View Full Version : The Tale of the Ruptured Duck

07-25-2007, 04:49 PM
<span class="ev_code_red">
Part 1 of this story originally appeared several months ago as an Action Report. The U-150 did, in fact, sink the HMS Illustrious with a two torpedo, long range shot. The Action Report grew into a good story, with future possibilities enhanced when Psychfilm granted me permission to use his "Socko" character in future installments.

Hopefully, the readers of this forum still have an appetite for that strange, psychotic, "Socko" kind of humorous fiction.

Klcarroll </span>




The "Ruptured Duck" (U-150) is off the western coast of Ireland in the Spring of 1940, and this patrol has been going OK. (Sank one large merchant with two torpedoes, sank a passenger/cargo with another fish, and I let Socko shoot up four small coastal vessels with the 20mms.)

I'm off watch, trying to grab a little sleep, and feeling pretty good about things, when suddenly, here's the radio guy yanking on my sleeve and waiving a contact report in my face: ....I grab the report, smack him, and order him to "switch to decaf!".

Hmmmm........., Intel says there's a warship in our area: ...I get up and go to the Nav Station. Looking at the charts I see that it's REALLY in our area!! Not just "in the area", not just "down the street", but right next door selling war bonds!

I race to the bridge to make sure the watch isn't on the aft deck playing shuffleboard again.

Much to my relief, I find them all at their stations, and three out of the four are even awake. I take a good look around for myself, and satisfied that nothing is visual yet, I order us to periscope depth, and head for the hydrophone station.

The operator is sitting at his station (surprise!), with headphones on and a dreamy look on his face: ......Suspicious, I pull one of the earpieces away from his head and listen. Sure enough, ....he's listening to his collection of favorites! (Current selection playing: "Yummy, Yummy, Yummy, ...I've got love in my tummy"!)

I relieve him, and inform him that he's on report. He shuffles off dejectedly. I turn to the Chief and instruct him to tell Socko that I just promoted the sonar guy to First Officer.

I take the sonar station myself, and start sweeping: .....Almost immediately I am hearing sound contacts that are obviously warships; ....lots of warships. Looking at the plots, I count at least eleven ships. From their frenzied, mindless patterns, I figure that at least eight of them are escorts.

Thinking about it, I realize that this is both good news and bad news: .....Eight escorts imply a really important target: .....That many escorts also means that we're going to die.

....I briefly consider simply listening to "Yummy, Yummy, Yummy, ...", and forgetting the whole thing.

I snap out of it, with my resolve hardening: .....I have my Duty to do! (...and besides, if I pass this one by, Socko will probably murder me in my sleep.)

The sound plots now indicate that the Task Force is less than 12,000 meters away, so I assign some petty excuse for an officer to the hydrophones, and take my place at the periscope.

Visibility is good, but the wind is up, and the Sea is rough. We have to set for "Ahead 1/3" just to be able to maintain depth. I start sweeping, hoping to catch a glimpse, and soon I am rewarded. The first thing I see is the Escort Screen. (Screen! .....That's a joke! .....a screen is something you can see through: ....this was more like a wall!)

I start sweeping for whatever the escorts are guarding; ...and soon I find them. A Dido, and then five degrees to the left, a second Dido, and just to the left of that; ...THE ILLUSTRIOUS !!!!!!

The Task Force is at a bearing of 225 degrees, and they are running a course of 045, with no zigging: They are headed straight for us. I order "back standard" in the hope of avoiding a straight-on bow shot.

The Illustrious is now about 8500 meters away, and only visible in short glimpses; but I can tell that she's holding a straight course at 17 knots. There's no chance of just sitting and waiting for a classic "good shot": ....too many escorts. Glory and Duty notwithstanding, ....I'd like to survive this.

I say to myself; "Aw, what the heck", (or something like that) "This isn't Vegas, but I think I'll gamble anyway." .....So, at a range of 8000 yards, during one of my occasional glimpses of the Illustrious, I fire my last two "steamers", set for long range, with magnetic exploders "on", and a running depth of 9 meters.

