Chapter 4: Submarine Voyage

Seeing that the helmsman had vacated the position, Lynn was taken aback, but he didn't regret volunteering. In a market economy, having more skills meant more opportunities, and it was often the same during wartime.

Once seated, Lynn carefully examined the several gauges in front of him. Though not as exaggerated as in the games, they were still quite clear. During normal submarine navigation, the captain didn't often order turns or changes in speed, so the helmsman mostly just had to stay quiet at their post. After about ten minutes, the young helmsman yawned several times, reported to the chief engineer, and then told Lynn, "I'm going to take a nap," before walking away. Lynn was left somewhat speechless—were they really treating this submarine like a game?

Perhaps due to being fully focused, Lynn felt less dizzy once he took the helmsman's position. And for over an hour, he didn't receive any helm commands. Occasionally glancing back, he saw the chief engineer nearby, either contemplating the navigation chart or inspecting the various gauges and numerous switches around, all in a calm and casual manner.

After a brief lesson, the helmsman on the right also yielded the seat to his replacement.

Once the helmsman left, Lynn reassured the visibly nervous Waffen-SS officer beside him, "Don't worry, the chief engineer is here. If you have any questions, just ask him!"

"Damn it!" muttered the blond sergeant with a low voice, "I've only worked on private yachts before, but those were just 200-horsepower boats. They hardly needed to dive unless they were sinking!"

Another emotionally charged individual, Lynn thought with a hint of exasperation. Compared to that, most of the soldiers under his command were usually quite normal, just occasionally needing a bit of soothing. So he attempted to console him, saying, "Think about the great cause we're fighting for. What are these minor troubles compared to that?"

"Don't talk to me about great causes!" the sergeant replied through clenched teeth. "I'd rather fight and die in Berlin than protect some special figure in this ridiculous place! It's absurd! Absurd!"

Listening to this, Lynn was dumbfounded. It seemed that the regular officers and soldiers didn't know the core of the "Aryan Ark" plan—if they realized they were escorting the Fuhrer himself, would they still complain?

After a short while, the silent intercom suddenly crackled with urgent words, "Enemy aircraft spotted southwest, dive, dive at full speed!"

With just that sentence, the previously calm atmosphere in the submarine was instantly shattered. The wailing alarm followed immediately, and the chief engineer began to roar, "Check the watertight doors, ensure they're all closed in one minute! Check the water pressure! Start flooding compartments 1 and 2! Maintain heading! Maintain speed!"

Despite the tension, the only response Lynn heard was "Maintain heading." While disappointed, he also felt relieved—like a novice driving a new car, he didn't know how much the submarine's heading would deviate with each turn of the wheel. His companion on the right, however, was busy. Although flooding the water compartments was the job of the third helmsman, adjusting the dive planes was equally important for the submarine to quickly submerge. Therefore, the third helmsman had more teaching time than his replacement, and upon hearing the alarm, the regular helmsman rushed back to the control room. Seeing the Waffen-SS officer following the correct procedures, he breathed a sigh of relief, saying "That's right" repeatedly.

Soon, there was a muffled bang, and Lynn turned his head in surprise. Someone had slid down from the upper conning tower along the handrails, landing somewhat heavily, as if jumping from a several-meter-high platform.

The chief engineer immediately turned to report to this person, who was wearing a waterproof jacket, "Commander, the submarine is diving at full speed!"

The commander didn't reply but went straight to stand behind the dive planes operator, removing his waterproof jacket while keeping his eyes on the depth gauge. Lynn half-turned his head and indeed saw the submarine commander with the pipe in his mouth. Though the interior lights were dim, at a distance of less than twenty centimeters, he could still see the clean face with an icy expression and the Iron Cross with oak leaves on the lapel.

"Did the enemy spot us?" the chief engineer asked anxiously.

The submarine commander shook his head slightly, and Lynn locked his gaze on the large dial of the depth gauge. The pointer had moved from the previous 5 to 10. According to the experience gained from the game, the submarine should dive to 15 meters to avoid detection by enemy aircraft or ships, but games and reality were bound to differ!

With the continuous flooding of the compartments and adjustment of the dive planes, the submarine quickly dived. In less than half a minute, the pointer on the depth gauge had exceeded 15, and the submarine officer standing behind the navigator loudly reminded, "Ventilation pipes are about to close! Prepare to start the electric motor!"

The captain finally stood up straight, turning his head to look at the others in the control room. After the initial chaos, everything had returned to order.

"Shut down the diesel engine!"

This command sounded colder than the waters of the North Atlantic. Lynn was curious about the experiences of this submarine commander, who looked about thirty years old. With the weight of the silver oak leaves Iron Cross, he must have sunk quite a few Allied ships, perhaps even being an ace recorded in history? Thinking about this, Lynn's former enthusiasm for playing "Hunting Submarines" surged up again from the depths of his heart. Why hadn't he been transported into the body of a legitimate submarine commander?

As the diesel engine shut down, the noise inside the submarine greatly diminished, as if a heavy-duty truck suddenly stalled, making it somewhat difficult to adjust to the quietness. As the submarine was about to dive to a depth of 20 meters, the smoking submarine commander issued commands in quick succession, "Stop diving, raise the periscope!"

From then on, the scene was very similar to the movies—the captain and his weapons officer stood facing each other with the periscope between them. The captain stared into the periscope's eyepiece, while the weapons officer looked up at the periscope's azimuth scale. Whenever the captain called out "bearing," he quickly reported the corresponding numbers.

The captain rotated slowly for three circles before returning to his original position, having only asked for bearings three times. It seemed that only a single Allied patrol plane had flown over this area. Judging by the submarine's sailing time, Lynn estimated that they were less than 200 nautical miles from the port of departure, about 300 kilometers, well within the combat range of the Me262. Unfortunately, the Third Reich, once glorious, now found its air force confined to the last corner, helpless in the struggle. Now, the true leader had quietly escaped Berlin, and the state-of-the-art submarine could completely take him beyond the reach of Allied control. But what would the future hold? Would they rise again with their super-era technology? If the remnants of the Third Reich still harbored such ambitious aspirations, why was there no trace of the history Lynn knew, except for those mere rumors circulated among the people?

Being in the midst of real history, Lynn's thoughts naturally expanded, like a series of interconnected rings. Currently, only the foremost ones had been unlocked, while the rest remained hidden in layers of thick fog.

"Retract the periscope, switch to one-third slow speed, turn right 5 degrees!"

As the pipe-smoking captain issued these commands, Lynn remained absorbed in his own pile of questions and didn't realize the relevance of "turn right 5 degrees" to himself.

"Hey, soldier, what's wrong with you?" The previously loud-mouthed engineer didn't reprimand Lynn but instead reached out and lightly pushed him—right onto his shoulder wound, causing Lynn to wince in pain.

The commotion naturally caught the attention of the captain, who noticed Lynn's unfamiliar face and odd posture. He spoke somewhat angrily, "Where's Lambert? Why let a newcomer helm the boat alone?"

"He stayed up all night and went to sleep!" The engineer explained kindly, then proceeded to teach Lynn how to steer. Under his experienced guidance, the pointer on the dial quickly moved one notch and settled firmly on the calibration line.