Chapter 440: The Supply Line

When the Reich’s Führer, Akado, in his capacity as the largest shareholder of the White Orchid Group, personally began to break up and sell off its subsidiaries, the German capitalists were thrown into a frenzy. Everyone knew how profitable the White Orchid Group was. Everyone knew what these subsidiaries, which supplied a vast amount of weapons and equipment to the German army every day, would bring them.

Although the operation and profits of these companies would have to be arranged and controlled by the government for the next 10 years, as long as they were making money, who cared about such details? As long as the government could guarantee that these factories would remain as profitable as they were today for the next decade, their investments would have paid for themselves long ago.

Soon, 40% of the shares of the subsidiary Mercedes-Benz Automobile Production Group were sold, 45% of BMW Engine Manufacturing were sold, 25% of Rheinmetall Heavy Metals Company were sold, and 70% of the Munich Arms Industry Group were sold… This dazzling series of moves led to a massive restructuring of the entire German capitalist world.

Surprisingly, following the White Orchid Group’s lead were the second-largest industrial entity, the massive Krupp company, and the leader of the German chemical industry, IG Farben. These two huge production groups simultaneously sold off shares they held, packaging and selling subsidiaries and enterprises that were still raking in huge profits. And these giant corporations, without exception, redirected their investments towards the newly occupied territories of France and Belgium, where they began to merge with local small and medium-sized enterprises and integrate the labor force of the occupied zones.

Far from collapsing, the German economy entered a new boom, developing in a more efficient manner. The various military-industrial enterprises were effectively integrated. Thousands of cars, tanks, and fighter planes were sent to the front. Germany’s production capacity had more than doubled compared to the same period in February 1937.

“Captain! A telegram from Wolf Pack 11. Convoy H31 passed through their ambush zone at 4 PM this afternoon and is heading our way. Based on their speed, we estimate they will enter our attack range this evening,” a radioman said, handing an encrypted message to the waiting submarine commander.

“Send a message to U-159 and U-100! Tell them we’ve got a big fish. Prepare for a coordinated night attack! Attack time 7:15 PM!” the commander ordered after taking the message and reading it carefully. He then left the small radio room, walking with the message down the damp, dark corridor of the submarine until he reached the central command room.

His first officer was observing the sea surface through the periscope. Seeing the captain approach, he pushed the periscope up into the ceiling, stood at attention, and reported, “No enemy contact yet, sir. The submarine is cruising at 3 knots, voltage is stable.”

“Well done! Adjust course, starboard 11 degrees,” the captain commanded loudly. “Prepare to attack convoy H31 this evening. Check the torpedo depth settings and fuses! No mistakes!”

“Understood, sir!” the first officer replied excitedly, snapping to attention. He then began to issue a series of orders. “Check torpedo tubes! Confirm torpedo depth! Second-degree combat alert!”

“Attack time is 7:15 PM,” the captain said, pulling down the central periscope and pressing his eye to the eyepiece. Through the lens, he could see the turbulent surface of the sea, empty yet exhilarating.

“Surface! Let the men get some air on deck! We dive in 20 minutes!” the captain said with a smile. “Come on! Let’s go up for a smoke together.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” the first officer grinned and nodded, then shouted, “All hands, watch your step! Submarine surfacing!”

With a lurch, the shark-like German U-boat gradually rose to the surface, beginning to rock and roll with the waves. Only at this moment did the crew feel like they had returned to the world of the living, and not that silent hell below.

The diesel engines began to work cheerfully again, creating a noisy rhythm. The submarine’s power increased, and its speed picked up. The batteries began to recharge, preparing for the next underwater journey. The lights throughout the submarine brightened, and the dimness caused by the need to conserve power instantly vanished, lifting everyone’s spirits.

The sailors unscrewed the reinforced hatch. Seawater poured down from above, soaking everyone’s clothes, but no one was angry. Instead, they let out the most fervent cheers. As the Americans and British invested more and more forces in anti-submarine warfare, German submarines, though still elusive and rarely sunk, found the luxury of surfacing for air becoming increasingly rare.