As the second fish left the tube, I scream "ALLLAARRRMMM", and order us to 100 meters. I figure the only chance we have is to get deep and quiet before the DDs realize that there is an attack under way.

The predicted torpedo run time was over four minutes, and Socko spent the whole time telling me what an idiot I was for not having more torpedoes on board:
...I was about to ask him where I was supposed to have put them; ....but I stopped in time, realizing that I didn't really want to hear the obvious answer.

To my everlasting amazement, both torpedoes not only made it to the target, (one apparently passing right under an escort) but both of them actually went off! Within minutes we were hearing the unmistakable death rumbles of a big ship. In spite of being rather busy, I managed to get one picture.


Socko was demanding that we surface so that he could "finish off" the DDs: ....I stuffed him in my underwear drawer, and wedged it shut with the rusty bayonet the cook usually uses to chop meat and stir soup.

We stayed at 100+ meters, running silent, for more than ten hours before the DDs finally left: ....apparently satisfied that they had created a ten mile wide "Sea Life Free Zone" with all the DCs they dropped. (Lucky for them this is 1940! .....Just Imagine what Greenpeace would say!)

As I slipped back into my bunk for some well earned sleep, only one thing was troubling me: ....According to the Chief's report, no one seemed to be able to find our new First Officer.




The Ruptured Duck (U-150) had made a rather inauspicious start in her career out of Brest: ...Three patrols, for a total of 21,000 tons: People were beginning to talk, point, and laugh; .......worse yet, they were starting to use my name and Smitlack's in the same sentences.

I really felt THAT was unfair: ....at least I wasn't being investigated by Internal Affairs for the questionable actions of a sock Co-Captain!

....But all of this was going to change with our forth patrol: ....the one which culminated with my firing our last two torpedoes, in an absurd, impossible, extreme long range shot; ....and the sinking the HMS Illustrious! .....By a strange coincidence, it was also one of the patrols I permitted Smitlack's Co-Captain to "come along for the ride", as he put it.

I pick up the story again, the day after the sinking of the HMS Illustrious......

I awoke after six glorious hours of sack time to the muted sound of shuffleboard disks clacking together; .....but even that wasn't annoying enough to dispel the warm, fuzzy feeling of satisfaction that still lingered.

We had sunk a major capital ship! .....A friggin Aircraft carrier!! ...We had made "Tommy" cry!!!

We had actually done something right! ....The concept was new to me: .....I then realized that the BdU might even stop throwing things at me! ....Tears of joy ran down my cheeks: .......It was almost too much to comprehend. It certainly didn't feel real.

I pulled on a sweater, and went topside to survey the situation: ..... The old Ruptured Duck was rumbling away at a steady 12 knots; ..... and aside from a rod knock coming from #2, she sounded happy. Socko was standing on the ˜Wintergarten", whispering warm, nurturing things into the ejection port of the 20mm mounted there. The whole watch crew was on the aft deck, shuffleboard sticks in hand. ..........I wondered how long this peaceful scene would last.

There was one good thing about finding Socko up there: ....I knew that there were no targets of any kind (or nationality) within visual range: ....This was reassuring, but it also made me admire the courage of the two guys down on the deck who had their backs to him. .....Maybe I'll put them in for an IC 2nd Class for "voluntarily exposing themselves". The shuffleboard disks clacked together again, and one of the red team's disks almost went over the side.

It was a hazy day, with a low overcast: .....A perfect day for stealing a surface run on the Bay of Biscay; ...which was good, because I wanted to make time! At this rate, in less than 24 hours, we'd be home! I could almost feel the familiar, sticky seat of my favorite booth at "The Port Hole". I could almost smell it's delightful aroma of stale ale, cigar smoke, and vomit; ....I was truly ready for two weeks of beer, celebration, beer, the delightful "Diversions" of Port, and of course, beer.

