Chapter 1093: Depressing Work

In this world, because of its vastness, many things happen at the same time. Just as the Japanese Navy was locked in a life-or-death struggle with the U.S. Navy, in a German naval port in the dead of night, the battleship Grand Admiral Raeder, having just returned from a circle of showing off its power in Iceland, was slowly approaching its pier.

Because it was late at night, there was no military band standing on the pier to welcome these triumphant officers and men. But to be able to return to land, to enjoy a short leave, was the time these sailors longed for most. Many of the soldiers, carrying their own luggage and the money they had saved, walked down the gangway with laughter and cheers. The entire pier was instantly bustling with activity.

To increase the concealment of its fleet’s sorties, the main force of the German Navy still primarily used Wilhelmshaven as its base of operations. If they were to dock at other French and British ports, they would soon be spotted by British and American spies and would be closely monitored. Although the German intelligence agencies had been working hard to root out these foreign spies who had been planted in the German-occupied territories, the actual results had not been satisfactory.

These low-level spies were like small fish in the sea, numerous and requiring no training. Any local who was dissatisfied with the Third Reich could become this kind of spy. The tasks they performed were not dangerous, and they were indeed difficult to detect. All they had to do was to observe a few more things around them after returning home, and then to send out some of the nearby German military’s activities by telegram, and their mission would be complete.

On another pier, listening to the clamor of the pier not far away, by the faint light, one could still see the silhouette of the huge warship. Compared to that, the sounds on this side were much smaller and more trivial. Unlike the ships that were arriving at that pier, the ships docked at this pier were preparing to leave.

Two new-model German ocean-going submarines were docked, one on each side of this pier. When the sea breeze blew over, it still carried a hint of chill. The North Atlantic, even on its calmest days, was not as peaceful as the other oceans. And the men on this pier were already accustomed to the challenge of the stormy waves.

Prien lit a cigarette, stood by his submarine, and looked at the sea, which was impossible to make out. It was pitch-black, as if it were a monster that had opened its bloody maw, devouring the lives of all who provoked it. Taking a deep breath, Prien exhaled a cloud of smoke. The white naval cap, which was perched at an angle on his head, gave him a weather-beaten, philosophical look.

Just a dozen or so hours ago, the German Navy’s submarine command had confirmed a piece of news that had saddened everyone. The U-boat ace, the captain of U-30, the 26-year-old Fritz-Julius Lemp, had, along with his submarine, sunk in the waters near Iceland.

This U-boat captain, with his outstanding combat record, had, in just one short year, sunk 41 Allied transport ships of various types, with a total tonnage of over 170,000 tons. Prien had just laid a wreath for this poor comrade. A simple ceremony had been held in the auditorium not far away.

Dönitz had come during the day. The auditorium had been packed with the crews of various submarines and people who had known this ace U-boat captain. The entire crew of the new ocean-going U-boat, U-47, had gone to pay their respects to this admirable colleague, offering him their most sincere tribute.

Lemp’s young wife had been crying her eyes out by the side of the empty coffin. Lemp’s child, who was only four months old, was being held by his grandmother and, in this tragic environment, was still sleeping soundly. He probably didn’t even know that his father was gone, that this sorrow would be with him for the rest of his life.

“They said it was a mechanical failure. Do you really believe that?” Prien asked, smoking with some irritation. He complained to his adjutant, who was standing beside him, also smoking. “An ace captain who once played with a dozen destroyers in an enemy’s convoy, and he was surrounded by the enemy because he couldn’t dive due to a malfunction. Damn it!”

The men who fought on the ocean were, for a long time, isolated from the world. Their behavior had all become strange. Their way of speaking and their moods were as unpredictable as the sea. And the officers and men of the German Navy’s submarine force, the test they faced was even more terrible.

They had to fight a battle of wits with their enemies, to attack in the places closest to them, and to rely on their own skilled techniques to escape the enemy’s pursuit. They were like matadors, challenging a powerful enemy, taking the enemy’s most precious things, and destroying the enemy’s will.

At the same time, they also had to fight against the surging currents of the sea, to challenge the awesome power of nature with their own dauntless spirit. They braved the stormy waves and forged ahead, entrusting their lives to a small boat of only just over 2,000 tons displacement. And now, they had to constantly worry about whether their own boat would break down. This was simply rubbing salt in their wounds.