Climbing the iron ladder to the steel deck, the sailors began to lean against the anti-aircraft gun and railings, smoking. Many did stretching exercises. On the conning tower, the captain, first officer, and lookouts huddled together, enjoying the biting sea breeze and the fresh air. This moment was so pleasant and beautiful that it could almost make one forget they were at war, that they were on a submarine loaded with torpedoes.

The favorite item of a submarine crew was luxury perfume from France. After nearly two months without a bath, living in a cramped space filled with the smell of diesel, sweat, and stinky feet, anyone would appreciate something that smelled of flowers.

During their long sea voyages, which could last up to two months, these soldiers lived with the cold submarine as their constant companion. They were familiar with every corner of the boat, had measured its entire length with their feet, had given cute names to every valve, and had endured a reclusive lifestyle like prisoners.

But they had their own ways of finding excitement to endure the monotony of life at sea. As night fell, the submarine began a slow dive, and a massive British transport convoy appeared on the horizon, right on schedule. The wolf pack had once again found its prey, and a new hunt had begun.

“Final check before firing torpedoes!” “Check complete!”

“Prepare to fire!” “Ready!”

“Fan salvo, six torpedoes from the bow tubes! Three! Two! One! Fire!” the captain shouted.

Thump! The first torpedo entered the water, quickly followed by the second, the third, all the way to the sixth. The six torpedoes formed a beautiful fan pattern in the water, swimming towards their targets, leaving a shallow white line in their wake.

And from another angle, opposite this submarine, a U-boat with the number U-100 painted on its conning tower fired its own six bow torpedoes at the same moment. They too formed a beautiful fan, and they too were heading towards the poor British convoy. And in another direction, U-159 was doing the exact same thing.

Boom! The first explosion rang out. A British destroyer on the outer screen was hit by a torpedo and immediately erupted in flames. Shouts and terrible explosions carried for hundreds of meters. More British sailors began to scan the water’s surface, hoping to help their ships evade disaster. But at night, visibility was poor, and trying to spot incoming torpedoes was a thankless task.

Then came the second explosion. Another warship on the perimeter was hit and stopped dead in the water, burning. The first destroyer was already sinking. The second ship was not so lucky; it broke in two and began to sink rapidly, going down with almost its entire crew before it could even send a distress signal.

Soon, a third explosion, then a fourth, ripped through the British convoy, throwing the entire fleet into chaos. The slaughter continued in the darkness. Another salvo from the German submarines sounded the death knell for the entire fleet. By the next morning, only 21 of the 40 transport ships in the convoy remained unscathed. Half the supplies had sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic. The convoy commander stood silently on the bridge of his flagship, on the verge of tears.

It wasn’t that he was cold and unfeeling; he had just grown numb to these nighttime submarine attacks. Since mid-February, the British transport fleets had been in an embarrassing situation, unable to be replenished. Even with the ships leased from the Americans at high prices, they could not make up for the massive tonnage sunk by the German U-boats. This was only his second voyage, yet he was already the most experienced navigator in the entire fleet.

The once steady-flowing supply line was like a faucet being slowly turned off, from a constant stream to a pathetic trickle. Due to the massive, irreplaceable losses, the escort warships were becoming scarcer by the day. The Royal Navy seemed to be prioritizing the escort of the route from Britain to Canada, allowing the Germans to attack the transport lines from America to Britain at will.

Everyone knew that the British mainland was almost finished, but as a Briton, he couldn’t help but feel heartbroken every time he thought of this tragic end. He was probably one of the first British sailors to know that the German naval blockade was nearly complete, because he could see it in the disappointed eyes of the crowds waiting at the ports each time they returned. The supplies and food they brought back were too little, far too little.

“This damned war! These damned Germans!” the British commander cursed, slamming his fist on the table in front of him. “What kind of heroes attack supply lines like this?”

No one answered him. In the last world war, hadn’t Britain done the same, blockading Germany’s vulnerable ports and sea lanes, forcing a Germany that had not yet bled dry to surrender in disgrace? Now that the tables were turned, and they were blockading Britain, there seemed to be nothing wrong with it.