I came out of my brief reverie with that uncomfortable feeling of being watched: ........I turned, and found that Socko had stopped talking to his gun, and was now giving me a cold, brassy stare.

"I can't believe you're running for home." He said, ......in that tone of voice that Nuns use right before they beat you with one of those metal reinforced yardsticks.

"Be realistic!", I protested; "We're out of torpedoes, we've nothing left to eat but captured Spam, and we only have three days fuel left! .....It's time to call it a Patrol!"

"You're a weak sister", he growled; "We have over 800 rounds of 20mm still on board, and TommyLand is only 100 miles that way!" He was pointing south, but I felt that this wasn't the time for geography lessons. (Not with that 20mm so close!)

I decided that pure Logic was probably not the way to go here: ...We are, after all, talking about a sock that wants to invade England with a 20mm AA gun and 800 rounds of ammo.

Summoning up all my courage, I put forth the only argument that I thought had a chance: ....."I want a Beer."

The tension was so thick you could cut it with the cook's favorite bayonet; ....the watch crew had even stopped their game to watch the drama on the bridge.

Socko stared at me for what seemed like two weeks, ....and then slowly opened his mouth and belched. He then turned, gave the 20mm a kiss, and slid through the hatch and down the ladder, chanting a limerick that began; "There once was a girl from Nantucket.........."

As I went below, I commented to the watch crew that any man not at his station and properly alert would immediately be promoted to First Officer. With Socko on board, It's amazing how fast some people can move when properly motivated.

The rest of the day was strangely quiet. Socko spent the whole time in the torpedo room with a tape measure and a notepad. The crew was buzzing about the prospect of shore leave, as crews always do. (...Although some of the things they were buzzing about shouldn't be described in print.) Johann, the Chief Machinist Mate, spent the last two watches in the engine room talking to his diesels. When he finally appeared in the control room, he remarked, .....to no one in particular, about how much he was going to miss "His Girls" while on shore leave: .....I think the insanity is spreading.

We idled into Brest at 08:00, and were instructed to tie up in the first slip. I was shocked! ....In the past, they always made us anchor out in the harbor with the tramp steamers. It took me a few minutes to remember the procedure for parallel parking.

The dockside formalities were a blur: ....The band playing, Donitz tripping and falling down the gangplank, the salutes, the presentations. The only thing I remember clearly was that all through the presentation ceremony, Socko was swinging the wintergarten 20mm around, sighting on seagulls, and mumbling "Bangity, Bangity, Bangity" just loud enough for everyone on deck to hear.

Then it was over: ....I turned to the crew, who were still standing in formation, gave them a salute, and dismissed them: .....In a single mass they sprinted up the gangplank, and ran off down the pier, whooping and hollering. I'm not exactly sure where they were headed, but several of them were almost completely naked before they were half-way down the pier.

Standing on the now deserted deck of the Duck, I felt let down. The sense of elation was ebbing away, and I began to contemplate the philosophical aspects of the empty and transitory nature of fame: ........But I quickly realized that this was far too much mental work, and decided it was time for a beer.

I went below to pack my shore bag, and upon arriving in my quarters, I found Socko sitting in my underwear drawer. He had an open can of "Brasso" next to him, and was using a pair of my shorts to polish a 20mm round. There were a couple dozen very shiny 20mm rounds lined up on the shelf behind him.

He looked up, grinned, and said; "Clean bullets are happy bullets!"

His smile faded a bit as he stared at the Knight's Cross I had just received.

"So!", he said; " "Admiral Radio Silence" has given you a new necktie! ....Is it your birthday or something?"

"No", was all I could think to say: ......To be absolutely honest I was still a bit stunned by the award: .....I had always assumed that I would have to buy a KC in a surplus store after the War.

"Well Jerkface," he said with a maniacal grin; "I think you're an idiot, but you seem to get lucky every now and then; .........So I'm going to help you out!"

