The Odyssey of a U-Boat Commander

by Erich Topp

  May 19

  We pick up a radio message from the U-Boat Command's operations division that all boats are to follow the Grand Admiral's instructions. Anything else is considered irresponsible. Boats still at sea are to surface and surrender. At noon we get under way. Several British officers embark on Franke's boat. In line ahead, we enter Oslo harbor under the threatening guns of British destroyers.

  For Whitsuntide we have decorated the boat in festive green. British marines board Franke's boat. At noon I meet Wiegand. Franke's staff surgeon joins us. Guns at the ready, the marines had robbed them of watches and fountain pens. "Just" times have arrived. In the evening I try once more to get through to Germany on the telephone. No success. For the first time we begin to realize what it means to lose our freedom. On the other shoreline people move back and forth without the least restrictions. At least we can still look at them through our binoculars. Soon we will be surrounded by barbed wire.

  May 26

  A farewell party for Wiegand, Brauel, Petersen, and Hauber, who are to sail their boats to Scotland. Much singing, music, drinking. Until 4 A.M. we are engaged in discussions about Russia, about socialism at home, about the mistakes that have cost us the war. I have to think of an evening aboard the U-boat tender Wilhelm Bauer, On that day the National Socialist Gauleiter Forster made the most arrogant comments about the Poles. I remember the atmosphere at Fi hrer Headquarters, so full of hubris. Our conversations move between a desire to justify what we have done and a sense of self-scourging as we would witness it in the future. For the most part the discussions remain very superficial.

  May 27

  At 7 P.m. we take leave of the four boats bound for England. There are flowers, as if they were off to a war patrol. The remaining crews honor them by taking up formation, singing the national anthem, shouting hurrahs, and waving their arms. "Comrades, when will we meet again?" Some of the departing men had joined voluntarily after the British flotilla commander promised them that they would return home immediately after transferring the boats and training British personnel to handle them. This promise was broken. We saw them again only after they had suffered through two and a half years of captivity in British camps.

  May 28

  At 9 A.M. we move the boat over to the Tygesholm Pier, very close to the British destroyer Campbell whose guns are pointed menacingly at us.

  Suddenly, at about 4 P.M., I am wanted on the upper deck on the double. Our boats are now being guarded by British marines armed with rifles and bayonets. Each boat is being visited by two British officers and several enlisted men. We know what this means. A document is handed over to me. The entire crew is to assemble at once on the pier. There will be an opportunity later to gather private belongings.

  In the meantime the British soldiers ransack the boat. After only four minutes I am missing my Knight's Cross, 500 Norwegian crowns, and some scarfs. Whatever is left of our belongings we pack under the supervision of a British officer. I get the impression that the officers have lost control over their men. Tin cans with food are being opened indiscriminately, our stock of alcoholic beverages plundered. Only after I lodge a formal protest with Captain Wingfield do these excesses stop. When I return to my boat it flies the British flag.

  Briefly saluting my boat, I leave the last piece of German soil in Norway. The only Germans remaining on board are the chief engineer and the six senior members of the engine personnel, among them Steimle. I shake each man's hand. Steimle has tears in his eyes. Trucks take us to the train station. I ride in an automobile.

  The train trip lasts twenty hours. Enlisted men in freight cars, officers in a regular passenger car. The men look impossible in their mixture of civilian clothes and military uniforms. There was no time to dress properly. Is this part of the British plan? A harsh and cold night. The Norwegians refuse to give us water even though they have plenty of it. We are defamed, slandered, despised, hated. The enemy's propaganda has done a solid job. Our pain and suffering begins.

  We arrive at the Krageroy campsite. No one had expected us. The place is overcrowded. Men are sleeping in sheds. We devote the first days to the task of finding decent quarters for our men.

  June 1

  A first clash with riotous elements in the camp. One man is arrested for failing to obey orders. Several hours later a noisy crowd moves threateningly through the camp. "Kill Topp!" What might be going on in Germany at this time? I think the camp leaders are too soft. The men of the 18th Patrol Flotilla refuse to work. Each of them carries a stick. Red scarfs turn up. The yeast is rising.

  June 3

  I have been promoted to the post of detachment commander and call my men together for a straight talk. I try to explain to them as clearly and logically as I can what the situation is all about. It is in the interest of each individual to behave in a calm and orderly manner. We cannot relax discipline until we are safely back on German soil. It is our goal to take the men back as good Germans who will be able to help reconstruct their country and who will instinctively do the right thing, untouched by the propaganda they are exposed to from all sides.

  Comment:

  I think back to my last days in Germany. Thanks to the good services of Admiral (ret.) Carls, my wife successfully made it to the west and found shelter in Blumendorf Castle. This haven lasted only a short time because she had to move on when the English decided to make the castle their headquarters. So we packed up again and drove in an old car powered by producer gas to Travemunde on the Baltic Sea near Lubeck. On the way we were attacked by British aircraft that fired their machine guns at anything that moved. A human being! I1unt him down! We scrambled out of the car and sought shelter in a ditch. Bullets whistled overhead. In Travemunde the authorities directed us to the house of Consul Kroger, where we reluctantly accepted shelter.

