The Odyssey of a U-Boat Commander

by Erich Topp

  We pass the island of Baroy. Snow flurries and sunshine alternate in quick succession. Off Ramnes we encounter two more destroyers. We close in and learn that they had been detached to silence two suspected coastal batteries at this point. We proceed and find ourselves soon at our prearranged position in the Ofotfjord. To both sides are snow-covered mountains, few houses. The fjord is so narrow here that one can distinguish individual skiers ashore. We are here to intercept the enemy in case he decides to interfere with the German occupation of Narvik. But things are destined to turn out differently.

  On April 10, from midnight until 4 A.M., very heavy snowfall. You cannot see your own hand in front of your eyes. I take over as officer of the watch at 4 A.M. We can barely see the shoreline. Around 6 A.M. petty officer Scheunemann of the central control room reports knocking noises against the hull at irregular intervals. We have no idea what it might he. Suddenly, around 6:30 A.M., I hear distant gunfire from the direction of Narvik. Are the Norwegians offering resis tance after all? The gunfire intensifies. Then, just off the coast, we spot a smaller vessel headed toward us. Our first thought is that this must be a Norwegian boat trying to escape out to sea. It does not respond to our recognition signal but stops dead in the water instead. Five rounds of our 2-cm gun persuade it to come closer. Then it is our turn to be surprised. The boat is full of German mountain troops under orders to occupy a Norwegian depot in the Ramsund. They, too, do not know what is going on in Narvik.

  No sooner has the boat cast off than I see the silhouettes of three destroyers heading toward us from the direction of Narvik. Again, alarm and down to periscope depth. The commanding officer recognizes British destroyers at high speed on opposite courses. Under the circumstances there is no way for us to attack them. Instead we dive deeper. The knocking noises we heard earlier were from the duel between German and British destroyers at Narvik. We remain cautious and stay at periscope depth. The destroyers are now gone. Not long thereafter another comes in sight, likewise headed for the open sea under a heavy cloud of smoke. A few minutes later a heavy jolt grips our boat. The periscope reveals a high column of fire along with a gigantic plume of smoke as a burning vessel tries to beach itself before going down in deeper waters. The destroyer is nowhere to be seen. Later we learn that the departing British destroyer had encountered and attacked the German supply ship Kattegat (2,000 tons).

  Many men aboard U 46 are almost in a state of panic. Our radio operators manning the hydrophones identify the slightest sound as coming from a U-boat. Detonating depth charges in the distance further challenge our nerves. At nightfall we surface, close in on the dark shore for cover, and recharge our batteries. I had just retired for a short nap when the alarm was sounded again. This time the navigator panicked and wanted to take the boat down to our maximum diving depth. Our commanding officer issued countermanding orders just in time.

  Two destroyers approach from the direction of Narvik. Our torpedo tubes are ready to fire, optical measurements being taken continuously as we track the targets. The silhouettes become wider. These are German destroyers that pass by at high speed. A few minutes later they return. At 11 P.M. we receive orders to go into Narvik for a conference with the commanding officer of the 4th Destroyer Squadron.

  Narvik can be made out from a distance thanks to the illumination provided by a vessel set ablaze and driven onto the beach. It is an eerie scene: The snow looks as if it is covered with some red substance, and the flickering fires are reflected in the windows of Narvik's huddled houses. All navigational lights have been extinguished. We reach the port's entrance. The closer we get, the quieter we become. Shipwrecks everywhere. Here the bows of a vessel rise fantastically out of the water, there a stern, elsewhere only the masts still break the surface while the ship has settled on the bottom. Kindly, one of the destroyers sends its navigator over to help us steer safely through the wreckage. He fills us in on what has happened.

  This is the Narvik story so far: The destroyers reach their target on schedule, each with 200 troops of the mountain division on board. Two Norwegian armored cruisers intend to resist our moves. The destroyer Wilhelm Heidkamp sends a representative of the task force commander over in a pinnace to one of them to inquire about Norwegian intentions. They insist on resistance. Thereupon the prearranged signal, a red flare. The destroyer loosens a spread of three torpedoes. After the explosions the cruiser is gone.