He hopped out of the drawer (spilling the can of Brasso all over my last three pairs of clean shorts), ....grabbed his tape measure and notebook off the desk, and with a wink, said; "Later! ....Gotta go see the Dockyard Superintendent." .....And he vanished up the control room ladder.

After a cursory look around the now deserted boat, I followed him, and headed for "The Port Hole".


One of the things that made "The Port Hole" so popular was their enlightened policy of; "If you're thirsty, ....we're open!" .....So at 10:00 A.M., the place was in full swing. I slid into my favorite booth, and ordered the Breakfast Special, which consists of a dozen hardboiled eggs, a large bowl of pretzels and a pitcher of "Old Moosewizz Dark": ....As the old saying goes; "Beer! ....It's so much more than a breakfast drink!"

I had just started on my second pitcher of "OMD", when that now familiar feeling of being watched came over me. I slowly turned, and discovered Socko behind me, standing on the seat of the next booth, apparently studying the back of my head. He had clearly been there a while, as there was a bowl of pretzels and a half finished "Sunrise Surprise" in front of him. (A "Sunrise Surprise" is a standard "Diesel & Salt Water" with half a can of creamed corn added to give it that "breakfasty appeal".)

I looked into his brassy stare, and said; "Hi".

Taking another gulp from his "Sunrise Surprise" he replied; "OK Tinkerbelle, .......I've taken care of everything at the dockyard: ....You just have to stop by the Superintendent's office to sign some papers."

He then chugged the last of his drink, threw his bill on my table, and sauntered out the door.

My past dealings with the Superintendent's office had been less than cordial: .....In fact it was the "Super" himself that had once told me; "Fix your own damn problems! ...We have better things to do than mess around with little bits of self-propelled sewer pipe!" (He didn't think much of the old TypeII boats.) .......I couldn't help but wonder why they were feeling so cooperative now.

I paid both bills and headed back to the dockyard. Upon arriving at the "Supers" office, I noticed a couple of odd things: ......First, the door to his office was hanging by one hinge at a rather drunken angle. Secondly, when I peered into the office, it seemed "a bit messy": .....Actually, the floor was covered with the contents of two overturned file cabinets, and there were books scattered everywhere. Some of the books seemed to bear teeth marks.

Piled in a corner of the room was a leather sea jacket and a commander's cap. The jacket had had both sleeves ripped off, and the cap had a large bite taken out of the brim.

At first I thought the office was deserted, but then a faint noise caught my attention. After a brief search, I located the Superintendent; ...........hiding under his desk, whimpering.

"Uhmm..." I said; "I'm Kaptain-Leutenant Shwanz, ......U-150, ...I understand there are some papers I need to sign??"

The "Super" stared at me for a moment with an eerie "1000 meter stare", and then slowly nodded, and started to dig through the mass of papers under his desk. After a few moments of searching he located a stack of papers clipped together, and slid them across the floor to me. There were five work orders, and fifteen other documents that appeared to be some kind of liability releases.

I signed them all, thanked the "Super", and headed for the U-150.

I arrived at our slip to find it swarming with dockyard workers. Apparently the lack of my signature hadn't stopped them from going to work immediately: .....This struck me as strange, as I had never been able to get these guys to do anything without three different forms, filled out in triplicate, and notarized. I also noticed that they seemed to be working much faster than usual. Taking a closer look at the work in progress, I could see that serious things were happening to my boat.

The whole shuffleboard court, ....err, ....Aft Deck had been taken up to allow direct access to the engine room; ....and a crane was lowering a large piece of machinery. Forward, the torpedo hatch was being used to remove large bits of debris that looked like pieces of bunks and partitions.

As I watched, another crane swung over and hooked on to some lifting straps wrapped around the wintergarten 20mm. I noticed that Socko was standing on the Conning Tower, supervising this work, and I climbed up to find out what was going on.

At first, he was so intent on the work that he didn't seem to notice me: .....As the wintergarten 20mm was boomed up and away he started singing a cadence under his breath; "I got a girl, her name is Sal.........."

