Summoning America

Chapter 152: The Battle of Cartalpas

Seehund-class Fleet Submarine, GVS Niflheim

The Niflheim slipped silently through the dark depths, the hushed rumble of its engine a constant reminder of the deadly game it was playing. Captain Donitz stood at the periscope, his eyes narrowing as he pondered the complex equations of warfare.

"Distance to target, Weber?" he asked, his voice carrying a trace of impatience.

"Six kilometers and closing, Captain," replied Lieutenant Weber, his eyes glued to the charts.

Commander Leibniz looked up from the charts, his experienced eyes flicking between the plotted course and the manual readings taken from the sonar. "We must go deeper," he said, his voice as calm as the sea outside. "Their sonar might catch us."

Donitz nodded. "Take us to one hundred meters. Helm, adjust course to zero-two-zero. We'll approach from their blind spot."

The helmsman acknowledged, and the submarined began its slow descent, altering its course subtly but enough to make a difference. In the control room, navigators worked with protractors and compasses, updating their charts and calculating the submarine's position relative to the target.

Donitz continued to monitor their approach, adjusting speed and depth, considering the angle of attack. "Speed up to ten knots. Time is of the essence."

The orders were given and the Niflheim responded, picking up the pace.

Minutes slowed into a crawl, every second stretched out. Eventually, the distance was closed, the target locked, and the stage set.

"Captain," Leibniz's voice broke the silence, "We are in position."

Captain Donitz looked at his officers, his eyes stern and resolute. "Very well," he said, "Prepare to attack."

The clang of metal resonated through the narrow passageways as the weapons crew sprang into action. The order to engage the Orichalcum-class battleship was given, and now every man was focused on his task, part of a well-rehearsed ballet of warfare.

"Prepare tubes one and two!" barked the weapons officer.

Sailors pulled the massive torpedoes from their racks, their muscles straining as they aligned them with the loading trays. The air filled with the smell of grease and the sounds of machinery as they locked the torpedoes into place.

"Tube one, ready!" called a sailor, his voice breaking slightly with the tension.

"Tube two, ready!" confirmed another.

The weapons officer moved between the tubes, his experienced eyes checking every detail. As the final checks were completed, the hatches were sealed and the tubes were pressurized.

Meanwhile, Captain Donitz tightened his grip around the periscope handles, holding his breath as he took one final look at the target. Memories of his previous failure against this type of battleship haunted him, a ghostly shadow that lingered in his mind. But this time, he would not fail. He could not.

"Range to target, one thousand five hundred meters. Bearing zero-four-five," reported Lieutenant Weber.

"Flood tubes one and two," Donitz ordered.

"Flooding tubes one and two, aye, Captain," the weapons officer acknowledged. He began the process of flooding the tubes, adjusting valves and levers.

"Set torpedo depth at ten feet, gyro angle to zero-four-five, speed to forty knots," Donitz continued, a steely determination in his voice.

"Torpedo depth set. Gyro angle and speed set," Leibniz confirmed.

"Tubes one and two prepared and ready to fire, Commander," the weapons officer reported, his voice taur with anticipation.