  Bernd von Arnim is the first of our destroyers to enter the port and receives fire from the second Norwegian armored cruiser's 8-inch guns. Its first salvo falls short, the second hits the rocks, the third can no longer be observed because by then the enemy has been torpedoed and is out of action. Of seven German torpedoes fired, two score hits. The troops, all 2,000 of them, disembark as planned. Thereafter the destroyers go alongside the tanker Jan Wellem to replenish their fuel supplies. Four of them are then detached into nearby fjords under Captain Erich Bey. At that point five British destroyers manage to break through to Narvik undetected by our pickets. They exercise a turn at the port's entrance and fire their torpedoes against their unsuspecting victims. Wilhelm Heidkamp and Anton Schmitt go down, as do eight merchantmen. Diether von Roeder receives three serious hits. In the meantime Bey's division engages the enemy. The Hunter is damaged, rammed, and sunk; the Hardy is set afire and driven onto the beach. Three British destroyers escape.

  We arrange with the commanding officer of the 4th Destroyer Squadron that we will stay for the day in Narvik and at night occupy a picket position down the fjord off Farnes. Toward daybreak we briefly get under way but soon return and dock alongside the destroyer Georg Thiele. On April 11 ten dead sailors are being carried ashore from the destroyer, all of them members of a gun crew killed in the engagement with the British force. Bernd von Arnin: has docked on the opposite side. Both destroyers have sustained minor damage.

  In the evening we take up our picket station. Nothing unusual occurs. The next day we decide to go alongside the destroyer Hans Ltidenann to top off provisions and fuel. Here I meet my Crew comrade Alexander von Zitzewitz. He shows me the papers of a captured British officer that contain the British attack plan and other information. When the L iidernann gets under way we moor alongside the Erich Giese, This gives me an opportunity to talk to my Crew comrade Hannes Perl, who was destined to be shot to death the very next day while trying to reach shore after the Giese went down. The destroyer commanders Curt Rechel and Karl Smidt compare notes about their experiences. Both destroyers had lost several men en route to Narvik who were swept overboard by heavy seas. Even some of the motorbikes and guns of the mountain troops were lost. Rechel himself was almost swept away. There had been an artillery battle with a British destroyer off the Norwegian coast in which the Bernd von Arnim received three hits. The British vessel was subsequently sunk by the cruiser Hipper. The Giese's gyroscopic compass had malfunctioned, leaving her seriously handicapped in the narrow Narvik Fjord.

  Later, U 64 shows up with my Crew comrade Heinz Hirsacker aboard as executive officer. He indicated strong British destroyer forces at the entrance to the fjord. From Tranoy on they had to run submerged because of the threat. Then U 49 reports nine enemy aircraft headed east toward Narvik. Seconds later the air raid sirens wail. Everyone runs for cover ashore as quickly as possible. I remain behind with our machine gun crew. Despite tremendous anti-aircraft fire we do not hit a single enemy plane. Fifty yards away a bomb explodes in the water just offshore and sets a shed ablaze. Only 20 yards away one of our crew is instantly killed by another bomb, while another man is simply laid flat by the blast. The crew is mightily impressed. As soon as things clear we get under way to take up our station down the fjord again. We are the destroyers' last best hope.

  Yesterday and today two large Luftwaffe planes circled over Narvik. The mountain troops no longer feel as abandoned as before. One of them, a first lieutenant, comes on board. He thinks the situation ashore is not entirely hopeless. During the night we occupy a new patrol station off the island of Bar
oy and meet U 51, which is headed up the fjord. In the morning we sight the battleship Warspite and its escort of six destroyers, course Narvik. As we prepare to engage the enemy we run onto a shoal not marked on our charts. The top of our conning tower and our direction-finding frame antenna stay above the waterline some 1,500 yards off the Warspite's beam. Full speed astern! The commanding officer aborts our attack.

  Ever since that morning I have asked myself over and over whether we should have delivered the attack regardless of our precarious situation. After all, the life or death of eight German destroyers was at stake!

  A short while later we hear heavy explosions and gunfire from the direction of Narvik. Aircraft overhead keep us from surfacing. In the meantime the tragedy of the destruction of the German destroyers takes its course. Late in the afternoon the enemy battleship and its six destroyers reemerge from the fjord. Our commanding officer at the periscope: "Attack impossible!" We surface at 10 r°.M. Two hours later an emergency dive to evade a destroyer. Later we surface and continue recharging the batteries. At 3 A.M. we see British destroyers patrolling off Narvik. Down we go again. This time we touch bottom and give up further efforts to attack.