As he turned to run to the front of the Conning Tower, he ran into me, ....and finally acknowledged my presence.

"Oh! ...Hi Nancy," he said; "Nice to see you could make it!"

Even though I had only known him for a short time, I already suspected that it was healthier to not object to Socko's insults: ....so I turned the conversation to professional issues.

"What's going on? .....and why did I have to sign all those releases???" I asked.

"Well....." he said with that all too familiar maniacal grin; "I'm having some "improvements" made; .....and the "Super" didn't feel that the dockyard could certify them."

Seeing the look of alarm on my face, he added; "Hey! ......Don't worry! It's just the bureaucratic C.Y.A. you always get from those jerks! .......They don't want to take any heat if something goes wrong."

Somehow, ......Socko's assurances didn't make me feel any better.

His attention was now focused on a canvas wrapped load that the crane was swinging back over to the wintergarten. He guided the load down, giving the crane operator the appropriate hand signals (...and a few inappropriate ones). As the mounting post on the wrapped mass slid into the gun mount pedestal, he locked it down, and released the lifting straps.

Turning to me, he said; "You're gonna love this!"

He then whisked the canvas away like an artist unveiling a work of art: .........And there, where our old, battered 20mm single once stood, was a brand new 20mm Twin. Not only was it new, but it was the very latest model, a C38 with 40 round clips and a cute little ballistic shield for the gunner.

"How did you get THAT?" I asked; ".....I thought only the Glory Boys with the TypeIX Boats got those!"

Socko gave me a sidelong glance, and replied; "Actually, you're right; ......One of those TypeIX jerks was in the Superintendent's office when I got there, and I convinced him that he wanted to trade his two C38s for our 20mms."

Remembering the jacket and commander's cap I had seen in the Supers office, I decided that I really didn't want to know more about where our new guns came from.

"What's going on with the engines?" I asked, hoping to get Socko away from the gun. (....he had just clicked in two loaded magazines, and was whispering something about "nice clean, happy bullets".)

For a moment all I got was his old brassy stare; .....but then he grinned and said; "Oh yeah! ....We're going to teach this old Duck to swim!! ......Come on, ...have a look at this!"

He then disappeared down the hatch like a sock in a laundry chute: .....I followed a bit slower, half dreading what I was going to see.

The control room was crowded with workers, and the chart table was covered with pages from Socko's notebook. As we worked our way through the crowd, one guy (apparently the Foreman) picked up one of the pages, pushed his way over to Socko, and said; "Hey! .....Look! ....This is simply not going to fit!!!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Socko administered a savage head butt to the Foreman's groin. The man collapsed to the deck making faint little cooing noises. (He sounded just like a Mourning Dove; .......making soft "ooh-oooooh, ooh, ooh" sounds over and over.)

Socko swept the compartment with a cold, homicidal stare, making sure he caught each man's eye, and that he had their undivided attention: "So, ....does anyone else have any questions?"

Everyone in the room shook their heads in unison; ...and the ones who were clever enough to quickly think of a reason to leave the Control Room did so.

Looking down at the now unconscious Foreman, Socko said; "If Germany looses this war, it will be because of idiots like this: ........No vision! ...No Imagination! .....He assumes that just because there isn't room, we can't make them fit!!!" He paused for a moment to give the Foreman a kick, and then continued; "When Hitler decided we needed "Liebenstrom", did he let silly little details interfere with the plan??"

I was about to debate the point with him, but I realized that since I was standing in a German Submarine Base on the coast of France, I couldn't very well argue against Socko's point: ....I instead decided to bring the discussion back to the work that was being done.

"So, .....what are we going to ˜make fit'???" I asked.

"These!" he said as he preceded me into the engine room.

Looking past him, I could see two large gray pieces of machinery sitting on the deck grating that ran between to two diesels.

"What are they?" I asked. (I really had no idea, I had never seen anything like them on a TypeII.)

