I swung open the hatch to the conning tower and the tepid stench of sweat and oil was replaced by a spray of water and a rush of cool sea air. Topside, the night was thick and black, a carpet of stars overhead and the lights and smoke of Kiel below. I had been given a mission. A mission to patrol ... somewhere. And I presumed it wasn't my home port. "One quarter speed, uh, this way," I announced, grasping the engine room telegraph lever and flipping it toward an incomprehensible squiggle of red lettering.

Below, I could feel the satisfying rumble of the engines in the soles of my waterlogged feet. The water around us began to churn. We were on our way! Soon the British would pay dearly for trying to ship food to their puny island! Then I noticed a curious phenomenon: "Why is the front of the sub leaving a wake?" I asked an uncomprehending crewman. Suddenly in a panic I turned around, discovering that we were rushing toward the back wall of the submarine pen. "Stop! Stop the boat!" I hollered. "STOP! STOP IT! I mean, Halt! HALT!!"

Their lives were in my hands.
God help them.

The good news: I had just scored a preview version of Silent Hunter III, which I firmly believe is destined to become the premiere historical submarine simulation on the planet. This thing has it all: detailed 3D renderings of a World War II submarine inside and out, incredible water graphics that even simulate how water drains over the periscope lens, and genuine navigation and tactics.

The bad news? The build I had was mostly in German, which made it uncannily realistic in the worst way. My grasp of the German language is limited to what I gathered from a couple years of high school, meaning I can ask where the toilet is or inform someone named Mucki that I like to play tennis. Neither of which is very helpful when attacking a convoy in the treacherous rollers of the English Channel.

I rammed the engine telegraph lever in the opposite direction and made a note of the difference between "quarter speed ahead" and "quarter speed reverse" when both are written in German. Soon we were on our way, gliding out of the submarine pen while the crew around me acknowledged my orders incomprehensibly. I suppose I owed it to them to tell them the truth.

"Men," I said, speaking over the thrum of the engines and the gurgle of water. "I know that you all look up to me. This is because I'm standing on the rail of the conning tower, and you are several feet below. But I digress." The young men, Germany's finest, blinked at me, not understanding a word. "Men, I don't speak German," I announced. "Ich ... spreche ... nada. Nein! None. Indeed, it's a miracle I've gotten this far in the Kriegsmarine, because not only can I not understand you, nor any of the controls, but I am also too lazy to read game manuals. In truth, the only thing between you and a horrifying death in the icy clutches of the sea will be my inability to locate the enemy. Godspeed."

I put my hat on and clenched a pipe in my teeth, moments before a spray of water drenched me.