U-296

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U-296

Post by Sgt. Howard »

March 11, 1945- a Benedictine Monastery on the North Coast of Ireland-

"Father Abbot! Father Abbot!" the young novitiate hollered as he burst into the Abbot's private study, "the reliquary! 'Tis been violated, for certain!"
Father Abbot Clarence regarded the young boy- he had never seen William so agitated before, not even when he saw bathing suited colleens on the seashore last Summer.
"Violated, ye say? And what manner of violation do we speak of? What has been taken?"
"That which Brother Amos calls 'Lucifer's Cross', 'tis gone- the glass broken, scattered... and a dead man left to mark the theft!"
"WHAT now?!? A DEAD man ye say? Who is this dead man?"
"'Tis McManus, of Buncrana- an' a look of horror on his face, I can't lie,"
The Father Abbot considered this for a moment- meanwhile, Brother Timothy came puffing up as fast as his sixteen and three quarter stones of weight would allow. He stood, panting at the door until his face changed to a more normal color before he spoke.
"The boy... the boy told ye then... did he? 'Twas done with a pick, Father, sure as I stand before ye... an' what they want with THAT piece of deviltry, I'm sure I don't know,"
"From the description William here gave me, I would say McManus held it with his bare hands until the divil took him... not a fate I would wish on anyone. He had purchased rye just last week, I recall?"
"Sure and he did just that- FOUR BUSHELS WORTH!!! Said he would try his hand at the 'breath of life', he did- he could no more make whiskey than I can flap me arms and fly, an' there's the truth of it,"
"Then is was one of their infernal U-boats, it was," the Father Abbot pronounced in full gravity.
"A U-boat do you say?"
Both men turned to look at the boy.
"Beggin' yer pardons Father, Brother- but a U-boat? How does this become the work of the Huns? McManus was from Scotland, he told me himself. Was he in league with the Germans? Besides, I thought our police ferreted out the last of them in '42- how..."
Father Abbot Clarence held up a large, strong hand to quell the lad- he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and held it as he silently meditated- then he slowly let his breath out and regarded the young novitiate.
"William, m'boy- you've been with us ... what?... two years and a half now... but there is much here where you're still a babe in the woods... an' I don't fault you there, lad- 'tis our own counsel we've kept on some matters an' here is one of them. McManus... well... McManus was no more a Scotsman that I am a Nubian Prince. Sure an' he were one of them, I've no doubt. Him purchasing all that rye- 'tis to grind up for bread, I am sure- an' no doubt to replenish the submarine with the black bread that the Jerries prefer. Sure an' our police DID round up a sizable number of the weasels in '42... but not ALL of them, just enough to dampen their abilities,"
"But then, surly we have an obligation to report such things? Why has this man not been in custody all this while?" demanded William.
"He was doin' no harm, there's nothing here important enough to worry about- an' besides, anyone comes a callin' on the viper merely tells us who and what they are... at least, they did... but as you will learn yourself, 'tis better the divil ye know than the divil ye don't. As for what they TOOK... well, now- THERE's an issue an' no doubt about it! The 'Cross of Lucifer'... well, THAT actually plays to our favor, that does,"
They boy looked perfectly confused- "We've a dead man in the reliquary and a missing relic that is quite dangerous- possibly Satanic- how does THAT play to our favor?"
"Because, m'boy... officially, it doesn't exist. If Hitler thinks it will help him win his war, he's welcome to it. To understand that object requires more knowledge of the Almighty and the infernal than I posses- and as Germany is led by the infernal who is worshiped as the Almighty... well, I'm sure this will turn them no favors... might in fact cost them the war... I'm just happy that the divil's own took the divil's tool out of our house of worship in pure ignorance,"
Young William listened wide-eyed at this narrative- "... but... but Father... what if they figure out it's powers?"
"I speak the surest truth I know when I tell you, they've no idea what evil they carry- mark my words well, boyo-

that submarine will never make it home..."
Last edited by Sgt. Howard on Mon May 25, 2015 10:08 am, edited 4 times in total.
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Re: U-296

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Crafty is the way of this Craftsman, while plying his craft...
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Re: U-296

Post by lake_wrangler »

An interesting start, to flesh out an unspoken portion of the Wapsiverse history.