"Turbochargers!!" he said with a triumphant grin.

"But Socko.." I said; "We already have the Turbocharger Upgrade!"

"Not like these you don't, Tina!" he said; "These bad boys are the units they normally put on the TypeVIIs! .......When we hang these on your little outboard motors, we'll be able to make some real horsepower! .........Isn't that right Johann???"

"Ja mein Furhrer!!" said a voice from the dark space above the starboard diesel.

"Johann?? .....Is that you? I asked.

"Yes Sir!"

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm unbolting this old junk so that we can install the new turbochargers; .....just like Socko said!"

Looking at the space Johann was referring to and then looking at the size of the TypeVII turbochargers, I could easily see where the Foreman's concerns came from: ......But since I didn't particularly want to join the Foreman in dreamland, I chose my words carefully.

Turning away from Johann, I said to Socko; "It looks like it's going to be a tight squeeze!"

Socko shot me an annoyed glance, and said; "Don't get your panties in a knot! .....It'll be no tougher than putting a four barrel carb on a Volkswagen!"

He then hopped up onto the cylinder head of the starboard diesel and peered into the gloom concealing Johann: .....Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he turned to me and said; "Relax! ....We'll have these diesels making black smoke within 48 hours!"

He hopped down, and said; "Come on! .....I'll show you the other big surprise!"

I followed him forward, past the still unconscious Foreman and into the Crew's Quarters: ....or at least the area where the Crew's Quarters used to be.

All of the crew's bunks were gone, and the partition that used to separate my bunk from the general crew's quarters was gone. In place of the crew's bunks there was now racking for four more torpedoes.

"NOW you won't have any excuse to go slinking off with the job only half done: .....like you did when we intercepted that task force with the Illustrious!" cackled Socko. (His intense stare seemed to say "I dare you! .....complain! ......Make My Day!!")

In spite of the red flags my common sense was waving, I couldn't let that pass. I was proud of that day!

"We, .....uhmm, .....well, ....we did pretty good that day!" I said, taking a step back and covering my groin.

"Listen Nancy"; Socko growled; "I was there that day......Remember?? .......You never gave a thought to the two Didos, and you let all the DDs get away! ......Your only excuse was some stupid, sniveling whine about being out of torpedoes! ...........Well, I'm here to tell you that you won't be able to let The Service down like that again! .....Between the four stowed here, the four I'm having put in external storage, and the five standard issue, you will now have thirteen torpedoes on board: .......So buy some trousers that zip in the front, and start using the Men's Room!"

At this point, a sudden commotion interrupted Socko, and he turned to see what was happening: .....It was the first of the additional torpedoes coming down through the torpedo hatch. Socko's attention was immediately diverted to the supervision of that job; .....and I took advantage of the opportunity to slide back into the Control Room while he was distracted.

I walked up to the Watch Officer and asked; "Klaus, ....what was the crew's reaction when they found out they were loosing their bunks??"

"Well Herr Kaleun," he hesitatingly began; "........Once Herr Socko explained it, they all agreed that it was a good idea."

After a brief glance at the still unconscious Foreman, I concluded that the crew's viewpoint wasn't really very hard to understand after all.

As I worked my way back to the Engine Room again, I could hear Socko screaming at some poor, unfortunate dockyard worker: .........Someone had scratched the paint on one of the new torpedoes. A few moments later there was a burst of fire from the foredeck 20mm: .....Socko had apparently identified the offender.

I found Johann (actually, I only heard him) still happily making the required modifications to the starboard diesel for the installation of the new turbochargers.

"How is the job going, Johann?" I asked.

"Very well sir!" he replied; "If things go as smoothly with the port side diesel, we should be ready for a test startup by this time tomorrow!"

I nodded, even though I couldn't see him, and I wasn't sure he could see me.

Just then, my attention was caught by another new addition to the engine room. There were six pressure cylinders strapped to the Engine Room bulkhead. They looked just like the high pressure oxygen cylinders used around the dockyard for the welding and cutting torch sets, except they were painted blue, instead of "oxygen green".

