The Odyssey of a U-Boat Commander

by Erich Topp

  Which measures did the German side take to reduce submarine losses and boost their successes against Allied shipping? Since the fall of 1942 most boats carried a so-called Metox, which was originally developed by the French radio industry. It was an improvised device designed to measure-and alert U-boats against-incoming Allied radar signals. The contraption consisted of a primitive wooden frame antenna on the bridge (the so-called Biscayan Cross), which was connected by a cable to the receiver inside the boat. It turned out to be useless in heavy weather and an impediment whenever the boat had to crash dive. In addition, the Metox device sent out electromagnetic waves of its own that could be picked up by the enemy.

  Other such measures followed, such as the "Naxos" device that reached the front in September 1943 and was supposed to interfere with enemy radar reception. "Aphrodite" was a balloon some 25 inches in diameter and carrying three 12-foot-long dipole antennas. Trailed by a U boat on the surface, it was meant to confuse the enemy as to the boat's real position. "Bold" was a container filled with calcium hydrate. It could be expelled from a submerged submarine through a special tube, remain suspended in the water, and fool pursuers by producing a second sonar echo on their screens. "Alberich" became the code name for a special rubber coating, some 4 millimeters thick, that was put on submarines to reduce the likelihood of reflecting radar and sonar impulses.

  Torpedoes, too, underwent modification. The so-called FAT and LUT models could be preprogrammed, for example to run loops through an enemy convoy until they hit a target. The "Zaunkonig" torpedo featured an acoustic listening device that responded to engine and propeller noises of enemy ships and detonated the torpedo at a pre-set distance. The snorkel, an air tube projecting beyond the surface, allowed a boat to use its diesel engines while running submerged, primarily for the purpose of recharging its batteries. Last, the "Bachstelze" was a heavy, manned kite that could be trailed by a U-boat at higher speeds up to an altitude of some 300 feet. Difficult to handle, it supposedly increased the boat's observation radius but for all practical purposes could only be employed in distant waters devoid of aerial surveillance.

  Except for the snorkel and the new torpedoes, all these measures constituted improvisations that did not even begin to compare with the enemy's enormous scientific and technological advances. They did little to reduce U-boat losses, nor did they help destroy more enemy vessels. To the contrary, fewer Allied ships were sunk than ever before in the war, while our losses averaged twenty boats per month in 1944.

  At the latest, the Normandy invasion of June 1944 nullified all arguments for a continuation of submarine warfare with traditional boats. Nevertheless, between January 1, 1945, when the Americans reached the Rhine and the Russians stood in East Prussia, and the end of the war on May 8, 1945, more than 100 additional U-boats were lost. Only the new Type XXI and XXIII boats afforded their crews a better survival chance and held out the possibility of limited successes when using improved tactical procedures. But quite apart from the fact that these boats came too late, they did not constitute a miracle or secret weapon that could have altered the course of events.

  We leaders of the U-boat flotillas knew about our staggering losses at sea. For us the statistics meant more than just cold figures. Each boat lost implied the sacrifice of human beings, of comrades and friends. Crews whom we had trained in the Baltic days or weeks before did not return from their first war patrol. Living in ignorance of the enemy's growing technological edge, we assumed that our casualties had to do with inadequate training and preparation on our side, and in this respect I felt much personal responsibility. We chief instructors in the training flotillas decided to present DOnitz with our demands for improved equipment for our own escort forces, for the allocation of more aircraft, and for a more thorough training schedule before the new boats left for the front.

