The Ocean Liner

U-113

U-113’s torpedoes had all been loaded into the launching tubes. The U-boat was now within two miles of the target. Since the ship had obligingly stopped, there could be no doubt about the bearing, speed or range. The vessel was the biggest and easiest target they had ever had.

Todt had manoeuvred the U-boat into position off the other vessel’s port amidships, where her torpedoes would go straight into the engine room.

Todt himself was at the master sight on the bridge. He had taken all the readings, and passed them to the target-bearing transmitter, an anonymous grey box which contained an advanced, high-powered calculator that had already fed the information into the brains of the three weapons. They would run true, homing to their target with deadly intent.

Even a single strike at the water line would inflict a mortal wound: great loss of life, the sea pouring into the engine compartment, the ship starting to founder. Three strikes would be hard to survive.

‘Flood torpedo tubes one, three and four,’ Todt commanded.

The answer came through the intercom. ‘Flooding tubes one, three and four.’

The sound of water rushing into the tubes came to their ears.

‘I’m going to signal them to abandon ship,’ Hufnagel said.

Todt did not take his face away from the aiming column. He had the cross hairs fixed on the centre of the ship. ‘I will give them ten minutes,’ he said.

Hufnagel turned to the signalman who was waiting beside the blinker. ‘Send: “Will sink you. Ten minutes to abandon ship”.’

‘I don’t know how to send it in English,’ the rating said sheepishly.

‘I’ll write it out for you.’ Hufnagel took his notebook from his pocket and wrote the English words for the signalman. ‘Don’t make any mistakes.’