Hunt and Kill

by Theodore P. Savas

  Oberleutnant (Ing) Josef Hauser also transferred aboard as an engineering officer in order to develop his hands-on experience under Förster, the boat’s chief engineer, before potentially replacing him in that capacity. Hauser, too, was unpopular with the majority of the crew. The addition of a freshly trained engine room Maat who also enjoyed exercising his own authority over the most mundane of matters further served to divide the boat’s company, leaving the lower ranks largely critical of their superiors. Förster and II.W.O. Stolzenburg were the only commissioned men the crew still viewed with respect. The transformation of U-505 into a vehicle for its new officers was continued when the conning tower emblem was changed. Zschech felt it necessary to make a clear statement he was now in charge. Gone was the rampant lion emblem of Loewe’s era, which was replaced by the Olympic Rings of the Officer’s Crew of 1936, alongside the large battle axe—the only part of Loewe’s Wappen Zschech allowed his new crew to keep.

  On October 4, 1942, U-505 received the traditional send-off from well-wishers ashore and headed under minesweeper escort for the Bay of Biscay, its conning tower and deck festooned with flowers. The boat’s destination was again the western Atlantic. As France ebbed from view several sailors began throwing the garlands overboard, maritime superstition maintaining that flowers be removed from the boat before losing sight of land lest they bring bad luck. An outraged Zschech screamed at them to stop. A bewildered Stolzenburg, who had ordered their removal, tried to explain but was silenced by an irate Zschech, who had swiftly turned his rage on him. The flowers remained as U-505 sailed west. The relationship between commander and crew dipped still lower.

  Zschech and Bode kept the crew busy during their Atlantic crossing with whatever mundane chores they could provide. The last obstacle to Zschech’s complete domination of the boat was removed on October 22. Once U-505 reached the western fringes of the Atlantic, BdU radioed that Förster was to transfer to Hans-Jürgen Auffermann’s U-514, a new boat with the 10th U-Flotilla. Auffermann’s boat had suffered severe depth charge damage following successful torpedo attacks, and Förster’s experience and mechanical expertise were needed to repair the nearly crippled boat and keep it at sea. Hauser took charge of U-505’s engineering crew. His inexperience and grating personality continued to irritate his comrades.27

  Zschech’s combat inauguration as commander finally arrived on November 7 while patrolling east of Trinidad. His alert watch sighted a solo steamer a little after midnight. The diesels pounded into high gear as he took up the chase. After about one hour Zschech launched a pair of torpedoes but both missed, probably because the target’s speed had been incorrectly estimated into the firing solution. U-505 bucked through choppy seas as Zschech tried to close the range for a second attack. Alerted to the danger, the quarry ran hard and the new commander attempted a long distance shot. At 2,000 meters two more torpedoes sped on their way, a distance that ensured a nail-biting wait for the German crewmen. At two minutes and thirty-seven seconds the distinctive sound of the steel torpedo striking its target was heard, followed a moment later by a deafening explosion. The 7,173-ton British Liberty-type ship SS Ocean Justice had been fatally holed. Traveling from Karachi to New York via Trinidad, the large steamer carried 600 tons of Manganese ore as ballast. The second torpedo sealed the ship’s fate when it exploded slightly forward of where the first torpedo had impacted. Its master, Captain Thomas Edward Daniel, ordered his crew and naval gunners to abandon ship. As Ocean Justice slipped below the waves red-hot boilers exploded when the cooler seawater washed up over them. Two men were carried into the depths.28

  U-505 left the area and continued the hunt. The boat was routinely hounded by aircraft for the next several days. A single attack was attempted during this period with four torpedoes against a distant freighter on November 9, but the effort was foiled by air escorts and the target’s prudent zigzagging. The next day Zschech made a prolonged submerged run away from the aerial plague and surfaced during daylight east of Trinidad beneath a low overcast canopy. Stolzenburg was first on watch and eyed the overhanging grey cover with justifiable apprehension. Sailing exposed only 150 miles from Trinidad’s RAF airfields provided good reason for his fear, and he requested the bridge watch be doubled and U-505 trimmed down to enable a swift dive if needed. The low cloud cover also favored their aerial adversaries. This prudent request inflamed Zschech’s temper; U-505 motored on without any extra security measures in place.