  But who should go to Berlin and challenge Donitz on these points? Teddy Suhren suggested we should draw lots. I as the man ultimately responsible for the tactical training of our boats decided that it had to be me. When I returned from that meeting in Berlin I felt disappointed and annoyed because my views had been rejected practically out of hand and I was not even given sufficient opportunity to argue my case. Teddy said he had always warned against the arrogance of certain staff officers-an attitude confirmed by another veteran of tough convoy battles, Ali Cromer. Once, after he had returned from a war patrol, he described to the staff in Berlin an abortive attack he had made with the newfangled "Zaunkonig" torpedo, which in theory could locate its target automatically with the help of its acoustic warhead. It was the last best hope Uboat men had at the time. By every appearance the torpedo in question had completely malfunctioned and run out of control. But for the staff officers the answer was obvious: "Well, Ali, why don't you simply admit that you missed your target?" For those men, nothing could ever happen that was not supposed to happen.

  One explanation for the staff officers' behavior could be that they needed to radiate optimism even when things were going badly. Moreover, they lived and worked in the presence of D6nitz's charismatic personality, which retarded dissention and created certain Byzantine arrangements at the top at a time when many of Dbnitz's closest advisors lacked experience and insight into the true conditions at the front. At any rate, no one can claim that the U-Boat Command did not have access to critical information, observations, and assessments.

  Of 39,000 German U-boat men in World War II, some 30,000 went down with their boats. After the summer of 1943, of every three boats that sailed from their bases two would not return. How can we explain that crews who had barely escaped death on their last outing were ready to go at it again? Did it have to do with the principles of duty and obedience? Was there still a strong will to fight? Was it the result of superior leadership qualities on part of the officers that assured the loyalty of their men? How did one bridge the gulf between the far-from-enticing task of binding enemy forces in the Atlantic and the vague hope for better weapons systems, which, in their heart of hearts, everyone knew would come too late and make no difference?

  Everyone felt that successes became fewer and fewer while losses and danger increased all the time. U-boat commanders experienced this tension with particular intensity. The following example stands for many from that time of declining fortunes. Operation Order "Kanal Nr. 1" for U-boats operating against Allied naval forces in the English Channel states:

  Every enemy landing craft, even if it carries only 50 soldiers or a single tank, is a target that deserves the U-boat's full commitment. You are directed to attack it even if it means exposing our boats to possible destruction.... A U-boat that causes the enemy casualties during the landing is fulfilling its highest mission and justifies its existence even if it is lost in the process.... Commanding officers and chief engineers who do not exhibit the necessary enthusiasm for attacks will be subject to disciplinary action upon their return to base.

  Of thirty-six U-boats sent up to the Channel from their bases along the Bay of Biscay, only nine were equipped with snorkels. The Allies had reinforced their Coastal Command with aircraft of all kinds so that their radar surveillance reached well into the Bay of Biscay. Boats without snorkels were picked up by radar, forced under water, or attacked so that none of them ever reached the Channel, several were sunk, and the rest returned in poor shape. The snorkel-boats enjoyed minor successes while losing some of their own as well. Between June 6 and the end of August 1944, our boats sank no more than five enemy escort vessels, twelve ships of about 55,000 tons, and four landing craft: twenty-one out of a total of 5,000 Allied vessels of all types involved in the operation. Of thirty German U-boats operating in the Channel during this phase, twenty were destroyed.

  There is a principle valid in all navies that allows the commanding officer of a warship to decide on the spot and after weighing all options whether or how his vessel should engage the enemy. The Naval High Command violated this principle when its orders insisted on kamikazelike actions under threat of puni
shment in case of noncompliance. Nothing like it had ever occurred in the German Navy before. It is testimony to the degree to which the Naval High Command had taken over the vocabulary of the political leadership, who tried to reach its goals through a kind of fanaticism that made a mockery of human values.

  The later Operation "Winkelried "-so named after a Swiss soldier in the Battle of Sempach in 1386 who allegedly drew the bulk of the enemy's attention upon himself to give his comrades the break that would lead to their victory-was based on similar notions. Here German members of coastal commando units (midget submarines) actually signed a form by which they pledged to accept death as a military necessity. Stripped of its rhetoric, the demand was simple: either success or death.

