The Odyssey of a U-Boat Commander

by Erich Topp

  We could roam the entire Obersalzberg without the least restrictions. One night we were invited by the Bormanns, together with the famous movie personalities Willy Fritsch and Herta Feiler. Miss Feiler would eventually marry the actor Heinz Riihmann. Bormann had established an entire model farm on the Obersalzberg, which he was proud to show off to us. On one occasion he approached one of his prized bulls, grasped it by the ring through its nose, and led it around for us to admire. Willy Fritsch used that moment to whisper into my ear, with obvious reference to Bormann, "the steer of the Obersalzberg." Not only did Bormann look the part with his stocky, bull-necked build, but he played it, too, in a different sense. With his background in agriculture he would speak to us at length about his successes as a cattle breeder. Then, back at his house, he made it clear that his own procreative qualities had not been limited to fathering his numerous legitimate offspring but had resulted in a number of illegitimate children as well. Fritsch's observation had been right on target.

  That evening I was also introduced to Eva Braun, a young woman with a pretty, albeit somewhat expressionless, face. She invited us to call on her at her place the next day. Teddy and she got along splendidly; he even induced her to abandon completely the reserved attitude that was her usual trademark. She, the Fiihrer's mistress, suffered greatly from the fact that she could not participate in any official functions. When Hitler and she had eaten breakfast and the first visitors arrived, she had to retire. Hitler made it plain to her that he could never marry her because it would damage his public image. It would be inappropriate for him to reveal he had a private life. Instead, he was to be at his people's service day and night.

  Through Eva Braun we also made the acquaintance of Magda Schneider, the mother of the actress Romy Schneider. She struck us as an accomplished and sometimes bubbly socialite. Together we undertook a trip to the tea house, or "Eagle's Nest," as the Americans dubbed it after the war. A winding road led all the way up to an altitude where trees could no longer grow. We arrived at a rocky promontory that had been made into a terrace, then walked through a tunnel to an elevator. It took us up another 300 feet into the interior of the so-called tea house. Its walls made of mighty blocks of natural rock, the house consisted of a large living area as well as several guest and utility rooms. The living room opened on three sides onto the majestic world of the Alps by way of oversize, undivided windows. It was a most impressive panorama indeed.

  I visited Fi hrer Headquarters for the second time in the fall of 1942 to receive the "Swords" in addition to the "Oak Leaves" cluster of the Knight's Cross. At that time the headquarters was located in Vinnitsa in the Ukraine. On the way our flight had a layover in Prague, where I had an opportunity to get to know that old imperial and university city. We were guests in the house of the German city commandant.

  In Vinnitsa I ran into the same faces I had encountered at the "Wolf's Lair," except in very different surroundings. As the open staff car took us to Hitler's headquarters we passed through a vast, fertile country. Here I saw Russia for the first and only time in my life. A sense of melancholy lay over the land and its people. It was not just caused by the fury of the war that had visited this region, but it had to do with the very essence of the country. Since that visit I have felt a closer affinity to the works of Dostoevsky and Tolstoy.

  At Headquarters I made the acquaintance of Heinz Brandt, who had won the gold medal in equestrian show-jumping at the Olympic Games in Berlin and who later served as a colonel on the General Staff. He sat next to me during lunch. We all listened to Hitler's words, which hit us like so many blows with a metal object. Perhaps it was the proximity of the front lines that induced Hitler to choose as his topic for the occasion Heraclitus's dictum that war is the father of all things. Hitler's arguments jumped back and forth across 2,000 years of history. He cited Darwin's notions about the struggle for existence and the selection of the fittest. According to Hitler, only peoples who were strong had survived. Ever since the German people had entered the stream of history it had been threatened from the East by Huns, Mongols, and Russians. There had been only a few moments in Germany's past when a Ffihrer had arisen to unite the German people and to meet the external challenges. Thus, Hitler argued, Germany's struggle was against a modern-day Genghis Khan who in turn enjoyed the backing of the international Jewish community.