  At 1514 local time, a Hudson bomber from Trinidad’s RAF 53 Squadron dropped from the clouds without warning and straddled U-505 with depth charges. The attack took the boat completely by surprise. The bomber’s pilot, Flight Sergeant Sillcock, had perfected a technique that turned the Germans’ reliance on Metox against them. When searching the area of a suspected U-boat sighting, Sillcock would acquire the target at range by radar and then switch off his set and approach at high altitude until he could see his quarry. At that point he would cut his engines and silently glide out of the sun until he reached bombing height just above sea level, when he would restart his engines and swoop over the startled U-boat like a giant bird of prey. The depth charges dropped perfectly and exploded with a thunderous roar around U-505. Unfortunately for Sillcock and his crew, his attack was too precise. A single deadly canister landed on the stern deck and prematurely exploded there, but most of the force of the blast was directed upward against Sillcock’s aircraft, which broke apart and plunged into the sea, killing its entire crew. The pilot’s body was later spotted by the Germans lying spread-eagled on one of the bobbing wings.29

  Pandemonium gripped the interior of the boat. The explosions shook the submarine as if grasped in a giant’s fist, throwing its crew about and temporarily stunning and deafening them. The bombs, remembered Decker, felt like “a series of rapid shocks and explosions [that] literally lifted us off our feet. The lights went out and the engine room watch stared unbelievingly as a jet of water sprayed against the port diesel. We were hurt.” Zschech raced white-faced to the conning tower and bellowed for the crew to prepare to abandon ship—an order belayed by the grim-faced and seething Obermaschinist Otto Fricke, who stormed into the control room and angrily declared that everybody else could jump overboard if they wanted to, but he and his technical crew were staying aboard to keep U-505 afloat. His retort spoke volumes about the lack of respect the men had for their new commander.

  Fricke’s instincts proved correct: U-505 was not sinking. A large hole had been ripped in the pressure hull, but the Obermaschinist and his engineers managed to plug it, as they did the numerous small leaks around the port diesel engine. Bilge pumps brought flooding under control and thick acrid smoke was sucked away by switching the starboard diesel air supply to the choking interior. “Other boats with the same damage might have sunk,” recalled a member of the engineering team, “but our crew knew what to do, and we did keep her afloat.” Order was restored while a bewildered Zschech stood in his control room. Although the conning tower was covered in blood, miraculously none of the bridge watch had been killed by the blast, although several had been seriously injured. In a twist of irony, the most severely wounded was Stolzenburg, who had suffered severe injuries to his head and body. After he was carried below it was discovered several of his ribs were broken and a lung had probably been punctured. The young officer spit up blood and a moderate fever soon overtook him. Difficulty breathing added to the considerable pain that wracked his body. Stolzenburg desperately needed medical attention.

  The crew, meanwhile, began to take in the enormity of their narrow escape. “The wooden planks of the upper deck aft of the conning tower looked as if a bulldozer had ploughed across them,” remembered Goebeler:

  In the centre of the damage, an enormous hole gaped half way across the entire topside hull of the boat, exposing a jumble of smashed and broken equipment below.…Fully half of the steel side plates of the conning tower were either gone or hanging limply, clanging against each other in time with the gentle rocking of the wav
es. One depth charge had exploded on the pressurized tubes where the spare torpedoes were stored, completely destroying one of the torpedoes except for the warhead section. If that torpedo warhead had gone off, none of us would have survived.30

  Radio appeals for medical assistance were made to BdU while the crew spent hours laboring over their injured boat. Unable to dive, the boat was completely at the mercy of any passing enemy bomber or approaching escort. The port diesel, knocked out of action by the blast, refused resurrection, although the pressure hull was successfully patched with steel salvaged from the upper decking and conning tower. Work had barely begun when someone on the bridge watch shouted “Aircraft to starboard!”—a second plane! “There we were, helpless, and not a gun in operation,” remembered Decker. Zschech immediaely ordered a change of course to put the boat’s “stern to the enemy to present the smallest silhouette. It worked, and we breathed deeply as the plane disappeared.” The next days, recalled one crewman, “were a nightmare.”