"Johann" I asked; "what are these blue cylinders for??"

This time his head actually popped up from behind the starboard diesel and I was able to see him. "COOL!" he said; "I didn't know they had been delivered!" ......He started to go back behind the engine again, but I stopped him short by again demanding to know what the cylinders were for.

"Oh!" he said; "That's the Nitrous Oxide."

"Why do we need Nitrous Oxide?" I asked.

"Well, ...you see Sir" he began; ".....Those new turbochargers were designed for a much bigger engine, and when you bolt them to a little diesel like ours, they take a relatively long time to ˜spool up': (......the ˜Tank Guys' call that ˜Turbo Lag'.) Our diesels won't make good horsepower during that windup time, because the injectors have to be set up really ˜rich' to allow for the amount of boost once the turbochargers are up to speed: .......So to keep the old Ruptured Duck from being a ˜pig off the line', we give the engines a little squirt of Nitrous to cover the difference until the turbos are spinning properly."

"Are the results really going to make all this grief and aggravation worthwhile???" I asked.

"DUDE! ....oops! ....Sorry Sir! ....I mean Herr Kaleun!" Johann began; "......You're going to be able to take up water skiing if you want to!

Having said that, Johann slid back in behind the starboard diesel to finish whatever it was he was doing back there. I couldn't help but notice that he was mumbling to himself, just like Socko does whenever he is really preoccupied.

I pushed my way through the still crowded Control Room, (the Foreman was now awake and sitting up, ....but very pale.) and made my way up the ladder to the bridge. There was nothing that seemed to require my attention; .....as the fear of the Wrath of Socko seemed to be an efficient "motivator".

Alone on the bridge, I took a few minutes to collect my thoughts, and to survey the overall situation.

The dockyard crew was already welding the aft deck sections back in place, and both C38s had been installed. The only thing that remained was the loading of the last two internally stored torpedoes. I seems that the crane assigned to that task had been riddled with 20mm fire, and that the dockyard was having to bring up a second crane to finish the job.

Satisfied that matters were well in hand, ....I climbed down from the Conning Tower, and walked slowly up the gangplank to the dockside: ......There was my U-150, "The Ruptured Duck", bathed in artificial light from multiple light poles, with the dockyard staff still hard at work.

I walked off into the darkness; .....headed for my cheap, rented room above "The Port Hole". I needed sleep, and forgetfulness, and an existence without psychotics like Socko. (Oh well, ....two out of three isn't bad!)


NEXT: ........Part 3: .....The "Shakedown Cruise".

Stay Tuned!!!!!

07-25-2007, 05:01 PM
http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/clap.gif http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/clap.gif http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/clap.gif More! More!

(BTW, you have to be quite brave to have "socko" aboard)

07-25-2007, 06:39 PM
Originally posted by klcarroll:
I turn to the Chief and instruct him to tell Socko that I just promoted the sonar guy to First Officer.

http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/88.gif http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/88.gif http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/88.gif http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/88.gif http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/88.gif

A very nice way to present a death sentence.

07-25-2007, 11:40 PM
http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/clap.gif http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/clap.gif http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/clap.gif

07-26-2007, 06:37 AM
Good stuff http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/clap.gif

07-26-2007, 01:15 PM
Very good!!! http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/25.gif

Foehammer can't wait till the next episode!

07-26-2007, 01:30 PM
Nice http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/25.gif

07-26-2007, 02:41 PM
Jeez, stop fooling around, write the damn book....... : http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/25.gif
These remind me of Tom Sharp's books containing Konstabel Els....... hilarious. http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/25.gif
And he's sold thousands http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/16x16_smiley-very-happy.gif...... and made a few too!. http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/16x16_smiley-very-happy.gif http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/16x16_smiley-surprised.gif

07-30-2007, 07:31 AM
Thank you for the encouraging comments!