by Antony Trew
The executive officer had never moved his head from the eye-pieces of the TBT which, notwithstanding the violent motion, he’d kept on the target ship throughout the submarine’s ninety-degree turn to port. During this time he was passing rapidly changing ranges and bearings to Dieter Leuner in the conning-tower.
‘Jahwol, Herr Kapitän,’ he gasped, through a mouthful of spray as he pulled the TBT’s safety lever to ‘on’. To Kleber’s relief there followed immediately the sharp order, ‘Tube four, fire!’
Kleber felt the submarine jar and tremble as the torpedo left its tube. He decided the frigate was too far for a gnat which would have homed on to the propeller of the nearest merchant ship – the one they’d just attacked – so resisted the temptation.
Pressing the diving klaxon he shouted into the voice-pipe, ‘Emergency dive. Auf tiefe gehen … take her down fast, chief.’
The alarm was still sounding when Kleber followed Rath-felder and the lookouts through the upper hatch. He slammed it shut behind him and secured the clips, then raced down the ladder into the control-room, shutting and securing the lower hatch. As he did so U-0117 was shaken by an explosion, its reverberations audible in the control-room. Ausfeld, imperturbable as ever, reported, ‘Heavy explosion to port. Our last target. Probably an ammunition ship.’
‘Ausgezeichnet … splendid!’ Kleber had removed his mask and the blue eyes in the heavily greased face shone with exultation. He turned to the executive officer, slapping him on the back of his dripping diving suit, ‘Well done, Rath-felder.’ The young man began to say something but Kleber interrupted. ‘Port twenty. We’ll get under the convoy column. Disturbed water there will hide us until we find a thermal.’
U-0117 was held in a steep dive until Ausfeld reported that pings could no longer be heard. Kleber knew then that the submarine was under a temperature layer and he told Heuser to level off. Thereafter U-0117 turned back on to the convoy’s course, following at four knots while fresh torpedoes were loaded into the tubes.
Later, when that task was completed, they would surface and attempt once more to regain the up-wind position. Kleber realised that everything would be more difficult next time. The element of surprise had gone, the escorts knew now where the attack had come from. They would be redeploying, the area would be combed, and it would not be easy for a U-boat to surface anywhere near the convoy.
U-0117’s attack, from the moment of surfacing to that of diving, had occupied less than seven minutes. Kleber was well satisfied with what his boat had achieved in that time. He wondered what success the other boats of Gruppe Kleber had had, and how those of Gruppe Osten had fared on the Skolpen Bank.
Receipt of Kleber’s 1527 shadowing report with its KLEBER CLOSING DOWN repeated twice, followed by 12,000, was for Willi Schluss traumatic It meant that Kleber had dived, the attack had begun.
Schluss and his officers knew that Plan X required them to dive at approximately the distance from the convoy’s outer screen ordered by Kleber and the 1527 signal had set that at 12,000 metres. To dive earlier would delay the attack, to do so later invited the risk of discovery by radar.
Schluss and his officers were also aware that U-0153 was two miles astern of Kleber, making good fourteen knots with a following wind and sea. Allowing the escorts six to seven knots, the combined speed of approach was twenty to twenty-one knots. U-0153 would be within 12,000 metres of the outer screen in about six minutes. With this knowledge Willi Schluss’s bowels contracted into a cold and painful knot. He pressed the diving alarm, his lips trembled and he shivered. ‘Take her down, Kolb. One-fifty metres. Make it a fast dive.’ The alarm bell’s urgent clamour sounded throughout the boat.
‘Sound-room reports escorts’ range sixteen thousand metres.’ Kolb’s voice was surly, obdurate. ‘Our orders are to dive at twelve thousand metres.’
‘How dare you argue with me, Herr Ingenieur! Carry out my orders at once.’ The tremor in Willi Schluss’s voice undid his attempt to assert authority.
Kolb was not impressed. ‘It is our duty to obey Kapitänleutnant Kleber’s orders. He leads the attack.’
‘Kolb is right, Herr Kapitän.’ Gerhardt Meyer shouted into Schluss’s ear, determined to make himself heard above the noise of wind and sea. ‘If we dive now we destroy the coordination of the attack.’
