How To Survive in a U-Boat During WWII

If you ever need to know, being on a vessel that’s 50 meters below the surface stinks. I woke up to an ice cold bucket of water being dumped on my head.

“Rise and shine, soldier! General Klaus wants ya’ to start watch duty,” my fellow Private Stefan said in German.

As I sputtered out water, I saw him chuckling down at me. Where did he even get cold water? The only water we have here is strictly rationed and even lukewarm. My question was answered when I coughed up a shrimp onto the ground.

“No, not watch duty,” I complained.

“Just what Fuehrer said. And get on it!” Stefan urged.

“Fine, I’ll… WAIT, DID YOU JUST SAY ‘FUEHRER’?!” I screamed. Fuehrer is what we call Adolf Hitler. Surely he must be kidding. You never know with Stefan. He laughed and told me to get on duty.

It was a cold and cruel morning on the watchtower. Salty waves kept lapping up against the side of the boat. I squinted across the green abyss. The only thing I saw was green, green, green, and more green. Private Uwe also came up for his shift, but he didn’t seem nearly as dry as I was. On his side of the watchtower, mammoth, icy waves kept raining on him. He coughed and sputtered up saltwater. I decided it would be best if I didn’t get too close. His clothes looked as stiff as cardboard from the last time he took watch duty.

Uwe coughed, “I can’t wait until breakfast.”

“Well I can, and that’s what you will have to do too,” I said as a wave the size of an oil truck almost swept Uwe off the boat.

“Easy for you to say,” he replied.

Sometimes I think the only reason this task was made was to torture us. It’s not like we need to go outside in the middle of January to see a green blanket of cold water. Moreover, it is the most hated job here.

For breakfast, hard biscuits with butter and eggs were served. We were out of fruit, as it had been finished, and the biscuits were stale. But we made the best of it and enjoyed it. One half of the table ate like starved wolves. I was annoyed they weren’t enjoying the newness of the boat, as they were getting biscuit crumbs and egg bits everywhere around them. I was trying to keep this boat as clean as possible. This boat was a new, improved innovation that I was extremely proud of. That’s why I had kept my bed clean until Stefan dumped a bucket of seawater on it. We Germans had created one of the most technologically advanced boats, and we were getting to use it.

In the corner, Private Leon was drawing a picture of a U-boat on the wall.

“Why?” said General Klaus. “Why draw something drab and gray? I don’t need something like that on my wall to look at. If you’re going to draw, draw flowers.”

“Sorry sir,” Leon said, and then frantically scrubbed it with his hand. This is exactly what I meant. There goes Leon marring the walls with such beautiful art. I realized this is why I’m called Mr. Clean.

“Torpedo room! Now!” yelled Private Hans. “Approaching target!”

Everyone waited for General Klaus’ approval. He rushed toward the periscope, where Hans was standing, and screamed, “You heard him! Proceed! We are in position!”

Everyone rushed towards the torpedoes. Well, almost everyone. I was so focused on me being Mr. Clean I barely heard him.

“Private Walter!” yelled General Klaus. “That includes you!”

I scrambled out, tripping over my own heels like a dog that heard a gunshot. Firing a torpedo was not easy. In fact, only Private Hartman knew how, because of a rare occasion where everyone else’s class got interrupted, so we could get on the battle lines. As I scrambled in, I heard him barking orders.

“CARRY THE TORPEDOES TO THE EJECTION AREAS! LOAD THEM UP!” After a group carrying dropped one, Hartman shouted, “Careful you guys! We need them intact!”

“Hartman,” said Private Johann, “the pressurizer is broken. We cannot fire the torpedoes.”

“Well, we’ll have to innovate around it. COULD SOMEONE WHO HAS THEIR FILTHY HANDS FREE FIX THE PRESSURIZER?” Hartman commanded.

I sighed. Hartman always wanted to be a commander. I ran to the pressurizer as I remembered the workings of the U-boat from our classes. I crawled into the hatch used for fixing the launchers. I could hear the boat approaching. However, it wasn’t the pressurizer that was broken, but the firing tubes themselves. One of them was bent. I pulled out a vise grip and pushed downward with all my strength. It did nothing. Starting to panic, I took off my uniform jacket and tied it to the bar. This time, I had more grip and leverage so I got it right. I pulled the bar back into place. Then I checked to make sure all the wiring was intact. Now I could hear the boat humming closer. Unfortunately, a wire was broken. I used a metal tinfoil wrapper to connect the ends. I hopefully rigged it well enough.

“It’s fixed!” I yelled as I jumped out. After an applause of cheering, four torpedo groups loaded the launchers.

After a few silent moments, General Klaus, still at the controls, announced, “It’s sunk!”

Everyone burst into cheers. We had successfully sunk an American ship. That is what you call innovation.