  Three days later, one day before my departure for Norway, a pinnace docked alongside U 2513. It was my wife. At the last moment I could prevent her from boarding our boat because sailors have always believed that a woman on board will bring bad luck. But for me the visit meant a last and happy meeting with my wife before I sailed into an uncertain future. How had my wife managed to get to Kiel? In Travemunde she had talked her way aboard a steamer bound for Kiel with a potentially lethal cargo of mines and torpedoes. The trip must have been not unlike that of a tank truck loaded with kerosene going along roads peppered with land mines. But love can make you take incredible risks. My wife made it safely back to Travemunde, just one day before the British occupied the place.

  We sailed the next day for Norway. Had we stayed only one day longer we would likely have been sunk, as so many other vessels were in Kiel harbor. The last act of the tragedy began. What was and is going on beyond the Elbe River's gray curtain can only be compared with visions from Dante's Inferno. The echo of those ghastly events touched us in a had way. And yet, no kind of suffering is unique.

  I had to think of a Russian lady I once met in Paris. Two of her brothers fell in World War I, the third one in the Revolution. Her father took his own life. Her mother? Perhaps also dead? Gone mad? A cleaning lady? She herself fled via Siberia and China to Japan. With her last remaining funds she bought real estate. She was barely back on her feet when an earthquake destroyed everything. Her sister was pulled dead from the collapsed house; she survived as the last member of her family. Friends did what they could for her. She lived from hand to mouth and carried the burdens of life, so unfair and so harsh, as an inspiration for others.

  I met this lady in Paris, rue de Liege, at the Sheherazade. She, a former Russian grand duchess but now old and white-haired, sat on a small chair in the basement where the gentlemen took a last look at the fit of their ties and ladies checked on the color of their lipstick. That is where she told me her story.

  Diary:

  June 4, 1945

  It has been eight days since we arrived at the reservation at Krageroy, also known as a camp for prisoners of war. Barbed wire is all around us. I share a room in the barracks
with a naval construction official. The roof still leaks, but we have managed to put together a bookshelf and even found some literature to stock it with. We are thinking of Germany and how we can reconstruct all that has been destroyed. We form activity groups and try to prepare ourselves for the civilian life ahead. None of us is giving up.

  June 20

  I am back in camp after two weeks on the road. In the end I was not sorry to return. When I saw my comrades again and moved back into the now familiar quarters in the barracks, I almost felt at home. In the meantime I had an opportunity to see parts of Norway, a beautiful country populated by sturdy, handsome people. On the way to Bergen we got stuck in snow drifts 10 feet deep over a length of several miles. We stayed in a place called Haugestol. Several Alpine hares crossed the road. People told us there are also snow foxes and ptarmigans in the area.

  We heard of the peculiar habits of the lemmings. Our guide told us about the harsh conditions in the wintertime; how he must use snowplows to keep the roads open; how a blizzard can undo in hours the work of many days. He also spoke of his men and his dogs. It was obvious that the man enjoyed seeing some unfamiliar faces in his neighborhood. He had been up there for three years now. Not easy, if you have a family at home.

  Then we came down from the mountains and experienced once again the change in vegetation. There were dwarf pines, different kinds of moss, then small birch trees slowly growing taller as we descended, finally the dark forest that surrounds, along with colorful meadows, the many lakes-this is the face of Norway. I also visited other camps, encountered disciplinary difficulties, witnessed how crowded the conditions are.

  And then always the same thoughts run through my mind. It will be difficult to bear the reprisals that the Allies will undoubtedly mete out against the conquered. We did, after all, expect total surrender at the end of this total war. But what hurts perhaps the most is that on our own side we display discord and a lack of unity. Was the notion of a "people's community" no more than a phantom never to be attained? Camp life can make you mad. The behavior of some men is incomprehensible. Why would a soldier turn against a comrade with whom he has fought and suffered for five long years? Lack of instinct. Seduction by extreme, radical ideas.

  Yesterday the construction official read an article by Eugen Roth from a Munich newspaper published at the time of the bombing terror. He distinguished between the highest and the deepest misery. Only love can help you overcome the deepest misery, love of other human beings and of the gift of life itself.

  June 21

  Summer solstice. A mighty bonfire on top of the bare rocks. We have a nice view down a lovely valley to the west. Above the dark mountain huts the sky is still bright even at midnight. Not so many years ago, as members of the youth movement in the 1920s, we would sing " Flamne empor" full of faith and hope, and even jump through the flames as a symbolic act of purification.

  Motionless and huddled together, the men sit around the fire and stare into the flames that seem to recall once more the war, the destruction, and all the horror. The torch is lowered. I gather myself up and say a few words of encouragement in our present situation, which is marked daily by humiliation and hatred. I stress the values that we soldiers have retained throughout and beyond this terrible war, values such as individual commitment and solidarity, which will be sorely needed to rebuild our destroyed country. But neither the flames nor my words pierce the darkness above and all around us. Quietly we walk back to our barracks.