Next it was Adolf Brückner at the attack-computer. ‘We dive two miles too soon, Herr Kapitän? Is it your intention not to attack?’ The voice-pipe amplified the sarcasm.
Confused, indignant, afraid, Willi Schluss realised that he was confronted with a sort of mutiny. What could he do about it? What sympathy could he expect from a court-martial? His officers would testify – correctly, he was bound to admit – that he had been reluctant to close the enemy; that he had disregarded Kleber’s orders to commence the attack. What defence could he offer? The truth? That he was afraid. That he wanted to get U-0153 back to Trondheim in one piece. Not only for himself but for the fifty officers and men under his command. That he did not want them, or himself, to die for a mythical cause devised by a mad fuehrer who’d already lost the war and brought misery, death and destruction to millions of people. What German court-martial would swallow that?
While these muddled, slightly hysterical thoughts occupied his mind he did nothing. He was too shocked. His diving order had been disregarded. Neither Gerhardt Meyer nor the other men on the bridge had moved in response to the diving alarm. U-0153 was still on the surface, plunging through the seas, the bridge flooded, the cold cutting into his bones despite the woollens beneath the diving suit.
It is mutiny, he kept repeating to himself. They are refusing to dive. They must be mad. Do they want to die? For what? In Christ’s name, for what?
Furious, perplexed, above all terrified, Schluss looked into the gloomy darkness, biting his lips, holding back welling tears, the wind driving snow and sleet into his back, building it into frosted lumps which fell off as he moved.
The minutes passed and his thoughts became more confused. He felt an almost overwhelming desire to scream. He was about to indulge it when there was another call on the voice-pipe. It was Adolf Brückner. ‘Sound-room reports distant propeller and radar impulses ahead and to starboard. Estimated range twelve thousand metres.’
Next it was Kolb on the voice-pipe. ‘We are ready to dive, Herr Kapitän.’
Humiliated, emotionally exhausted, Willi Schluss again pressed the diving-alarm.
Long before Kleber’s signal ordering the attack to begin, Schluss had given orders that the tubes of U-0153 were to be loaded with LUT torpedoes. These were designed to run in loops threading the convoy columns and thus giving a U-boat a chance to secure a hit without aiming at a specific ship. They had the advantage that they could be fired at a convoy from a distance and since selection of individual ships as targets was unnecessary they could be fired quickly. They were, however, unsuitable for use in a ‘wolf-pack’ attack where submarines penetrated the escort screen and ran between the convoy columns. There was always the danger that a LUT might torpedo another U-boat.
Meyer, Kolb and Brückner had so strenuously objected to the use of LUT torpedoes – emphasising their limitations and dangers and pointing out that Plan X did not envisage their use – that Willi Schluss had reluctantly given in. The tubes had been loaded with conventional torpedoes, but for the gnats in the stern tube.
Apart from fear, which was his overriding emotion, Schluss’s mind, as U-0153 made her submerged approach, was occupied with the problem of how to get rid of those torpedoes quickly, so that the critically dangerous time on the surface between convoy columns could be reduced to a minimum.
One thing was certain. He would have to man the TBT himself. Not leave it to Gerhardt Meyer the executive officer. Fortunately it was by custom a U-boat captain’s prerogative to do this if he chose. It was fortunate, too, that on surfacing the captain had to be the first man on the bridge.
As the escorts of the outer screen were heard to pass over, and those i
n U-0153 settled down to the unnerving wait for the convoy itself, Willi Schluss died many deaths, and these were multiplied many times as the shush-shush-shush of approaching propellers could be heard with the naked ear. At last the awful moment came. There was no avoiding it. Schluss gave the order to surface. When Kolb reported, ‘Bridge clear,’ Schluss clawed his way up the ladders through the conning-tower hatches and made for the TBT. But having reached it he hesitated, numbed by what he saw. U-0153 had surfaced between two columns of the convoy. The attack was at its height. Night had become day. Starshell flares hung everywhere in the sky. Snowflake rockets burst in all directions scattering their illuminants, brightly coloured lines of tracer drew criss-cross patterns over the sea. Two ships were burning fiercely, their flames licking into rolling billows of black smoke. Above the wind he could hear the sound of gunfire. Shell spashes leapt from the water around the bridge. With sudden terror he saw a destroyer making for U-0153. It was about 3000 metres astern. The orange flashes from its forward guns left him in no doubt as to its target.
