Dedicated to the fallen of the Atlantic Battle, 1940-1945
The dark currents of the Atlantic rock the boat as soon as they surface on the captain’s command, now, from the bridge in battle position, they can see the convoy escorted by five destroyers.
They arm the canon, wait for the order to fire, below deck their comrades have armed the torpedoes, all men anxious, inhaling the fresh air coming in the boat: Atlantic wind bringing in diesel fumes mixed with the cold salty air, refreshing their exhausted lungs.
A brief order passes through: fighters in view, soon they see the aircrafts, almost invisible just above the waves, they hear the roar of the engines, then the depth charges being thrown at them: order to dive, turret shut down before they can fire.
They make their escape, just on time, deep, leaving behind all hopes to raise the skull and crossbones flag, and take prisoners.
The year is 1943, the battle of the Atlantic is raging, the crew does not yet know that, far East, they are losing the war.