  June 27

  The days go by with little change. And yet we find occasions, a special hour, to lift our spirits. Today we listened to a concert with the Spanish cello player Pablo Casals from Albert Hall: Beethoven's "Fidelio" Overture and Schubert's Concerto for Cello in A minor. Instead of images of friends and foes, we felt for the first time that which has always bound the European peoples together.

  After 10 o'clock we are no longer allowed to be seen outside the barbed wire. We are told it would disturb the moral feelings of the Norwegians. We feel like lepers. Damned for all time to come? Even in this lousy fishing village of Krageroy we can feel it. From now on we are taken down to the waterfront as early as 7 A.M. to go swimming, just when the sun rises. Oddly, we like it better this way. To experience the breaking day in all its purity and stillness is like a morning prayer.

  August 1

  I find myself in a tent in between forests and lakes. In two days we are supposed to leave for Germany. Along with twenty men of my crew, Lieutenant Peter, and the construction official, we have managed to get relief from the crowded conditions in the camp. We are cutting wood in Norway's inexhaustible forests, two thirds for a local farmer, one third for use in the camp. Eight days we have been out here under brilliant, sunny skies. Our tents are pitched in a valley between two lakes along a trout stream. We live as in the old days. We rise at 6:15 A.M. and work from 7 A.M. until noon. At first we were not used to this kind of work, but things go more smoothly now. If only our food were better! Inside the camp rations have been shortened again. Two and a half slices of bread. Yesterday the farmer brought us dried cod and potatoes. That should help some.

  The other day, after I had used their telephone, I sat down with the farmer and his wife for a while. They spoke very reasonably about the war. But what will certainly taint us are the horrors committed in the concentration camps. I simply cannot believe that it all happened. Today one of the Norwegian home guards said that Germans should be banned from setting foot on Norwegian soil for ten to twenty years. The hatred of the peoples around us encircles us like a strong wall. If we want to survive we must maintain our solidarity and help one another.

  August 12

  This is my last day here. I leave my men behind. It is a most painful farewell because with them I leave everything behind that has meant anything to me over the past few years: my hopes, my pride, my joys, and my home. I could stay on if I wanted to. But better a quick cut than a long agony, as one man after another will be going home in the weeks ahead.

  Comment:

  The remaining parts of my journal were stolen from me after a degrading bodily inspection along with the rest of my personal belongings. Virtually every German in captivity came to know this systematic and organized form of humiliation. The nights we spent without blankets on canvas sheets on the slimy, soggy ground. Interrogations under bright flashlights while the inquisitors remained in the dark. Body checks of the officers, naked in front of jeering British soldiers or hired hands from our own side who could now compensate for their inferiority complexes. The German soldier was spared nothing.

  On August 26 we finally stepped on German soil again. Gray skies mirrored the cheerless welcome we received. Only a few people took notice of the 3,000 prisoners who marched in long columns to the processing camp from where they would be released to their families. Bent down and daunted, as if burdened by a heavy load, they shuffled along. The only cheerful noise came from a group of young German girls who strolled along arm in arm with black Allied soldiers. Their babbling and screaming died suddenly when they became aware of our gray caravan. In contrast, the men who followed the Grand Admiral's orders and handed their boats over to the enemy to save the lives of hundreds of thousands of Germans (as the radio message had stated) were sent to work in Belgian and French coal mines and kept behind barbed wire for up to another two years in spite of promises of an early release.

  That is what the end looked like.

  U 2513 was transferred to England by one of my engineers, Lieutenant Brunner, and from there to the United States. In 1973 I spent some time as a guest in the house of Jim Bradley, who had once been the U.S. liaison officer at the Military Assistance and Advisory Group (MAAG). In his "captain's cabin" he kept photographs of all the ships and boats on which he had served as an engineering officer. Among other pictures I detected one showing a submarine very similar to our Type XXI boats. As it turned out, it was not only a German boat but my very own U 2513. Bradley had served as chief engineer on the bo
at when it was being used up, mainly as a target boat, at the anti-submarine warfare school in Key West, Florida.

  But one day U 2513 took over a very special task. After the war the Americans experimented with nuclear propulsion systems. To test a novel steering mechanism for those boats, U 2513 was selected as a guinea pig, so to speak, because of all conventional boats it enjoyed the highest underwater speed. This speed could be boosted for a short time to 24 knots by a special switching arrangement of the batteries. The project was so crucial that one day the President of the United States, Harry Truman, announced a visit to see it work. One day he showed up on board accompanied by the usual number of secret service agents. The boat then got under way, reached deeper waters, dived, and began the experiment. The president and his bodyguards stood in the central control room. To demonstrate the steering system in all its effectiveness, the boat's speed was increased to 24 knots. Suddenly, as a result of the heavy demand, the electrical system blacked out and complete darkness enveloped the men in the control room. The boat slowed down and the chief engineer repaired the short. When the lights came back on they illuminated the following scene. Guns drawn, the secret service agents had completely surrounded the president to protect him from harm. It is not difficult to imagine what had gone through their minds. In fact, this first time on a submarine had allowed their imaginations to run wild. After all, they had heard so much about German U-boats during the war and about mysterious missions after it had ended. It all came together when the lights went out, instilling in them the belief that a coup d'etat was under way. Thus my boat made history one more time. Later it was sold for scrap.