One nitpick, though: unless Brother Timothy is rather short, 16 ¾ stones should not be enough to leave him panting... That's only 234.5 lbs... I weigh 325 lbs, at 6' tall, and manage to bicycle quite well (and not too slowly, I might add, though I am by no means a racer...)
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Re: U-296

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lake_wrangler wrote:An interesting start, to flesh out an unspoken portion of the Wapsiverse history.

One nitpick, though: unless Brother Timothy is rather short, 16 ¾ stones should not be enough to leave him panting... That's only 234.5 lbs... I weigh 325 lbs, at 6' tall, and manage to bicycle quite well (and not too slowly, I might add, though I am by no means a racer...)
One must remember that a sculpted 325 pounds is a different matter from a soft, puffy 234 pounds... and In wartime Ireland, the average male was 5'10". I am 200 pounds even at 6'- there are teens as tall and twenty pounds lighter that are absolute powder puffs by comparison.

... so yes, Brother Timothy has what we would call a 'High Twinkie Titer', and loves his bacon and eggs more than physical effort of any stripe
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Re: U-296

Post by lake_wrangler »

Ahem... I would certainly not call myself 'sculpted'... :roll:

But I do know that fat weighs less than muscle, so if he had been a skinny thing, with not a lot of muscle mass, before gaining weight, that 234 lbs could be a bit more rotund than I was when I weighed that (I was a bit more sculpted, I think, back then... I still have a good muscle mass, and am no weakling by any means, but I do have a definite paunch, right now...)

Carry on, you've convinced me... :mrgreen:
Yes, I am giving you "permission" to continue...
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Re: U-296

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lake_wrangler wrote:I still have a good muscle mass, and am no weakling by any means, but I do have a definite paunch, right now...
As Brother Timothy himself would say, "'Tis a privilege of age, m'boy, a privilege of age... now pass th' bacon..."
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Re: U-296

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As the novitiate and the older monk left the Father Abbot's chambers, William was still pondering the disclosures he had just been privy to.
"Brother Timothy," he ventured, "I only know that we were never to touch that infernal device- nobody ever bothered to mention why... what happens when you touch it?"
Timothy gave an involuntary shudder- "I only know what I'm told by those who did... or, mores the truth, those who did an' didn't go mad or die. See things, they did- horrible things, things who's very names are too profane to name. As I am to understand it, you see the very nature of Hell itself... you actually go there, from the looks of it. The very few who experienced it an' were able to talk afterwards... well, their descriptions gave many of us nightmares, including yours truly,"
"Then... how did the Abby find itself in possession of such a thing? And why didn't the Holy Church do something to safeguard the rest of the world from it?"
"Their idea of protection was to leave it with us and deny it's existence- easy enough for them, I suppose- as for how we ... acquired it... well, there was an old Norse settlement hereabouts, you see. When Padraig* spread the gospel of our LORD among these heathens, they presented him with this relic, stating that it once was the handle of a sword... but then it somehow took on powers once the blade was separated. Somehow, the handle and blade had to come together to cut down YGGDRASIL, the ancient tree of life in their mythology. Until it were to happen, the handle would haunt anyone unworthy to wield it until the right champion came along. Several of their number had gone mad trying to be that champion, if I am to understand it at all,"
"But... to cut down the 'tree of life'... isn't that what would destroy their world in their own beliefs?"
"Theirs was a self-destructive pantheon... regardless, Padraig wisely encased the item to prevent further foolishness... which didn't prevent a number of daring monks from trying to learn the nature of the thing... at no small cost. It has been in the care of this Abby since 478... there are those who believe the Abby was founded for that purpose alone,"
"... and now, the Germans have it,"
"Aye, and now the Germans have it- GOD have mercy upon their souls..."