Schluss abandoned any idea of using the TBT. ‘Tubes one to four stand by for fan shots on both bows – spread ten degrees,’ he shrieked into the voice-pipe. He paused, breathing heavily, letting the minimum of time pass, then shouted, ‘Fire one – fire four – fire two – fire three.’
He looked up, holding on to the TBT, twisting his head to see astern. The destroyer seemed closer, the orange gun flashes larger, more menacing. Fountains of water cascaded on to the bridge. He felt the shock and heat of shell explosions. ‘Fire five!’ he screamed. This was the stern-tube loaded with a gnat, the acoustic torpedo designed to home on a pursuer’s propellers. He intended it for the destroyer.
U-0153 shook as the torpedoes left her tubes. When the last had gone Willi Schluss pressed the diving-alarm. ‘Auf tiefe gehen … take her down fast, Kolb. We’ve fired the gnat and there’s a destroyer astern.’ It was more a cry for help than a command.
This time there was no argument. Gerhardt Meyer could see the destroyer astern. It wasn’t quite as close as the captain had made out, but the gnat already fired from the stern-tube would home on U-0153’s propellers if she didn’t dive immediately. Meyer and the lookouts went quickly down the steel ladders which led through the conning-tower to the control-room, Willi Schluss close on their heels.
1 TBT – Target Bearing Transmitter. An instrument on the bridge of a U-boat used during surface attacks. It transmitted the bearing of the target to the attack-computer in the conning-tower, a device into which data was fed to enable automatic sblution of the torpedo firing problem.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After the hurried firing of her torpedoes, U-0153 dived to one hundred and fifty metres, Schluss altering course to starboard. He did this to get away from the diving position which the pursuing destroyer would depth-charge, and to get under a convoy column where the propeller noises of merchant ships and their turbulent wakes would protect the submarine.
At one hundred and fifty metres U-0153 levelled off and Schluss ordered ‘silent running’. Soon afterwards the U-boat was shaken by a series of depth-charge explosions to port. The hammer effect of a twenty-six-charge pattern made her reel and pitch, the hull whipping and straining, the glass on gauges breaking and the lights in the control-room failing. The emergency lighting came on. The faces, of the men were strained as they stared bright-eyed at their instruments. When they looked up it was not at Willi Schluss but at Meyer, Kolb and Brückner, the officers in whom they pinned their shaken faith.
There came a cry from the after-end of the control-room, ‘Fire in the sound-room.’ Hahn came in at a run, snatched a fire extinguisher from its rack and ran back. Acrid smoke fumes drifted into the control-room. There was the smell of burning rubber. Willi Schluss shouted, ‘For God’s sake, Meyer, go and help Hahn. Schnell, Mann, schnell.’ By the end of the sentence his voice had broken. Meyer looked at him with contempt, took an extinguisher from the rack, and made for the sound-room.
Before long Hahn and Meyer were back, Hahn’s eyes red and streaming, his hair dishevelled. Meyer returned the unused fire-extinguisher to the rack.
‘The fire is out, Herr Kapitän.’ Hahn’s breathing was distressed.
‘Thank God. What is the damage?’
‘Burnt out armature on the motor which drives the hydrophones training gear.’ He paused, panting. ‘Also, in consequence, an electric fire has damaged some of the leads.’
‘The depth-charging?’ said Schluss.
‘No, Herr Kapitän. Bad workmanship in Trondheim. Possibly sabotage. A new armature was fitted there.’
‘Can you repair the damage?’
The underlying note of optimism in Schluss’s voice arose from his hope that the answer might be ‘no’. It would provide a splendid excuse for withdrawing from the attack.
Kolb, standing behind Schluss, answered the question. ‘It can be repaired. We will take an armature from a fan motor to replace the damaged one.’
Schluss’s heart sank. ‘Will that take long?’ He would like to have added, ‘Don’t hurry. Take your time. The longer the better.’
Hahn said, ‘Not too long.’
Schluss looked uncertainly from Hahn to Kolb. ‘Bad business that.’ He coughed. ‘But you made a fine crash-dive, Kolb. The damage would have been more serious but for that.’
