The night was deathly silent as the fighter jet descended, its ominous form a dark shadow against the starless sky. Onboard the U-534, the tension was suffocating. The crew's faces were pale, their fear almost palpable. They all knew what was coming—death, sudden and absolute, encased in this steel coffin deep beneath the Atlantic.
Kurt stood frozen, his eyes vacant, staring into the abyss as his mind spiraled into terror. He didn't want to die, not like this. The sense of impending doom was unbearable. The fighter jet hadn't dropped explosives; instead, it came straight for them, as if taunting them with the certainty of their fate. Müller closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable. He was scared too, just like the others.
Dieter and the men on the watchtower screamed in terror, the sound of their fear mingling with the roar of the jet's engines. But then, in a twist of fate, the jet did not fire. It merely passed over them, a ghost in the night, and disappeared into the darkness, leaving the U-534 unscathed.
Müller's eyes snapped open, and he quickly turned to watch the jet fade away into the inky sky. Confusion and disbelief spread among the crew; they had been so certain it was the end. Dieter, breathless and wide-eyed, exchanged bewildered looks with the others. None of them understood what had just happened.
But Müller knew. He saw it in the way the jet had behaved, the way it had observed but not attacked.
His face was calm. He turned to his men and barked, "Everyone, inside! Schnell! (Quick)" The order was immediate, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.
The crew scrambled down the hatch, and Müller was the last to descend, sealing the opening of the U-boat with a thud. The weight of what had just happened hung heavily in the air as all eyes turned to him. They were silent, their unasked questions lingering like ghosts in the narrow, dimly lit corridor.
Müller didn't wait for them to voice their concerns. He issued a swift command: Tauchen auf 30 Meter!" (Dive to 30 Meters!)
The U-boat's crew moved with precision, the submersible's engines humming to life as it slowly sank beneath the waves. Müller walked over to the navigation table, where the map lay unfurled. He took the compass and began measuring distances, his brow furrowing as he plotted their next move. The officers exchanged uneasy glances, waiting for an explanation, any sign of what was going through their captain's mind.
Müller cursed under his breath, "Verdammt," as frustration seeped into his usually composed demeanour. He turned to his officers, his voice low but filled with urgency. "Do you know why that jet didn't attack us?"
They hesitated, each trying to piece together the puzzle. The answers they gave were weak, and speculative. One mentioned fuel concerns, and another suggested the pilot had orders to hold fire, but none of their explanations satisfied Müller.
He shook his head in disappointment. "Nein," he said firmly. "That jet didn't attack because it didn't need to. It's reported our position. Right now, they're planning a coordinated strike. We've been marked, gentlemen. At dawn, they'll come for us. Destroyers, depth charges, the works."
The gravity of Müller's words settled in, the reality of their situation hitting home. Shock and fear flashed across the officers' faces. Müller could see it—the understanding that they were now in the crosshairs of an imminent, deadly attack.
"I need all men prepared," Müller continued, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Now, the real action is about to begin."
He turned to the Chief Engineer, his expression demanding clarity. "Give me a status report on the engines, batteries—everything. We'll need full power to evade those destroyers."
The Chief Engineer nodded and quickly began his rundown. "Captain, the batteries are at 80% capacity. We've been conserving power, so they should hold for a sustained dive. The diesel engines are running smoothly, but we're pushing them hard. We'll need to monitor them closely to avoid any failures. The hydraulic systems and compressed air for the ballast tanks are stable, but any prolonged evasion will strain the systems."
Müller listened intently, his mind calculating their odds. He knew they were in for a fight, but they had survived before, and they would again. There was no room for fear, only action.
"Understood," Müller said, his voice steady. "Make sure everything is in top condition. We may only have one shot at this."
The crew nodded, the weight of the situation heavy on their shoulders. Müller turned back to the map, his fingers tracing the course they would need to take. The clock was ticking, and every decision he made would determine whether they lived to see another day.
As the crewmen gathered, their faces still pale from the earlier scare, Captain Müller's voice echoed through the steel confines of the U-boat. The men turned toward him, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Müller stood tall, his steely blue eyes piercing through the dim light, a man who had faced death more times than he could count. The weight of command sat heavily on his shoulders.
"Men," he began, his voice calm but carrying the authority that came with his rank, "tomorrow, we face a challenge unlike any before. The enemy knows we're here, and they'll come for us with everything they have. We have two choices: evade the destroyer and risk the depth charges, or dive deeper, into the belly of the ocean, and hide from their sonar. But remember this—we are not merely prey."
He paused, letting his words sink in. The crew watched him intently, the fear in their hearts slowly being replaced by a burning determination.
"We fight back," Müller continued, his tone growing more intense, his words precise and measured. "This U-boat is not just steel and bolts. It is our weapon, our shield. We will show the enemy who truly rules these waters. We are the predators of the Atlantic, and tomorrow, we will hunt or be hunted. The choice is ours, and I know what choice you will make."
A murmur ran through the men, growing louder as their spirits lifted. Müller could see it in their eyes—they were ready.
"Remember," he added, his voice lowering to a tone of firm resolve, "to survive is to fight. To fight is to live. We don't die in this steel coffin. We make the ocean our ally, the night our cover, and the enemy our prey. Show me your skill, your courage, your will to live. Because the real battle begins now."
The crew erupted into shouts of agreement, their fear transforming into a fierce determination.
"We are the hunters!" one man shouted.
"The predators of the Atlantic!" another joined in.
Müller nodded, satisfied with the surge of morale. Just minutes ago, these men were on the brink of despair. Now, they were ready to face the dawn of battle, prepared to fight for their survival, to live through another day in the deadly cat-and-mouse game they had chosen. As the noise died down, Müller's expression softened, but his resolve remained as hard as iron.
"Rest well tonight, men," he said finally. "For tomorrow, we rule the seas."
The men dispersed, their hearts lighter, their minds steeled for what was to come. They would fight, and they would survive—because that was the only way they knew how to live.