Meanwhile, on the U-boat, Müller stood in the control room, studying the map in front of him, plotting their course to avoid the destroyer's predicted path. He hadn't taken his eyes off the sea for hours, knowing that the enemy could strike at any moment.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by Becker's voice, shouting down from the tower bridge. "ALARM!"
The urgency in Becker's tone sent a jolt of adrenaline through the crew. Müller's head snapped up in surprise as he rushed toward the hatch. "What the hell is going on?"
Becker's voice called down again, filled with panic. "BOMBER! LIBERATOR BOMBER! IT'S COMING STRAIGHT FOR US!"
Müller wasted no time, snapping into action. "Verdammt!" Müller cursed, his voice tight but composed. "Flak!" he roared. "Get to the flak gun! NOW!"
Becker was already scrambling toward the heavy machine gun mounted on the deck, his muscular frame moving with practised speed. Kurt rushed up from below, lugging a box of ammunition, his face pale with fear.
Kurt was wide-eyed with panic, the weight of the shells almost too much for him to bear. "Scheiße, we're gonna be blown to hell."
"Calm down!" Müller barked from his position, his voice like a slap of cold water. He raised his binoculars to track the bomber's flight path. "Stay calm, boys, stay calm!" His tone was controlled, but there was no mistaking the urgency. "We'll get this mosquito and end it here."
"Mosquito?" Kurt exclaimed, his voice breaking in fear. "It's a bloody bomber, Captain!"
Becker, standing at the flak gun, gritted his teeth. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he steadied his hands on the weapon, awaiting Müller's signal.
"They're going to drop bombs on us—"
"Quiet!" Müller's voice thundered over them, silencing the panic. His jaw was clenched tight, but his mind was as sharp as ever. He knew he had to time this perfectly, or they were all dead.
Through his binoculars, he could see the bomber adjusting its trajectory. Its bomb bay doors were still closed. They had a chance—but only if they fired at the right moment.
The bomber was almost overhead now, the sound of its engines like a roar in Müller's ears. Every second felt like an eternity.
"Hold…" Müller's voice came through steady, despite the panic swelling in the crew around him. "Hold…"
"Kapitan!" Becker shouted, his voice filled with desperation. "It's closing in!"
"Not yet!" Müller snapped, his eyes fixed on the bomber. "Steady, Becker. Aim for the engines. We bring it down now, or we're all dead."
"Jawohl, Kapitän!" Becker's fingers tightened around the trigger, his heart pounding in his chest. Becker, muscles tense and sweat-soaked, lined up the shot. The Liberator loomed larger, its hulking mass cutting through the sky like a predator. The tension was unbearable.
Müller lowered the binoculars and turned to face his crew. "Now, boys… we kill this mosquito and send it crashing into the sea."
Then Müller shouted, "Feuer!"
Becker's hands slammed the trigger, and the Flak gun roared to life. Bullets tore into the sky, tracers streaking like fireflies in the sunlight. Kurt scrambled, feeding ammunition into the gun as fast as he could, his hands trembling with fear.
"Get that thing!" Dieter screamed, his voice shaking as he peered over the tower's edge. "Don't let it drop bombs on us! We're dead if they get a hit!"
The Liberator swerved, trying to evade the hail of bullets, but Becker held his aim steady. "I've got you now, you son of a pig!"
The Flak gun rattled, spewing a deadly stream of fire. Müller, watching through his binoculars, tracked the bomber's every move. His voice cut through the chaos with cold determination. "Stay on it, Becker. Take it down." The bomber started to bank, trying to avoid the gunfire, but Becker's aim was relentless. The crew watched as the flak rounds exploded around the bomber, causing it to sway and stagger in the air.
"Calm, boys…" Müller said again, his voice cutting through the chaos. "We'll send it down in flames."
The Liberator began to pull up, banking away from the U-boat, trying to escape the deadly barrage of fire.
The bomber swayed violently as the flak rounds found their mark, smoke trailing from one of its engines. It was retreating now, heading back toward the sky, wounded but still airborne. Müller gripped the bridge railing, his voice calm but forceful. "Keep it steady, Becker. You've got him."
The bomber wobbled, smoke trailing from one of its engines as Becker's rounds tore into it. The crew cheered below deck, hearing the barrage and hoping for a miracle.
Müller lowered his binoculars and watched the Liberator disappear into the clouds. "Hold your fire!" he called out.