Kolb stared at him in silence.
‘I mean you took her down fast,’ Schluss explained.
‘Not as fast as you got rid of our torpedoes, Herr Kapitän.’ Kolb’s studied insolence was like a kick in the stomach, but Schluss ignored it. After all it was more important to be alive, to have saved the submarine and her crew, than to argue with a mutinous pig like Kolb.
Meyer said, ‘We started the stop-watches on each torpedo firing, Herr Kapitän. There were no hits. Only terminal explosions.’
Schluss spread his hands in a gesture of despair. ‘We did our best. In the face of great danger.’
A derisory sound came from Kolb.
This was too much for Schluss. ‘I’ve been watching you, Kolb. You are insolent. You have disobeyed orders. You will be required to account for your actions on return to Trondheim. In the meantime get that main lighting going again.’ Schluss turned away as if that was the end of the matter.
‘I won’t be the only one,’ muttered Kolb under his breath. Schluss heard though he pretended not to. He had other things to worry about. U-0153 was still in danger, submerged somewhere under a large convoy, escorts all over the place dropping depth-charges and steering unpredictable courses. From many directions, mostly distant, came the thunder and tremors of explosions. Of these some might have been torpedo explosions, but Schluss was in no mood to differentiate. All explosions spelt danger. The thing was to get away from where they were happening. The convoy would get through to the Kola Inlet. There was no hope of stopping it. Of that he was certain. It was too heavily defended and the British had fanatical determination. In that they were as bad as the Germans.
Schluss assumed from the absence of pings and the muffled propeller noises of the convoy that the submarine must be under a thermal, reasonably safe from direct attack. But he was appalled at the possibility that they might be on the receiving end of some of the indiscriminate depth-charging which was taking place. It was but one of the many problems he saw in getting U-0153 away safely.
They would soon come clear of the convoy column under which they were sheltering, since the submarine and the merchant ships were on opposite courses. There were certain to be escorts astern of the convoy. Schluss went to the chart-table, noted the time and worked on the chart, making hurried calculations in its margin. He quickly made his decision. At 1645 he would consider surfacing. By then the submarine would be seven or eight miles astern of the convoy. Reloading of the torpedo tubes would not have been completed but that might later be turned to advantage. A further attack on the convoy was not envisaged in the plans he had in mind.
Yes. Provided there we
re no asdic pings or propeller noises within close range he would go to periscope depth at 1645 and take a look round. If visibility was still bad he’d surface and make off down-wind at high speed – away from the convoy. Any objections from his officers would be met with the reasonable explanation that he was not prepared to renew the attack until the training gear was serviceable. Once repairs were completed he would turn towards the convoy. U-0153 would then be some distance from it. He would submerge and complete reloading. He couldn’t see further ahead than that, but it was a workable programme for the next few hours.
At that moment he was obsessed with the need to return to the surface – to get away from the battle area as quickly as possible. There might well be, probably would be, arguments with his officers, recriminations, and more serious trouble when U-0153 got back to Trondheim. But Willi Schluss was close to breaking-point and no longer cared. They could do what they liked with him as long as he got out of submarines. Unless that happened he would end his life trapped in a filthy, lethal, odorous steel tube, the water rushing in, the pressure bursting his lungs. He brushed away the tears which filled his eyes.
When the clock above the chart-table showed 1645 Brückner estimated the convoy to be 16,000 metres astern. Willi Schluss – clutching at a last minute safety margin to assuage his gnawing fear – allowed five minutes to pass before coming to periscope depth.
The schnorkel mast had been hoisted and the sound-room was able to listen for radar transmissions on the search-receiver. Hahn reported that there were none within six miles of the U-boat. The repairs to the training gear had not been completed but since pings and propeller noises within medium range could be heard in a U-boat with the human ear, the absence of either had emboldened Schluss to come to periscope depth. When the powerful Zeiss lenses revealed a curtain of snow to compound the darkness, his spirits rose and U-0153 surfaced. The diesels were started, clutched in, and the submarine headed to the north-east, away from the convoy, making fourteen knots with following wind and sea. Though the weather had moderated, seas still flooded the bridge at times, and flurries of snow and sleet which swept it in dreary succession completed the misery of an Arctic winter.