*Padraig-- Saint Patrick in modern Irish Kelt
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Re: U-296

Post by lake_wrangler »

Sgt. Howard wrote:*Padraig-- Saint Patrick in modern Irish Kelt
As usual, an interesting mix of real history with Wapsiverse elements. Well done! :D
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Re: U-296

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That night- 55.30 N, 07 W- the North Irish Sea

Running at 2/3 speed through the rough sea, the sharp outline of iron cut a deep swath while pitching through the whitecaps. Bounding with each encounter, it was a wonder that the waves didn't snap the delicate looking hull in two. Yet she held- as she had done many times in the past when called upon to deliver or pick up 'merchandise'- Abwar agents, supplies for clandestine operations, vital intelligence etc.- and once again proved herself worthy of the challenge.

She was the U-296.

Her Skipper, Oblt. Karl-Heinz Rasch, was 'riding the chariot' with his executive officer Stefan Dondermann and his political officer Udo Walsch. They alone had the fresh outside air untainted by diesel fumes while the rest of the crew suffered in the confines of the 'iron coffin'- the seas being too rough to even think of flying the schnorchel tube, they had no choice but to run on the surface to charge the batteries. Even among the veteran crew members, seasickness was rampant. They had already spread a debris field to simulate a sinking, thus covering their tracks... the field was right at the outskirts of a minefield, making the conclusion obvious to allied and axis observers alike- even the Kriegsmarine was to be kept in the dark about this mission.
She had her prize. She was headed home to Bergen.

She was bringing home that which would end the war in Germany's favor... or so the crew thought...
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Re: U-296

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"We'll keep at this heading until we clear the range of the Portnahaven patrol planes," yelled the Skipper over the crash of the sea, "... then we can go down the West coast and slip back thru the channel- we'll use the same drift as we did in January... it worked well enough then,"
"Yes... but WHAT is this thing we have taken? Even Udo has no clue," replied Dondermann, "... and why do we have an egghead and a walking relic onboard to babysit this wretched thing? I SAW what happened to Kleinke- all he did was touch the stupid thing, then he starts screaming like a woman giving birth... Feisler says he might never be the same after this,"
"It is powerful, it is vital and we WILL get it to the Fatherland," stated Walsch in a flat tone, "... and THAT is as much as ANY of us have to know! I DO happen to know that Professor Dreschmeyer is a scientist of atomic physics... as to Alsermann... I have heard rumors that he is a practicing Druid, a shaman- a practitioner of things long past. I can conjecture what all of that might mean, but in the end..." here he had to pause as a wave crashed over the tower, "... plaugh!! Blech!!! I HATE heavy seas!!! yes, in the end, I am only guessing what any of that might mean. Meanwhile, we have to quell the crew- they tend to get superstitious about these things... and Alsermann is not helping with his spooky mannerisms,"
"He is... what? Icelander, is he not?" asked Dondermann.
"His dialect is unlike any Icelander I've ever heard," replied Rasch.
"Why are we going down the WEST coast of Ireland?" interrupted Walsch, "We'll be at least another month before we reach port,"
"We left a debris field to mark our 'death'- they will keep in under observation for a while to 'confirm' the kill... that we might be headed West is unlikely,"
"I still don't like it," Walsch grumbled.
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Re: U-296

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The inside of a Class VII U-boat is uninviting when it is moored at dock- cramped, dingy and stinking of diesel oil. Underway, you add the smell of 47 to 53 unwashed bodies, a faulty toilet that always sloshes a little into the bilge, ozone from the salt water playing with the electrical systems, horrendous noise levels and insane heat in the engine room.
There isn't adequate words in any language to describe what it is like in foul weather- but add vomit to the bilgewater and have it splash the crew with each wave, several concussions along the way, most of your crew incapacitated with seasickness plus the constant fear of a torpedo breaking loose of it's chains... you think you get the idea, but you are not even close.
It is much worse than all that.
Professor Johann Dreschmeyer was not quite suicidal... but not far off... as he contemplated his situation. He had been dry-heaving for the last half-hour, he had no clothing that was not horribly soiled, his backside was quite raw from the paper issued for use in the toilet, he had lost his bridgework somewhere in the tactical room and it had slipped into the bilge, one of the lenses in his spectacles had broken leaving him nearly blind, for it was the one for his 'good' eye... and to top it off, he had put himself in this sorry state of affairs. Having listened to Alserman's descriptions of the clinical effects described by that ancient clay tablet, he had deduced that the slaves handling the object that the clay described... and that the sword protected... had died of radiation poisoning- even worse, he had brought this to the attention of the 'Bohemian Corporal'... thus making his life... and those of this submarine crew... expendable.
Now he and this crew were in search of the object, for reasons that only 'der Füror' knew for certain, led to it by a 'Mystic' who Dreschmeyer was certain to be nothing more than a fraud.
So here he was- with the handle of a sword that had no blade, in search of a blade that left no trace, in the guidance of a man that (apparently) had no past... in spite of his advanced age.
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Re: U-296

