deck gun, I shall fire you out of a torpedo tube myself. We’re much too far away to make the range needed, and the wind is still far too strong. If this last torpedo does not do the job, we call off the hunt. I won’t keep wasting ammunition like this.”
The clanging of footsteps on the grating heralded the return of the crewman, who squeezed his way into the control room again. “Captain, all is running smoothly in the forward tubes. The gunners and loaders can only surmise that both were either dud rounds, or failed to make the range.”
Krauser grimaced. “Move us closer.”
The submarine shuddered again as the diesel engines revved up, spinning the rear propeller, speeding the U-616 in pursuit of its target. Krauser once again rattled off some mental arithmetic, calculating the estimated distance to the Freyr and the speed he guessed they were going, finally calling a halt when he reckoned them to be five-hundred metres from the target. Looking into the periscope again, the magnification allowed him to see people moving around on the deck of the large freighter. Definitely not military. Attacking civilian targets wasn’t exactly satisfying, but it was safer. They were far less likely to be able to radio in for air support than a military vessel. Much less likely to return fire, too.
Krauser studied the ship through the periscope, then ordered “Fire three!”.
The torpedo shot smoothly from the submarine and powered through the water, leaving a jet of bubbles behind it as the steam propulsion did its work. Krauser counted again, out loud this time. “Twenty… twenty five…”
The Freyr visibly lurched to starboard as the torpedo hit its mark. The crew on deck panicked and grabbed for whatever handholds they could reach as the ship rocked sharply to the side under the impact.
“Target hit!” cried Krauser, eliciting a cheer from some of the crew, and a sigh of relief from Hertz. He headed straight for the hatch up top to get a better look at the damage. This was hardly standard operating procedure, but after the tension and the problems with the first two torpedoes, he was desperate to get a better look at U-616’s handiwork. Hertz and Kleiner followed up shortly afterwards.
The Freyr was still visibly rocking from the impact. Strangely, though, no smoke or fire was immediately apparent. The warheads of the torpedoes carried a hefty wallop behind them – they had to, for penetrating a ship’s hull was no small feat – and they frequently caught the ammunition or fuel aboard their target, resulting in large flames and smoke clouds that could hang over the area for days. Krauser squinted through the salt spray and tried to get a better look at the damage he had wrought.
Hertz studied through a pair of binoculars. “They’re abandoning ship, sir.”
Krauser held out his hand and Hertz handed the binoculars to him. He focused on the life boats, and was surprised to see that Hertz was right. “We must have really hit them good, if they’re already abandoning their ship and cargo…”