  And then Hitler went on to say something that must have been in the back of his mind all along, namely, that the collapse of the eastern front would bring chaos for a thousand years. For a moment I was caught in reflecting about this unexpected association of a 1,000-year Reich with a 1,000-year Chaos so that I missed a portion of Hitler's subsequent utterances. Today I can only recall fragments, such as the tension between Lebensraum and population density; notions about emigration and birth control; and the conclusion that Germany's average population density of 135 persons per square kilometer required the acquisition of additional Lebensraum to ensure proper food supplies. We had been prepared for this kind of thinking by Hans Grimm's book, Volk ohne Raum (People without Space), which we had devoured when it came out in 1926. Had there not been other peoples in history in search of living space? What about the British Empire? Or France? Or the Dutch colonies? It was not a question of international law or humanitarianism; in fact, the subject did not even come up. Since our school days we had been too engrossed in Darwinian notions. And yet I felt a sense of uneasiness about Hitler's presentation, a sense deepened by my recent experience of learning more about the Ukraine and its inhabitants.

  In his conversations with me Brandt came across as quite critical of the situation, an attitude that reflected the mood of the Army's operational staff. But this did not mean active resistance against Hitler, as some analysts would imply after the war to the amazement of those who had been there and knew better. Brandt lost both legs in the explosion of July 20, 1944, that failed to take Hitler's life. He died a short time later. To this very day Brandt's possible association with resistance groups remains a matter of debate. Brandt was promoted posthumously to the rank of major general. The Army planned an official state funeral for him, but the event was cancelled without further explanations. Instead, he was put to rest with only a few of his relatives in attendance. The coffin was sealed and the whole ceremony closely watched by the Gestapo.

  My third visit to Fi hrer Headquarters, now back at "Wolf's Lair," came in the summer of 1943. On that occasion I received the official diploma to go along with the decoration of the "Swords" to the Knight's Cross I had been awarded earlier. Three other distinguished U-boat commanders joined me on this visit: Captains Wolfgang LUth, Robert Gysae, and Teddy Suhren. After the official part was over, the four of us stayed on as Hitler's dinner guests. At the time there was much talk about the new secret weapons, and Hitler entertained us with a monologue about technological developments. I still recall him raving about a newfangled accumulator based on some chemical caustic solution. It supposedly would free Germany from its dependence on lead, a raw material in very short supply. Now that the VI had gone into production and the V2 rocket was being developed, and I myself had seen prototypes of the revolutionary Walter propulsion system for U-boats, I was impressed by Hitler's words. Everything appeared quite plausible. Nevertheless I re tamed my skepticism, especially after listening to a presentation in Danzig by Hans Fritzsche, a high official in the Propaganda Ministry. He talked about the development of new weapons systems. Next to me sat a Luftwaffe officer. When Fritzsche came to the topic of new technology for the air force, the Luftwaffe officer whispered into my ear, "Exaggerated, completely exaggerated!" As Fritzsche moved on to address the subject of the new electro-boats of the submarine branch and quoted Donitz to the effect that the new boats would be as effective in convoy battles as their predecessors had been in the old days, it was my turn to whisper back, "Completely exaggerated!"

  The next day we were the guests of General Adolf Heusinger, chief of staff of the Army's operations division. On that occasion I met
the brother of my Crew comrade Baron Haus-Diedrich von Tiesenhausen, Captains Wolfgang Schall and Wolfgang Kostlin, and once more Lieutenant Colonel Brandt. All agreed that conditions along the eastern front had become very critical and complained that Hitler interfered in matters of insignificant detail entirely unjustified by the overall assessment of the situation.