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Alserman sat alone in an unoccupied bunk, hunched over to accommodate the non-existent head space, eyes closed as he managed to meditate in a highly modified lotus position. He had smelled the weather the night before and decided to fast rather than puke... what discomfort he did experience could be nullified by meditation. The crew worked around him, occasionally glancing in his direction as they did everything they could to keep things from breaking apart in the heavy seas, pausing only to wretch before dealing with the next broken latch or opened seal.
That these fragile boats could handle this punishment at all... leave alone, drop below the surface and survive... was nothing short of amazing. A dive to crush depth typically required repairs to the bulkheads as rivets that snapped and shot were replaced with bolts and connections of pressure pipes were splinted as they failed. The depth gauge usually went through all twenty of it's replacement lenses in a normal combat tour. Replacing the seals for the periscope was a particularly demanding surface task that required four hours to complete- but if the seals fail, the conning tower fills with water when you dive and the slow filling makes ballasting the boat a challenge. The threat of salt water in the battery sections was continual- salt water hitting the batteries create chlorine... "Green Death". Many boats have been pulled off the bottom with a bleached crew locked in their last moments of convulsion as their lungs dissolved.

During WWII, 65% of submarine personnel either died in service or are listed as "Missing in action, presumed dead".

Currently the efforts of U-296 were for the recovery of something that nobody was sure to exist or knew where it might be found. Only Alserman seemed confident that it was obtainable... he did, after all, ferret out the handle of the sword. Now he only had to solve the rest of the riddle... and to the best of his knowledge, that would occur when the right person held the artifact, not one moment sooner.

He only knew the right person was not himself. He strongly suspected that Dreschmeyer was also a safe disqualification. Beyond that, he had little clue... but he was ready to find that person anyway...
Last edited by Sgt. Howard on Mon Jun 01, 2015 8:06 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: U-296

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He was ancient before the last Ice age, and had grown considerably since then. By the time swimming carnivorous air-breathers developed a taste for his kind, he was too big for them to hunt. Even when the mighty blunt head sharp teeth came around, they gave him wide berth... he had killed a troublesome bull seasons past and sperm whales have long memories that stay alive in their songs and stories. He had been summoned by elder gods and demi-gods many times in the past and called by many names to do many horrible displays of power and destruction.

But his favorite name was "Stinky", given by a trio of air-breathers that did not need air. That was right after the top of the world turned into brightness and ashes.

Since the demise of Lanthis, he had had little contact with the other tiny air-breathers... they bored him. Little things that made big noise and usually tasted sour... who cares? There were better meals to be had, and with less effort. The bigger air-breathers were rich with fat and easy to find.

Then came the summons.
An elder god.
One connected to the Tree of Life.

He could not ignore it. He was told to go North and find a dead air breathing thing that was not really dead, that would go under the surface from time to time but could not see underwater... very much like the dead-not dead things that crossed the surface all the time in the past few centuries. He would know it because he would sense the object it carried. He was to deliver it.

He was to deliver it to one of those who called him "Stinky".
Last edited by Sgt. Howard on Mon Jun 01, 2015 10:05 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: U-296

Post by lake_wrangler »

You, my man, are truly inspiring!

I loved the description of life aboard a U-Boat, interspersed with the narrative that is related to the Wapsiverse.