  After four days of lying dangerously exposed Zschech eased U-505 beneath the surface. “It was deathly still in the boat when we shut down the diesels. No one moved,” Decker recalled years later. Zschech ordered the boat’s chief to flood the tanks. The 20 meter mark was reached. “All clear! 30 meters—all clear; 40, 45.” The boat was sinking too rapidly. Decker was in the engine room when “a loud clank sounded…The battered pressure hull had buckled inward a few centimeters.” Zschech ordered the boat up, announcing, “We can only dive to thirty meters with any safety!” A collective sigh was exhaled throughout the boat. “We could dive!” Decker explained. “We had a chance!”

  While the hull proved generally water tight, it would obviously be unable to withstand the pressure generated by a deeper dive. Although it trailed a thick oil slick, U-505 was otherwise sound. BdU responded quickly to Zschech’s request for medical assistance: “Nearest Doctor with [Kurt-Eduard] Engelmann [U-163] in ED90. Also Doctor with [Bruno] Vowe [U-462] in EH60. Rendezvous with latter no sooner than 13th. Report nature of injury at once. Also whether very prolonged rendezvous seems necessary.”31

  Whatever relief the crew may have felt at their narrow escape vanished when Zschech made his desire known to take the crippled boat into Trinidad’s Port of Spain harbor in search of prey. The move was not without precedent. In February 1942, Kapitänleutnant Albrecht Achilles had slipped U-161 into the harbor and attacked shipping at anchor there. He repeated his unique offensive style against Saint Lucia and Costa Rica. But Zschech was no Achilles, and U-505 was not in any condition to launch an offensive operation, let alone one against a heavily defended harbor. Undeterred, Zschech headed toward Trinidad. On the way he attempted an unsuccessful attack against a distant freighter that brought swift and accurate retribution from RAF bombers. The boat was lucky to escape once more. Stormy weather followed. The crew cursed the horrible conditions while continuing to carry out repair work. Their only respite was the lashing rain and high winds, which at least kept enemy aircraft at bay. Stored torpedoes from the damaged topside canisters were jettisoned. Eventually Zschech had a change of heart and abandoned his bizarre scheme, reinforced by radio messages from Lorient directing U-505 to rendezvous with Schuch’s U-154 in grid square EE60. The two boats met on November 13, but the only help Schuch could offer was twenty ampules of morphine for the injured Stolzenburg, who languished below in pain.

  That same day BdU again ordered the crippled boat to rendezvous with Vowe’s Milchkuh U-462. Two days after Vowe brusquely radioed BdU to question when U-505 would arrive. Zschech’s damaged submarine made its appearance on November 22. The tanker U-boat was in the act of refueling Merten’s U-68 when U-505 arrived. Kptlt. Johannes Liebe’s U-332 was also present. Vowe’s doctor transferred aboard to check Stolzenburg and the other less severely wounded men while Merten passed over a small quantity of spare torpedoes. As diesel fuel pumped through the heavy hoses trailing from the tanker and crewmen transferred food and mechanical equipment, Lt.z.S. R. Knocke, a replacement II.W.O., shipped across on a dingy to replace the unfortunate Stolzenburg, who was removed to U-462 for immediate and probably lifesaving surgery.32

  After the rendezvous U-505 continued her homeward trek. The aggressive Zschech attempted to attack distant shipping but was foiled, his single functioning diesel being unequal to the task. The journey was hard on the battered boat and crew. The men experienced one of the most frightful days of their war in early December and only a few days short of Lorient and safety. A distant ship was spotted and Zschech did his best to set up for a long torpedo shot. The torpedo, however, malfunctioned and the bridge crew watched in horror as it circled back toward U-505, striking the boat at an angle too oblique to trigger the contact detonator. “That’s enough for this trip!” Zschech exclaimed. It was a narrow escape, but the impact cracked some of the repair welding and the boat began to leak again. One cannot help but wonder how many of the men speculated whether any more luck was left in their battered Type IX.