  The Fiihrer orders: "Narvik must be held at all costs!" We destroy our secret documents. Then we meet U 48. We ask: "What happened to the German destroyers?" Answer: "Sunk!" Our thoughts turn immediately to the fate of the ten crews. U 48 tries to break through to Narvik but soon gives up because of the strong enemy presence. Submerged, we move up to Narvik and await our opportunity. The commanding officer at the periscope tries to attack departing British destroyers. Because of their zig-zagging we cannot obtain a favorable position.

  In the afternoon we surface to recharge. An aircraft chases us below. A bomb explodes very close nearby. After nightfall we surface again to recharge the batteries. A destroyer passes without noticing us. A second one turns once, then steers for us on a steady course. Emergency dive! We run aground some 35 feet below the surface. Depth charges go off around us. The destroyer plays an agonizing game of stop and go. We do not dare to stir. But we need to go deeper because at low tide our bridge will become visible.

  April 16, 4 A.M. Continue dive to a depth of 130 feet and lie all day long on the bottom some 7 to 10 degrees down by the stern. We have to wait until sunset. At various times during the day destroyers pass overhead. At 8 I'.M. we rise to periscope depth and try to make our way into deeper waters. We touch ground again at 70 feet. Lie still until 8:30 I'.M. We then surface and carefully leave Narvik Fjord at half speed.

  April 17. At 3 A.M. we find ourselves off Flatoy and have to dive again when we sight a vessel without running lights. The night is too bright for a surface attack; for a submerged attack our position is too unfavorable. We resurface, only to see a submarine ahead of us. We steer toward it. The other boat dives; so do we. We spend most of the day below. At 4 P.rvi. we pick up the order to return to base. The crew's mood improves. At 5:30 P.M. an enemy cruiser comes in sight, dead ahead. We approach at periscope depth. The cruiser appears to move away from us. We try to catch up and gain a better attack position. It does not work. The cruiser turns away and disappears down the Lofoten Islands.

  April 18, 1 A.M. Shadows to starboard: a battleship escorted by destroyers. We try to close. A destroyer detects us and chases us down into the "basement." At 7 A.M. we encounter three enemy transports with their escorts and report their position. We try to keep in contact but lose it before long. At 11 A.M. a lighthouse emerges quite suddenly out of a bank of clouds. Crash dive! This shows how frazzled our nerves have become. At 3 P.M., aircraft alarm. We finally reach the open sea, having escaped the witches' cauldron.

  When our squadron commander welcomes us back to Kiel and inspects the crew, his face turns very grave. Was it the sight of our pale, hollow faces that got to him? Or sympathy for our exhausting, unsuccessful mission? Or the haunting question, "Did you really do everything possible to carry out your task, to prevent the destruction of the ten German destroyers at Narvik at all costs?"

  It was my last patrol as an executive officer.

  COMMANDING OFFICER, U57

  U 57 was a Type II single-hull boat, a "dug-out," as we called it in naval circles. Officially it displaced 250 tons, could run up to 12 knots on the surface, 7 knots under water. We had three torpedo tubes mounted in the bow and two torpedoes in reserve.

  Lieutenant Commander Claus Korth turned the boat over to me with a seasoned crew of twenty-two. My executive officer was Lieutenant Kurt Reichenbach-Klinke, the chief engineering officer was Lieutenant Christ. The boat had been successful. I would have to prove myself as its new commanding officer.

  As executive officer aboard U 46 I had served on a vessel more than twice the size of U 57. On the former we officers enjoyed at least some privacy in quarters halfway separated from the others. On U 57, however, the entire crew lived, ate, and slept pressed together in a single narrow space behind the torpedo tubes on a floor of wooden planks that covered the two reserve torpedoes. Any sense of privacy was completely lost. What can you do as the commanding officer under these circumstances?