As the Liberator dipped toward the ocean, its nose starting to tilt down, Becker eased off the trigger, panting from the effort. "It's done for…"
Müller's eyes narrowed. "Not yet."
The bomber, now barely above the water, suddenly pulled up, its engines roaring back to life. It had one last trick up its sleeve.
"Scheisse!" Becker screamed, slamming his fist into the gun. "It's not down yet!"
"Stay on it!" Müller ordered, his voice unshaken.
Becker gritted his teeth, lining up the gun once more. "I'll get the bastard this time."
As the Liberator circled back, its engines straining, Müller's voice rang out, calm but commanding. "You've got one shot, Becker. Make it count."
Becker's jaw tightened, his hands steadying on the trigger. "Jawohl, Kapitän."
The bomber circled in the distance, struggling as its engines sputtered and whined, the pilot clearly stalling for the perfect moment. Muller watched intently through his binoculars, knowing the pilot's hesitation would be his chance. He lowered the binoculars and rushed towards Becker, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Becker's eyes widened in realization, and he gave a sharp nod.
"Officer Richter, get me a rope. Schnell!" Becker's voice barked out.
Richter hesitated, confused by the strange request, but there was no time for questions. He quickly ordered a rope from the crew inside, and moments later, it was tossed up to the deck. Becker grabbed the thick coil, preparing himself, while Kurt looked on, puzzled by what they were planning.
"Submerge the U-boat!" Muller's command rang out, the crew inside scrambling to execute the order. Kurt and Dieter were yanked inside as the hatch slammed shut behind them.
Inside the U-boat, the crew moved like clockwork, pulling levers and rolling cranks to lower the vessel into the depths. The engines rumbled as the steel hull groaned under the pressure. Above the water, the bomber pilot spotted the slow descent of the U-boat and smiled, convinced he had them.
"Got you, Nazis," the pilot sneered, lowering the plane for a precise dive bomb.
But his confidence was short-lived. Just as he prepared to release the bomb, his eyes widened in disbelief. The Flak gun, half-submerged, was still aimed right at him. Becker, his torso already swallowed by the ocean, held his ground, gripping the gun tightly.
"Take these bullets, you Tommy!" Becker roared, unleashing a barrage of fire at the bomber.
The bullets ripped through the bomber's underbelly. The pilot cursed in fear, realizing he couldn't pull up in time. The impact was immediate—flames engulfed the bomber as it exploded mid-air, crashing into the ocean with a thunderous roar. As the U-boat continued its descent, Becker disappeared beneath the waves, swallowed by the sea.
Inside, the crew heard the muffled explosion from beneath the water.
"He got that bastard! He hit it!" one of the men shouted, followed by a chorus of cheers and pounding fists on the metal walls.
But Muller's focus never wavered. Without hesitation, he barked, "Surface! Schnell (quick)! Now!"
The crew moved with precision, bringing the U-boat back up to the surface as fast as the engines would allow. As soon as they breached the water, the hatch flew open, and Muller and the men scrambled up to the deck, searching frantically for Becker.
There was nothing. No sign of their crewmate.
The excitement drained from their faces, replaced by the cold reality of loss. Welham, the chief engineer, removed his cap and lowered his head in grief. Kurt's fists clenched in silent frustration, his gaze scanning the horizon for any sign of Becker.
Muller's voice, soft but resolute, broke the heavy silence. "I know Becker. He's still with us."
For a moment, no one moved. And then—a faint splashing sound. Every head snapped towards the stern, where Becker's drenched form was slowly climbing the rope, his body battered but alive. Cheers erupted from the crew as they rushed to pull him aboard, their joy almost tangible as they slapped his back and embraced him.
Becker, shivering from the cold, staggered forward towards Muller, water dripping from his soaked uniform. He stood at attention, despite the cold and exhaustion.
"Herr Kapitan," Becker managed, his voice steady despite his ordeal.
Muller gave a small nod, his expression one of deep approval. "Sehr gut,(Very Good)" he said simply.
Those two words meant everything to Becker. The captain wasn't one for speeches, but whatever he said carried the weight of command and respect. The crew lived for these moments—when their captain acknowledged their efforts, it wasn't just praise; it was a promise. A promise that they were seen, that their sacrifices were noticed and that under Muller's leadership, they would fight to live. They would fight to return home.
As Becker stood there, drenched and shivering, his chest swelled with pride. The captain's words were enough.