The U-boat groaned a metallic scream that echoed through the confined space. It felt like the very bones of the vessel were coming apart. Nails and bolts, shaken loose by the relentless depth charge blasts, scattered like deadly shrapnel. The floor tilted sharply, sending men stumbling. Kurt, standing near the control panel, was thrown to the ground as a sudden, fierce gush of icy water slammed into him. He gasped, choking on the saltwater, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
"Leakage in the forward compartment!" someone yelled, their voice nearly drowned out by the chaos. Another voice, panicked and raw, shouted, "More water coming in from the engine room!"
The boat kept shaking, a violent dance that seemed never to end. Men clung to pipes, walls, and anything they could grab to keep from being tossed around. The sound of metal straining, and creaking, surrounded them.
a sharp thwack filled the air. A nail, dislodged by the pressure, flew like a bullet and struck one of the crewmen in the forehead. He collapsed instantly, unconscious, blood trickling down his face. Two sailors caught him before he hit the deck, dragging him aside to avoid being trampled by their frantic comrades.
"Get the tools! We have to stop this flooding!" Officer Richter shouted, his voice a mix of desperation and command.
The men scrambled, searching for anything that could patch the leaks. Water was pouring in from several directions now, spraying them as they worked. Kurt, still drenched from the earlier blast, fought against the steady stream, his hands trembling as he tried to secure a patch over one of the breaches. Every second mattered; they were fighting for their lives.
And then, as if the ocean itself decided to take a breath, everything went dark. The lights flickered out, plunging them into an eerie, suffocating silence. The only sounds were the ragged breathing of the men and the relentless drip of water. The U-boat gave a sudden lurch, and the Chief Engineer, Wielham, glanced at the depth gauge. His face went pale.
"Herr Kapitän! We're descending—80 meters and falling!" he shouted, barely keeping the fear from his voice.
Muller's eyes widened. If they went much deeper, the pressure would crush them like a tin can. "Auftauchen, Wielham! Now! Surface this boat before we're flattened!"
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitän!" Wielham responded, hands moving with a practised urgency over the controls, adjusting the ballast tanks trying to lift their steel tomb from the depths.
Kurt and his team were still fighting their own battle. Water sprayed him in the face, blinding him as he struggled to plug yet another hole. His fingers were numb from the cold, his muscles aching from the strain, but he couldn't stop. Not now.
"We've sealed it!" one of the men shouted, triumph breaking through the fear.
"Captain, all leaks are under control!" came the report through the intercom.
The Chief Engineer, moved quickly to the ballast control panel, issuing rapid orders to his crew.
"Prepare to blow ballast! Open main vents, and trim to negative. All crew at the ready!" Müller said sharply,
The ballast officer nodded, focusing intently on the task. The crew stood ready, anxiously eyeing the depth gauge.
"Maschinenraum, give me air pressure! Start pumping it into the tanks!" Chief Wielham commanded.
A crew member at the compressor station acknowledged, flipping switches as the hum of the machinery grew louder. Müller glanced back, his face set in concentration.
"Blase! (Blow!)" Müller shouted.
A loud, piercing hiss filled the narrow corridors of the U-boat as compressed air forced water out of the ballast tanks. The entire submarine shuddered, its steel frame groaning under the pressure as it began to inch upward, but the ascent was agonizingly slow. The Chief Engineer, kept his hands locked on the ballast controls, his knuckles white and trembling. His gaze darted from the gauges to his men, then back again, his jaw set in silence. The crew held their breath, some of them squeezing their eyes shut, unwilling to watch the depth gauge's agonizingly slow climb. The Captain stood still as stone, hands clasped tightly behind his back, but his eyes never left the depth meter. "Seventy… sixty-five meters," he whispered to himself, willing it to rise. Every few seconds, his lips moved, almost as if in prayer.
Kurt, stood by his station with his head down and his eyes shut, one hand gripping a bolt. Beside him, Hans shifted nervously, biting his lip as he stared into the dim red glow of the control room, his face carved with fear and fatigue.
"Come on," Officer Richter muttered, his voice tense but steady, "just a few more meters. Just a few more."
The depth gauge reached 60 meters and then stopped. The crew held on tight, feeling the unsettling moment when the boat felt like it was stuck, neither sinking further nor rising to the surface. A suffocating silence filled the control room. One crew member let out a shuddering breath, and the Captain shot him a stern look. No one dared make a sound after that. In those still, silent moments, hope was a fragile thing, balanced between breaths, prayers, and stilled hearts.