“He was very brave. After dismissing his crew, he destroyed the Enigma machine, and then opened the sea valves and sank with his ship,” the adjutant said, taking a drag on his cigarette. He then moved aside to make way for the chief steward and a few NCOs who were helping to carry vegetables and fruit onto the submarine.

After the adjutant had moved out of the way, he took another drag and then continued, “I hear his adjutant sank with him. I can do that too, if we ever have such a day.”

As he spoke, he glanced at the various medals hanging on his chest and, as if in self-mockery, he smiled and showed Prien the arm that was holding the cigarette. “You see, we can’t let the British capture a German officer with a Knight’s Cross, can we? Especially one with Oak Leaves.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t be like him. I won’t be sunk,” Prien said. Seeing that the preparations were nearing their end, he threw away the cigarette, which still had one drag left, and then ground it out with his foot. He strode towards his submarine. The sentry by the gangway stood at attention and raised his arm. “Heil Akado Rudolph, my Führer!”

“Heil Führer!” Prien gave a token lift of his arm and then, with his adjutant, walked onto the submarine that was about to accompany them on their war at sea. A few technicians passed him. They were the maintenance personnel who were performing the final checks on the submarine’s status.

The more high-tech something is, the more likely it is to fail. This is a timeless truth that applies to most situations. Before the invention of firearms, it was rare for a soldier to die from his own bow and arrow misfiring. And the reputation for sturdiness and durability that Nokia had built was definitely not from their 5-inch-screen era.

Germany had always been at the forefront of the world’s military technology, and it had not been without its price. How many people had silently dedicated themselves, just so that the front line could be re-equipped with a new weapon? And how many people had given their precious lives just to make a weapon more mature?

Especially in the high-tech branches of the military, such as the air force and the navy, the Germans had paid a very, very painful price that others could not imagine. At least 45 pilots had died in test flights of new aircraft, outside of the battlefield. A few months ago, because of the use of new, immature, magnetic-guided torpedoes, two German submarines and their crews had been laid to rest at the bottom of the Atlantic.

Behind the glorious combat record of the three branches of the German military was the tireless effort of countless scientific and technical personnel, and the silent dedication and risk-taking of countless soldiers and officers. And no matter how low the failure rate, no matter how reliable and stable the equipment, there would always be some problems. But on the battlefield, in this extreme environment, once such a problem appeared, it was only the soldiers who would pay the price with their lives.

“Cast off! Get underway!” Prien stood on the conning tower of his submarine, leaning against the railing, and calmly gave his orders. The mooring lines were thrown onto the pier. The engines began to work slowly. The long, beautiful submarine began to move forward slowly, and under the control of the rudder, it moved, bit by bit, away from the pier.

“We’re going to avenge you, brother,” Prien said in a low voice, looking at the auditorium in the distance, which was still faintly lit. When his adjutant, who was beside him, heard these words, he also turned his gaze to the distant, indistinct auditorium. There was a life that had once been vibrant, a hero who had once led more than fifty men, who had fought and bled for Germany.

No one on the submarine seemed to be in a very good mood. In fact, apart from having just attended a comrade’s funeral before setting sail, which had made everyone a little depressed, the bigger reason was the departure itself. In truth, they had seen too many of these funerals. More than 100 submarines had already been sunk in the sea. Everyone had already grown accustomed to death.

But to set sail meant that these 57 men were about to live a life of solitude on the sea. While attacking the enemy, they had to be careful to avoid the enemy’s search and attack. They had to spend countless sleepless nights, under the ping of the enemy’s sonar, under the patrol of the planes in the sky, trying every means to cause trouble for the enemy. Accompanying them was the monotonous roar of the machinery, the boring instrument panels and electronic equipment, the compartments that were full of strange smells and grease, and dozens of torpedoes that, once they exploded, could destroy the world.

It was safe to say that no one would find it a very pleasant job to be sleeping on a pile of explosives, ten meters under the water, dodging the pursuit of destroyers and the patrols of planes. So when this job came, it was impossible for these sailors to have an excited expression or high morale. They could only face all of this with numbness, and then wait patiently, waiting for the moment of their return to port. Only then would you see a heartfelt smile on their faces.

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