Love that description of things from Stinky's perspective, too. Brilliant!
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Re: U-296

Post by Atomic »

Loving the cross-references as plot history. Cthulhu's pet squid, maybe?
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Re: U-296

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As with many other situations with my writing, a small amount of research will drop the story in my lap- the Norwegians have a rich mythology involving the hafgufa ("Sea Mist")- Kraken is believed to derive from the Norse language. In German, "Krake" (pronounced "KRAK-eh") is octopus, with 'Kraken' being the plural- but it also can be a reference to the monster squid of mythology, the average German sailor well versed in Scandinavian sea mythology.

And as always, thank you for your readership
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Re: U-296

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Once past the Croaghaun Peninsula, the storm broke- just before the sun came up, Landermann flooded the bilges so that the pumps could clear out the smell somewhat. All crew members were brought out in shifts to the 'chariot' (top of the conning tower) and/or the wintergarden (anti-aircraft gun deck) to recover from the storm. Batteries were already charged as was the emergency pressure tank. All 'field expedient' repairs were re-evaluated and more permanent repairs were enacted. The toilet was given a thorough scrubbing, contaminated food went overboard and the cook set about doing a decent breakfast. Dreschmeyer took his meal topside, figuring that this was the only way he might be able to hold it down.
He found the Skipper, XO and PO, drenched and shivering, in the small chariot. Surrounded by an unearthly mist in the pre-dawn light, he could only see twenty meters in any direction.
"Are we safe, travelling in this?" he asked the Skipper.
"As safe as anyone else in this soup," came the reply, "Surface vessels are to be sounding foghorns when travelling though this stuff,"
"They might not, you know- what with the war and all,"
"Yes, that has crossed our minds- the beauty of it is that enemy aircraft cannot fly in this at all. Even if they could, they would never see us. Perfect cover... if you'll excuse me, I think I need to get some of that myself," he stated as he motioned to Dreschmeyer's plate of kippers and eggs- "Stefan, you have the boat- I will send Matrosengefreiter Zumwalt up with coffee for you and Udo. As soon a I finish, I will find something dry and relieve you. Udo, I recommend you do as myself- Dondermann here is wise enough to wear wool thermals under everything else, so he is likeliest to survive in the interim,"
"And so you punish me for being prudent?" exclaimed Leutnant Dondermann.
"Captain's prerogative," Rasch explained with a smirk as he descended the conning tower.
Last edited by Sgt. Howard on Mon Jun 01, 2015 10:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: U-296

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He knew of the object, even at so great a distance. It became the focal point of his journey, the reason for him to travel.

Unfortunately, he would have to go to the top where the water is thin. That always made him light-headed, a little giddy sometimes. He liked the cold, dark depths where he normally wandered- even going up as far as the blunt-head sharp-teeth could dive down was a bit ... challenging. In younger years, he would head up to the top and play with the dead-not dead things that sat on the top and travelled across the top. They were always infested with small air-breathers that made a great deal of noise and fuss- and generally tasted bad. He would come back with a pounding between his eyes that seemed to last forever. But now he was tracking a specific dead-not dead thing that carried something he had to get and deliver.

To one of the three that called him "Stinky".

He laughed internally at the memory of those three- he tried to bite one and nearly cracked his beak. When he found they were no food by any means, he studied them... even in his mentally diminished capacity, he learned their speech and they learned his. There was a game they played- they would throw a small chunk of ugly rock, and he would find it and bring it back.

But to the task at hand- the dead-not dead thing was still a ways off. He was beginning to hunger- no small consideration for a beast his size. He slowed to a stop to listen- the big air-breathers were always gossiping, always singing their ballads- seldom silent, truth be told. He had been jetting under a cold barrier that hid him from their squeaking search of each other, the bottom or any object in the water.

One would think they might learn.

There was a noisy bull just overhead. Quite stupid, actually. He was bragging about an encounter with a receptive cow... what is it with air breathers and sex? Over-rated in his opinion... but the bull's braggadocio was a beacon to the hungry beast. He swiveled both eyes up to locate the bull. The top was lit, making him easy to see. He was just below the top, carelessly bragging and paying no attention. The beast lined up on him and jetted full force.