  When war came in 1939, there were some 3,000 men serving in the Uboat branch. By the end of 1941 Germany began to suffer an acute shortage of trained officers and petty officers. A special personnel program addressed the problem and solved it by early 1943. After the summer of 1941 the principle of voluntary service in the U-boat branch was phased out. Instead, fitness became the only criterion. However, to the end of the war the U-boat service continued to attract relatively high numbers of volunteers, especially among its officers.

  There is something unique about the relationship between the crew of a U-boat and its commanding officer. The latter, in contrast to his counterpart on surface vessels, is completely integrated into the shipboard community without privileges of any kind. Success or failure of a boat hinges on the abilities and performance of every single member of the crew as well as on the aggressiveness of its commanding officer. A Uboat crew must function as a "band of brothers," to borrow Admiral John Jervis's famous dictum. Obviously it was easier for a successful U-boat commander to lead his men than for one who was less distinguished. But it was especially important that every crew member thought of himself as a link in a chain, as a part of a people's community destined to achieve great deeds. At the outset of the war we envisioned a European continent under German leadership. When victory became increasingly elusive, all efforts centered on the avoidance of unconditional surrender. As defeat became inevitable, we in the Navy retreated to a position of "Don't give up the ship!" Those who desired to free themselves from the chain drew upon themselves draconian reprisals.

  By 1943 the average U-boat commander was twenty-three years old, just two years older than the mean age of his crew. These men had gone through the Nationalist Socialist education system, their views reflecting the social values of the regime. Their ideals prominently included a deep commitment to the fatherland, to the concept of a people's community, discipline, and the leader principle.

  Proper leadership was inspired from above. After each war patrol a Uboat commander had to report in person to U-boat Command Headquarters and describe his latest experiences to the commanding admiral and his staff. This procedure brought personal ties whose value is diffi cult to exaggerate. In addition, many organizational measures eased and enriched the life of the crews while their boats underwent refits. Two well-known examples include the special train sailors took on their furlough home, and the excellent and well-supervised recreational facilities near Germany's major submarine bases in France. This special care extended to certain amenities aboard. We always had coffee and chocolate, and sailors on recreational leave could expect to take along to their families a package containing high quality food items.

  Propaganda, too, contributed to our self-image. U-boat men considered themselves members of an elite outfit as Admiral Donitz's special forces, a "free corps DOnitz" so to speak. Such feelings, in turn, tended to encourage individuals to show themselves worthy of such a reputation. In this time of general and increasing uncertainty-aerial bombardments, threatening defeat-a U-boat man enjoyed the comfort of sharing life with his crew and comrades. Such interpersonal relations could become so intense that they sometimes overshadowed one's natural instinct to survive.

  There is yet another explanation for the type of comradeship one encountered aboard a submarine. For what exactly is a U-boat? It is a craft that operates in three dimensions. This experience is vital for the men aboard. They live in the sea. The sea becomes a natural part of their lives. The men have to sharpen their senses; intensify their perceptions; react to sounds, vibrations, the salinity of the water, or temperature changes. They have to develop means of cooperation if they want to survive. You have to get to know your comrades to fathom their weaknesses and their strengths, for it is vital to predict where a chain of mutual dependency is likely to break, a chain that in the end controls everyone's life. Whenever a U-boat man leaves his base, when the escape hatches to the world above are shut, he leaves behind life in all its color and variety, the familiar companions of the sun, the moon, and the stars. He reduces his existence in that steel tube to but a few principles, among which comradeship and the will to survive rank the highest.

  In our training flotillas the presence and example of successful U-boat commanders and enlisted men acted as an incentive for the new boats and their crews. This leadership by men who had fought at the front became especially crucial because psychologically the general spirit of the times, or Zeitgeist, reinforced its effects. By ensuring that general societal values, standards, and behavioral norms always matched those of the UBoat Service, we rendered our leadership decisions plausible and through open and mutual cooperation preserved the soldiers' readiness to fight. Thus, exemplary military leadership combined with the overall attitude of the population to make it possible to continue the war even when it had been lost beyond any doubt.

