“Herr Fassbaden, I need that damage report. Immediately, if not sooner.”
“I will see to it personally,” said the Exec.
Watching the gangly Manfred exit the control deck, Erich began to worry about that hatch breach. If it was leaking in a major way, that would indicate a serious problem with the structural integrity of the hull. That it was located just aft of the aircraft hangar deck suggested some kind of flaw in the new design. To be totally honest with himself, Erich had to admit to always wondering how well the hangar doors would hold up to the pressures of a deep dive.
Even though the U-5001’s designers had built in a double, interlocking seal, and had kept the space in the hangar separate from the rest of the hull, it was a totally new concept. Untested until now. It was not inconceivable the pressure of avoidance depths could collapse the hangar, flood the chamber, and create ballast problems. Not good. That is why Command had required a brief shakedown exercise before launching the Messerschmitt.
But, thought Erich, if you were part of the U-boat crew, you would not think it was a very good way to find out an engineer made a mistake.
Could the escape hatch be affected by larger problems?
“Starboard planes still sticky, Captain,” said the helmsman.
“How bad?”
The man exhaled slowly. “Not getting any better. Worse if anything.”
Erich considered what this might mean if they were to undergo another attack and would require any exotic maneuvering. He smiled grimly. It would mean they would all die. There would be little chance of getting a boat as big as the U-5001 to execute any of the textbook tactics if she was slow to respond.
Fassbaden entered the con, his expression as unreadable as ever.
“Well?” said Erich, looking at him. He could sense the attention of the rest of the crew on the control deck. They would all be riveted to their duties, but their ears would be attuned to any words now spoken.
“Escape hatch chamber is flooded. We will need to surface to pump it clear and inspect the damage. In addition, the Number Three valve on the starboard ballast tank is stopped down. Kress can fix it, but it will take at least several hours. In the meantime, our ascent control is impaired although not certain how drastically.”
Erich considered what their status meant in the simplest terms. Their boat was in trouble. It could go deeper, but it could not reach the surface with much certainty. It could maneuver, but like a clumsy drunkard… in slow-motion. The ability to always go deeper was, unfortunately, an ability submarines never lost.
“What about the men in the aft torpedo room?” he said in a low voice.
“No injuries or problems so far. They have enough oxygen for at least several hours and Kress says he could force fresh air into them through the speaking tubes if necessary.”
Erich nodded. “How much charge did we incur on the batteries?”
“Enough remaining for about ten hours.”
Erich weighed all the information against possible variables. He was certainly within ten hours of Station One Eleven. Could he coax a level bubble out of the big boat? His crew was expecting him to have the clearest view of their situation, and that meant no self-doubts, no feeling sorry for himself.
“Get Kress all the help he needs on the valve problem,” he told Manfred. “Then let’s see just how much vertical we can manage. If we can get anything at all…”
“I’ll go see him now.” Before turning to exit the con, his Exec nodded and grinned. “I am not sure I approve of your use of the word ‘if,’ Captain.”
Erich smiled, turned to his helmsman. “Take her up, seaman.”
For the next several minutes, the crew learned the limitations imposed by the attack-damage. The U-5001 blew what ballast it could, and the helmsman corrected for the faulty control plane as much as possible. The result was an ascent angle of 6 degrees above the bubble. Slight, but more than Erich had anticipated. At least they were going up.
He and Ostermann were charting their current position as opposed to their objective coordinates, when Bischoff’s head turreted around to glare at them. He was pressing his bulky headphones close to his head, and his eyes were so round, they appeared too big for his face, like a cartoon character. “Asdic!” he said. “Screws! They’ve got us!”
Feeling the bottom of his stomach abruptly drop, Erich forced himself to stand as upright as possible. “Dive! Avoidance depth.”
The atmosphere in the con altered instantly, the air suddenly thick with tension, tinged with the earliest scents of true fear. Erich could feel it. His men knew what this could mean if the enemy scored a hit.
As the ballast tanks blew, the angle beneath their feet changed as the prow of the boat seemed to leap downward like a diver jumping from dock. The propellers strained as the helmsman pushed the handle to full power, and everyone could hear the whine of the electric motors trying to deliver.
“Splashes…!” said Bischoff. “A big spread!”
The destroyer had deployed a wide blanket of charges, which, in one sense, was a good sign — it meant their sonar operator had not pinpointed Erich’s position. The Americans knew their target was in the area and were hoping for a lucky strike until they could get a firm echo.
“One hundred twenty… One fifty… One seventy…”
“Level her off,” said Erich.
A series of explosions laced the waters in rapid succession. Far enough to inflict no damage but still close enough to savagely rattle the hull. Six concussions like the staccato beat of a drum. Bischoff was thrown from his chair and Ostermann’s instruments slid from the table as if on a sheet of ice.
Noticing the angle of the deck, Erich called to the helmsman. “Level her off… now!”
“One ninety… She is slow to respond, Captain. I am having trouble!”
Two other crewmen assisted in wrestling with the wheel. Erich watched, feeling a very slight change in the angle. Slight was not enough. A shuddering groan twisted through the hull as the boat slipped deeper into the pressure grip of the arctic waters. There was a limit to how far they could go and the U-5001 was approaching it.
“Bring her level,” said Erich, as he watched his men battling the controls. His order sounded hollow and ineffectual. Of course his men were doing their damnedest to neutralize the dive. But the damage to his boat, while not crippling, had caused her to respond with a terrible slowness. If they didn’t stop the gradual descent soon, it would not matter what the destroyer did above their heads.
Gripping a ceiling pipe to remain steady, Erich was suddenly aware of his teeth pressing together, and consciously unlocked the muscles in his jaws. Damn it… this is no way to die. Not like this… without a fight… sinking into the darkness like an anchor.
Even though the water outside the vessel was almost black, Erich stared out of the viewing port at the convex of the conning tower. Two powerful searchlights had been mounted on each side of the port, and he felt tempted to click them on, to see what was out there as his boat skirted the icy shelf of Greenland.
The next series of depth charges detonated above them. Another second or two and he would know if any had been close enough…
Chapter Nine
“Wait, wait!” Tommy said. He was trying to yell around the mouthpiece and the Divelink mic was distorting like crazy. “There’s gold in here! Silver! Or somethin’!”
“We’re out of time, Tommy… let’s go,” said Dex. His view of Chipiarelli was mainly of his legs and flippers filling the hatch tube.