Some eighty nautical miles away, the cow in question was traveling with her sister, listening to the raucous noise. Both were rather mute, embarrassed, angry... most of the noise was pure lies. The cow wished he would just shut up.

In mid sentence, there was a terrified wail, a mass of grunts, squeaks and whistles, a moan of pain, then silence. Both cows stopped their motions, gliding through the water, listening intently. The offended cow asked here sister, "What do you suppose...?"
Her sister muttered, "Karma, my dear, karma..."
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Re: U-296

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Alserman was silently lined up with the enlisted men for breakfast when the Skipper appoached the line- and went to the back, as he would not pull rank in a chow line regardless of circumstances. He watched the interaction of the crew with their commander- there were those who certainly respected the man, and those who were not too sure they should trust him. To Alserman the difference was anything but subtle, even if few others noticed. More than a few were afraid- afraid of this accursed thing they now carry, afraid of the orders regarding the object, afraid of Alserman himself... well, he mused, he had done nothing to ease their fears so that would hardly be suprising... but the level of fear... especially as Kleinke was still completly disconnected from reality... mutiny was not far from fact, if he understood these men correctly.
Mutiny. Aboard a U-boat, mutiny was virtually unheard of. Yet here it was, bubbleing just below the surface. Rasch seemed completly unaware of it- how could this be? Rasch always struck Alserman as a very competant, observant commander- why was he blind here?
Was he being made blind? If so, Alserman had no business interfering... as there were forces at play (as there always is) that nobody had control over. Alserman knew that he was to find and obtain the object- he knew that it would be delivered to an intended recipiant.
Was that recipiant German? Somebody who could help the Reich survive? Alserman realised he had never asked himself those questions before... THAT put a whole new focus on his mission. He had assumed the recipiant would be the salvation of Hitler's Reich... but now that the question had been asked, he was not so sure. The stage was set for a serious loss of command, perhaps the object would not reach Germany...
Then who? The prophecy was not specific enough to tell.

Matrosengefreiter Zumwalt had just gotten to the conning tower ladder when Walsch arrived at the base thereof. Snapping to attention (quite a trick with two cups of coffee on a rolling submarine), he addressed the Political Officer,
"Herr Leutnant- then perhaps der Herr Leutnant would prefer his coffee in the officer's mess?"
"Gunther- we are at tactical, all this 'Herr Leutnant' buisness is unnessesary- and embarrasing- I know my rank and you are every bit as important to this crew as I... in fact, YOU are one of the people who make things happen, while I just sit back for the ride. Thank you for the coffee, please get that other one up to Dondermann- poor soul is near frozen to death,"
"Jawhol, Herr... er... ja, Walsch, I will do so,"
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Re: U-296

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Hoffmann and Mestimacher had just sat down in the forward torpedo room with their plates, the enlisted mess being overflowing. Just opposite sat Kleinst and Drucker, both working busily at their on meals. Mestimacher caught sight of this and motioned to Hoffmann,
"Don't get your hands too close over there, you might loose a finger,"
Drucker looked up while Kleinst either didn't hear or ignored the slight.
"Bah!!!" he retorted, "There, look- I hold my little finger out like a sissy-boy to show I have manners- does THAT make you happy?"
Mestimacher's eyebrows raised while Hoffmann snorted into his food. Again, Kleinst was oblivious.
".... and do YOU think I am a 'sissy boy?'- is THAT what you think?" he demanded.
"I am going to finish this plate.... then I will SHOW you what I think," Drucker said between mouthfuls.
"The hell you will, " Mestimacher growled as he put his plate aside. Drucker also set aside his plate and started to his feet...
Too fast for either sailor, Kleinst, the son of a blacksmith, who was the son of a blacksmith and so on for GOD only knows how many generations, stood between them. He had each man by one ear. Without a word, he smacked the two heads together hard enough for both to drop on the hard iron floor. He then surveyed the two and calmly stated,
"Please do not interrupt my dining- you might dampen my mood,"
He then looked at Hoffmann- Hoffmann shrugged and continued eating.
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
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