  I once was privileged to engage in a conversation with Professor Esau who at the time headed the Reich Institute for Physics Research. Our talk acquainted me with the scientific situation that, on the one hand, had enabled the enemy to be so successful against our U-boats and, on the other hand, limited our abilities to respond to the enemy's measures. He told me that the Procurement Office of the Army had completely misjudged the significance of radar and set other priorities instead. Moreover, he complained about a misguided personnel policy. Experts in the natural sciences along with radio amateurs had been sent to the front rather than to scientific laboratories, while highly qualified researchers of Jewish extraction had been banned altogether. He further told me that additional developments of Professor Hahn's experiments toward nuclear chain reactions and an atomic weapon lay in the distant future. Such efforts would require huge investments in terms of personnel and material resources and were quite unfeasible under the prevailing condi tions. In telling me all this he chose his words very carefully, not only because these were secret matters but also because he wanted to avoid the impression of pessimism and resignation, which might undermine the fighting spirit of Germany's armed forces and could draw the death penalty.

  Another scientist with whom I came into contact was Dr. Aschoff. He was a torpedo specialist, and we had long talks about the so-called homing torpedo. The latter eventually reached the front under the code name "Zaunkonig" and led to certain successes against Allied escort vessels in the convoy battles.

  Donitz tried to push the technological development of U-boats and their weapons ahead by forming a scientific group under the direction of Professor Kupfmuller. A member of this group was Professor Cornelius, also an expert on torpedoes and special weapons. He taught at Charlottenburg Polytechnical University, and I was a frequent guest in his house. He believed such research was a step in the right direction but that too few experts had been allocated to the project and that cooperation between civilians and the military left much to be desired.

  Three times during my military career I was invited to Fi.ihrer Headquarters. The first time was in April 1942 when I was asked to report to the "Wolf's Lair" compound in Rastenburg (East Prussia) to be awarded the "Oak Leaves" cluster to my Knight's Cross. Hitler presented the decoration to me in the presence of his naval aide-de-camp, Captain KarlJesko von Puttkamer. Hitler thanked me for my missions in the Atlantic and asked me to join
him and his other guests for lunch. During the meal Hitler dominated the conversation almost completely, stressing that he would do everything in his power to make life easier for Germany's soldiers. Anything that impeded military success would be weeded out mercilessly, especially delays in the production process, financial corruption, and all forms of sabotage. Under National Socialism, according to Hitler, the German people had left its past behind and set out for new shores.

  As a soldier I liked what Hitler had to say, but I took silent exception to his verbal excesses and the way he put forth his views. In particular I found his disrespect for our enemies abhorrent. For him, Churchill was an alcoholic and Roosevelt's chief quality was his physical paralysis. Among Hitler's entourage I met Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel and General Alfred Jodl, as well as his personal physician, Dr. Theodor Morell. Jodl impressed me as a clear-headed soldier concerned about the welfare of his subordinates. I remember Morell as an ungainly man who cared little for his appearance. His dinner manners raised eyebrows around the table. Whenever he spoke, however, he came across as knowledgeable, not as the quack that later analysts have often characterized him. He was a general practitioner of considerable experience who consulted specialists whenever his own expertise was pushed to the limit.

  I also made the acquaintance of the Secretary of the National Socialist Party, Reich Leader Martin Bormann. He had married the sister of my Crew comrade Walter Buch. Mentioning this connection, he invited me to be his guest at the Platterhof in Berchtesgaden. Three months later Teddy Suhren and I decided to accept the invitation. We first put in a stop at Pullach near Munich, the regular residence of the Bormanns. We were welcomed by Mrs. Bormann, the daughter of the Supreme Judge of the Party Tribunal, a very attractive and likable woman. She was surrounded by no fewer than nine children to whom she had given birth in intervals of about twelve months. From Pullach we were taken to the Obersalzberg near Berchtesgaden where we stayed at the Platterhof, the guest quarters of the Party leadership. Here we spent three interesting and refreshing weeks of vacation.