  We were also invited by the operational staff of the Waffen-SS. This invitation resulted from the fact that SS Leader Heinrich 1-limmler assumed the official sponsorship of Gysae's boat. Gysae, known throughout the Navy for his sometimes careless remarks, said on this occasion quite sarcastically, "Yesterday we were still losing the war, today we are winning it again." The SS leadership, notorious for its constant opposition to Army officers, wasted no time in passing the remark on up the chain of command. General Heusinger was asked to see Hitler about the matter. Heusinger was briefed by his own officers about our conversations, and we, too, were requested to contribute our version of the incident once we had returned to Gotenhafen. We felt very awkward being under the suspicion of having passed on confidential remarks in such a manner. Luth and I composed a letter in which we described the incident and the conversations from our point of view in defense of the implicated Army officers. Many years later, in 1982, Major General (ret.) Kostlin brought up the affair once more when I met him one day in Spain. He recalled that as late as July 1944, after the attempt on Hitler's life, the whole incident was brought back into the limelight and used to accuse Army officers of lack of loyalty and sabotage.

  Another interesting man I met during the war in Berlin was Herr Girardet, the well-known newspaper publisher from the Rhineland. After the war I ran into him again in Bonn when he gave a speech as President of the Association of Newspaper Publishers. Afterwards we sat together and he refreshed my memory about an incident in connection with our first encounter during the war. He had just returned to Berlin from the eastern front and was relaxing with friends in a bar when I was introduced to him. On that day I had come back from Fiihrer Headquarters. When I extended my hand to greet Girardet he remarked halfmoved, half-jokingly that my very hand had touched the Fi hrer's only the day before. He also asked for any details of my meeting with the Fuhrer and what kind of impression he had made on me. Girardet expected that, as so many others, I would indicate how fascinating the encounter had been. He felt almost taken aback when I remained quite critical about Hitler and his monologues at the dinner table. At the time, Girardet considered me arrogant and felt disappointed in me. But when we met so many years later in Bonn, he confessed that I had been one of very few people who had not fallen victim to Hitler's charisma and the personality cult surrounding him.

  I have already mentioned that I showed up from time to time at the UBoat High Command in Berlin (code name: "Koralle") in order to inform myself about the latest developments or to present concerns I had about the discrepancy between the effectiveness of our training in home waters and the realities out in the Atlantic. On one occasion I witnessed an Allied air raid against Koralle. One of the attacking planes was shot down. Its crew descended on their parachutes. One of them got caught in highvoltage electrical wires. A German chief petty officer thereupon cut him loose and proceeded to mistreat him. I immediately intervened and asked the petty officer to explain his actions. He replied: "My family was killed by American air raids." Later we discussed the incident in our mess. Opinions were quite divided. Only a few of my fellow officers shared my view that this prisoner deserved protection from those who had captured him, the same treatment we would extend to a shipwrecked sailor. The majority of those present said they could well understand the petty officer's emotional reaction. How far the war had already succeeded in confusing otherwise rational minds!

  In Gotenhafen I lived aboard the U-boat tender Wilhelm Bauer. When Teddy Suhren became my second-in-command and I had to direct only every other training exercise, I had to give up my quarters because the Wilhelm Bauer always went out to help simulate Allied convoys. Instead, I received a stateroom on the Wilhelm Gustloff. This was not just a single cabin but a whole suite consisting of a reception area, a dressing room, a bedroom, and a huge bathroom. I still recall the beautiful built-in closets, furnished from rare woods. When you opened them, lights went on inside automatically, a great luxury indeed in those days.

  Before the war the Gustloff had been in the service of the National Socialist organization charged with looking after the recreational needs of workers and employees throughout Germany, also known as Kraft durch Freude (Strength through Joy). The ship had taken vacationers to Madeira and the Canary Islands. The club rooms and the cabins were exquisitely furnished. Altogether the vessel had undertaken only a few cruises, but you could still see reminders of those days. The parquet floor was marred by burn spots where people had extinguished their cigarettes; there were stains caused by red wine all over the carpets; and some of the wall panelling had been damaged. But one must say that the state in pursuit of its goal of a people's community had done something for the "workers of the fist" who in turn supported the new regime. Perhaps we were indeed headed down the path prophesied by Petty Officer Maltus, the "Tiger of the Baltic," so many years ago on the Gorch Fock.

