The brothers Engler, Berlin born, and two full years apart,
Blond and healthy, strong and bold, and dear to mother’s heart.
They grew together, fought and played as all young brothers do,
And what the future held for them was something no one knew.
Kurt, the eldest, born the year that ended World War one,
His brother, Klaus, came two years hence, the second Engler son.
The Beer Putsch came and Hitler spent his next years in a cell,
And Stalin swept to Russian pow’r when mighty Lenin fell.
The brothers, strong and Aryan, now felt the Reichmark’s fall.
The elder Kurt, a fatalist, who one day would recall
His younger brother’s anger at the League of Nation’s rules
That seemed to treat Germanic men as egotists and fools
Was now resigned to what befell the nation of his birth,
And seemed somehow to realize that of all lands on earth,
The homeland where each man is born is sacred and unique,
And stirs the hearts of native born, with patriot’s mystique.
But brother Klaus was stirred by words he heard said o’er and o’er.
Mein Kampf, that Hitler wrote while he was still a prisoner
Inflamed the younger Engler and transformed the life he led –
"A nazi I will always be, until the day I’m dead."
Transfixed he was by pageantry and jack-boot’s rhythmic beat.
Enthralled by waving banners and the counterfeit aesthete.
He snickered at naivete his brother seemed to show,
Pretentious was the swagger of his braggadocio.
And so two brothers, nearly twins, or so it seemed to most,
Were headed north to Lubeck on the German Baltic coast.
And there they saw the submarines, and each one had a dream,
They’d fight for very diff’rent goals, at opposite extremes.
The two of them afraid of heights, the luftwaffe lost out,
The submarines that they had seen left them with no doubt,
They signed and they were quickly in, assigned to their own boat,
They sailed away from Lubeck’s pens, to places far remote.
The U-572 that sailed from Trondheim on that day,
With Heinz Hirsacker at the helm had gotten underway
With two young brothers in the crew of 44 it held,
To battles that none had foreseen and were unparalleled.
They cruised the seas on dark patrol, and quiet filled the air
As tired and cramped and busy men bore all that they could bear,
And when submerged, they hunt their prey, and one by one they know
That if it’s found they’ll load the tubes and send it down below.
The Engler boys are thoughtful here and oft lay in their racks,
And think of home and memories . . . and what the other lacks,
For what each seeks by being here is not a common thread,
But each still knows the diff’rent goals that fill the other’s head.
Klaus the younger quick to say, "sieg heil," and then salute,
With hatred of oppressing foes, his will so resolute.
He dreams of killing, sinking ships, of gaining some revenge,
For wrongs that Hitler says were done, he’s trying to avenge.
The elder Kurt, a pacifist, who’s only seeking peace
Is helping sink the allies ships in hopes the war will cease.
His heart is rent with ev’ry shot that somehow scores a hit,
And every thought the brother has, his are the opposite.
But in the world of submarines, sometimes the tables turn,
A lesson for the 44 that each of them must learn.
In chilling cold they slowly drift, as though a reckoning
Awaits them each and ev’ry one from sonar’s eerie ping.
A fear that’s like none other as they’re trapped beneath the sea.,
At o’er 2oo meters down there’s no way they can flea.
They listen for the deadly splash as depth charge seeks them out,
And whether this is all worthwhile now fills their minds with doubt.
For death traverses overhead, the sound of thrashing screws
Echoes through their silent hull and numbs the weary crew.
A mighty blast, a rending shake, the men all hold their breath,
The boat still whole, this time has passed with its impending death.
And thus the Englers and the crew are held like captives here.
Times of triumph followed by those times of abject fear.
These opposites together fight the pitied/hated foe
While huddled in that ice cold steel, sequestered down below.
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Lines of history written with the heart of a poet. 
I tip my hat to you. 
! Now if all my highschool history lessons were written like this, I won't have had any detentions of talking in class, falling asleep in class and for making snide remarks in class. If only. 