  At first I had no opportunity at all to make an impact on the men, to let them know and feel who I was. I stood watch, taking turns with my executive officer and our chief navigator. En route to our operational area, on a foggy day, we scraped against a floating mine that had broken loose from its cable. We swerved to avoid a spread of several torpedoes aimed at us by an enemy submarine. Fortunately a lookout spotted them in time. One day, without warning, a bomber swooped down on us out of the clouds. The bomb failed to explode; there were fifteen small-caliber bullet holes; nobody got hurt. I seemed to have luck on my side, but it was no way to gain the confidence of my crew.

  When we tried to break through the Fair Isle Passage (between the Orkney and Shetland Islands north of Scotland) we were detected by a destroyer and forced to dive. You could hear the enemy's propeller noises without using hydrophones. I kept the boat at 300 feet, steering different courses, never able to get out of the destroyer's asdic range. We gained no feeling for the true position of the enemy or his tactics. In the end we decided to come up and take a look around to assess the situation more accurately. I raised the periscope very carefully. A full moon was out. Two destroyers lay stopped some 300 to 400 yards away, exchanging signals. Very quietly we resumed our dive, our speed and engine noises reduced to a minimum. We had hardly reached our intended depth when depth charges went off around us like fireworks. I heard distinctly how the destroyers sped up just before they dropped the charges and thus had the opportunity to anticipate their maneuver and reduce our chances of being hit. As soon as they stopped their engines after their run, I reduced our speed accordingly. Everything was turned off, including auxiliary generators, to produce as little noise as possible. Even the hydroplanes were being operated manually.

  Two hours later we rose to periscope depth for a look around. Nothing. "Surface!" Against the somewhat brighter eastern sky we could make out a flotilla of vessels, twenty-two according to my count. At full speed we left the scene, and since the Fair Isle Passage was obviously blocked we decided to go all the way around the Shetlands.

  Now the crew knew that I was not one of those U-boat commanders who suffered from "neck pains," that is, I did not put the pursuit of honors and decorations (the Knight's Cross was worn around the neck) ahead of the safety of boat and crew and accept risks irresponsibly. That was important. I felt that we had grown closer together through this experience.

  New Area of Operations: The North Channel

  Crash dive to avoid air attack. We are at a depth of barely 130 feet when the bombs fall. They explode so close to the boat that the base-plates of one of our two diesel engines crack. The lights are out, darkness en velops us, and water spouts into the central control room. The boat sinks and comes to rest on the bottom of the ocean. Damage assessment. The boat itself seems to hold tight; that is the most important thing.

  I consult my ex
ecutive officer and our chief engineer as to our further course of action, in particular whether to continue operations or to return home for repairs. The engineer, who is responsible for the boat's technical state of readiness, argues strongly in favor of breaking off the patrol. The boat is essentially lame, our remaining diesel allowing for a maximum speed of no more than 9 knots. On the other hand, the executive officer and I want to go on with the mission. After all, the boat still has all five of its torpedoes. Decision: We can only compensate for the boat's handicap by closing in on the enemy. This means to penetrate farther south into the North Channel (between Ireland and Scotland) where enemy shipping is more concentrated.

  I inform the crew of my decision and get the impression that most of the men share it. Only the engine room personnel, who are constantly reminded of our reduced speed, appear sceptical and worried, but they do not show it. The momentum they sense in the rest of us carries them along.

  Diary:

  Around midnight, against the backdrop of two lighthouses in the distance ashore, we move in on a convoy that is being assembled and guarded to seaward by three destroyers. We attack on the surface, hamstrung by the boat's lack of maneuverability. Three torpedoes against three targets, then suddenly the destroyers are upon us. Alarm and another crash dive!

  Here the water depth is no more than 150 feet. We sink, our bows pointing down by 40 degrees and hitting the bottom hard. I try in vain to get the boat off and moving again. Through someone's mistake the boat has taken on too much water in a short period of time, and we cannot afford to run the pumps because they are too loud and would give away our position. Before we can do much, depth charges rain down on us, some eight to ten. They are right on target. Each explosion lifts the boat up by more than 10 feet before letting it fall back to the bottom. U 57 is practically defenseless because of the shallowness of these waters. We have virtually no chance to escape the depth charges because the enemy knows approximately where we are and we cannot stir. All auxiliary engines are turned off, but the destroyers have us in their grip. Powerful explosions, one after another. They cause new damage: Water leaks through in hundreds of places, sometimes a mere drip, elsewhere a jet of water or the sound of bubbles welling up. Everything is pitch dark.