The reality is cruel. After the voyage, flowers and wine and French lovers are no longer accompanied. The whole world has been compressed into a cramped iron can floating in the ocean, and the protagonist has become a group of sweaty, athlete and oily people. My lord, the most fascinating music is the death knell-like sonar echo, the rarest delicacy is the dank fresh air, the endless sailing, the moldy food, and the coldest loneliness surrounded by the surrounding sea water belong to " The truth about wolves".
Victory in fantasy is even farther out of reach. The merchant fleet that was finally found in a haystack is an iron hedgehog that can’t bite, and beliefs, ideals, doctrines, and even the most cherished things by soldiers cannot grow on the bottom of the lonely Atlantic Ocean. Honor has also been repeatedly crushed by British depth charges, and the only remaining right of ordinary soldiers is to choose between luxurious survival or eternal darkness.
The u-96 in despair was unbelievably lucky: the destroyer shelling, the fighter strafing and bombing, the Gibraltar anti-submarine network, and the sinking of the sea were all able to escape one by one.
When returning home, the roaring mountains and seas of the Atlantic Ocean had already washed away all the blood, and the fate of everyone on the boat was ups and downs in the waves with the captain's sight-even if the wind and waves were broken, they would definitely be able to break through the fate. Shackles? This is both a question for the u-96 and a question for Germany.
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