  In August 1944 I became Director of Testing and Training of the new Type XXI and Type XXIII "Electro" U-boats. Carl Emmermann, a Crew comrade of mine, assisted me in the assignment. Our primary task was to test the new superboats with their huge batteries under tactical conditions and to write up the manual for operations against the enemy.

  We received the first boat of the larger Type XXI series. Her commanding officer was yet another Crew comrade of ours, Adi Schnee. Gerd Suhren served as chief engineer and Conny Enders as executive officer. We went through all traditional tests and individual exercises and then practiced attacks against convoys along with the other boats of the 27th Tactical U-Boat Flotilla. The results were impressive. The new boat displayed superb characteristics when operating alone. It also enjoyed far greater survival chances when hunted thanks to superior maneuverability both laterally and vertically. But the boat did by no means live up to the boasts Donitz had made to Hitler and us U-boat officers. DOnitz had ordered mass production of the new boats under the assumption that they would enable him to resume successful convoy battles as in the earlier parts of the war-indeed, that we would inflict losses and damage upon the enemy far in excess of our achievements at the height of the Battle of the Atlantic in 1942. Compared to the older Type VIII boats, the new Type XXI version undoubtedly represented progress and innovation. But it could never by itself have turned the tide in the war at sea, let alone in the overall conflict. The new boat enjoyed considerable improvements when measured against standard submarine designs then in use in other navies. After the war, for example, the Russians developed their "Whisky" class boats out of our Type XXI. Even the 209 Model built more recently for export by the German shipbuilding giant Ho- waldwerke/Deutsche Werft (HDW) in Kiel depended for its basic features on the Type XXI design.

  My life in that last phase of the war was dominated by political and military events that absorbed my undivided attention. I will again let my journals tell that story. But quite apart from these developments, I expe rienced something entirely new in my inner attachment to another human being, something that in its exclusivity and strength I had never felt before.

  On February 19, 1943, Teddy Suhren, Claus Korth, and I were invited to the apartment of another U-boat commander and his family in Gotenhafen. At the darkened entrance to the building we were searching for our host's name and the appropriate button to ring his doorbell when a lady walked up, her face covered by a scarf. She said to us, "Well, if you also plan to visit the Heinsohns, I might as well press the button for you." The door opened; we left the dark entranceway and stepped into the lighted elevator our host had sent down for us. The lady then pulled back her scarf, I looked at her, she looked at me, and from that moment on to this very day a relay mechanism began sending impulses back and forth between
us-a relationship that has kept me in suspense and excitement, has enriched my life and made me happy. For on that day I met my future wife.

  I do not recall what we talked about in that elevator. Knowing my wife, she probably dominated the conversation and said many funny and clever things. At any rate, when we reached our host's apartment we sat together, danced all evening long, and had so much to tell each other that the world around became lost to us. Next to me sat a woman who enchanted me with her natural charm, her lively and cheerful temperament, and also her wit. And she came across as perfectly natural without the least pretensions. Whatever she said was marked by openness, warmheartedness, and intelligence.

  I still remember that I jotted down her address and telephone number on my starched shirt cuffs. She also suggested that everyone present should sign a postcard to Mrs. Korth, who had been unable to attend our party. We agreed and she signed the card as "Ilse Topp." When she passed the card to me, I said," Now wait a minute, we are not that far, yet!" The others, glancing over my shoulder, just laughed. She then added with her usual charm, even though the situation appeared somewhat embarrassing to her, "Well, Mr. Korth, let's just leave it as it is. Your wife will think Mr. Topp is married." Later my friend, the artist Erich Klahn, would comment, "Ilse must have a sixth sense for such matters."