  The crew’s torment ended on December 12 when Lorient was reached. A large crowd of awed spectators was on hand to welcome the boat back to port. “The whole 2nd Flotilla staff came aboard,” to inspect the damage, said Decker, who remembers the flotilla’s chief engineer’s remark, “This is the most damaged boat ever to come back under its own power.” The crew was just relieved to be once again on friendly terra firma. Drunken celebrations stretched into the night, followed by an awards ceremony and the lifting of the crippled U-505 on the Kéroman slipway for extensive and time-consuming repairs. It would be months before U-505 would be fit enough to sail again.

  Admiral Dönitz had been battling deadly Allied aircraft since the beginning of the war, but the danger from the air was only getting worse. At a Paris conference on June 16, 1942, BdU and various OKM department heads discussed several important matters, one of which was U-boat anti-aircraft strategy. The development and testing of radar detectors was given top priority, but plans to increase and improve the flak weaponry carried aboard U-boats was also an important agenda issue. A decision was reached to attach an additional conning tower kiosk aft of the existing flak station on every U-boat. Construction was scheduled to begin as soon as materials became available.

  U-505’s silhouette changed completely during its extended stay at Kéroman. The entire conning tower had been replaced with new shielding, and an extended lower platform Wintergarten was added to carry the firepower of a four-barrelled Vierling anti-aircraft weapon. Completing the powerful array of flak weaponry were two twin-barrelled 2cm. cannons mounted on the platform above. The deck gun, once so important for sinking ships, was now essentially superfluous because remaining on the surface was no longer viable and its top-heavy load posed a danger of overweighting the increasingly top heavy superstructure. It was removed.

  Not until June 1943 was U-505 released from the dockyards to re-enter active service. During the six months of repair the face of war had irrevocably changed. By the middle of 1943 Germany had suffered what are now recognized as irreversible defeats on nearly every front. In the Soviet Union, Stalingrad was lost together with more than 100,000 Sixth Army survivors, few of whom would ever see their homes again. Further north, Russian advances lifted the cruel siege of Leningrad. The massive Allied invasion of North Africa late in 1942, tagged “Operation Torch,” had trapped the Axis forces operating in that theater in a constricting vise, leaving Rommel and his vaunted Afrika Korps with a powerful enemy on two fronts. The Germans and Italians finally surrendered in Tunisia in May 1943. Even more devastating for Zschech, his crew on U-505, and their flotilla mates, was what had transpired at sea during their half-year hiatus. That May, the Kriegsmarine lost forty-one boats in a bloodletting that clearly signalled the U-boat tonnage war was a forlorn hope. Dönitz had little choice but to admit defeat and withdraw his boats from the Atlantic. Decker wrote what many of his comrades were thinking at that time when he observed, “This was getting to be a suicidal trade we were following.”33

&nb
sp; Despite these horrific defeats the spirit of “Uncle Karl’s” men remained largely unbroken. Realizing convoy battles were no longer possible until new weapons and boats were developed, Dönitz focused his energies instead on distant lone-wolf operations in which the bulky Type IX boats excelled. The nature of the U-boat war, however, had changed even more dramatically than Dönitz realized. Not only had the threat of aerial attack significantly increased, but enemy advances in radar and improved anti-submarine tactics and weapons—coupled with the ability to decipher German wireless transmissions by the breaking of the Enigma code—had utterly tipped the scales in favor of the Allies. Even the ports themselves had become a killing ground, with overworked minesweepers constantly clearing ground mines sown by RAF bombers during their many raids over naval bases.34

  Promoted to Kapitänleutnant that April, Zschech finally put to sea on July 1. With little fanfare the boat eased from port on electric motors. Every crewman except those essential below decks were assembled on the forward casing, kneeling and wearing life jackets—a new directive thought to provide the greatest chance of survival should the boat activate a magnetic mine. Tribulations began almost immediately. As dusk fell both diesels sputtered and died. Mechanics eventually coaxed the engines back to life and U-505 ploughed forward once again. As was customary, the submarine made ready for a trial dive once past the 200-meter depth curve, beyond the threat posed by magnetic ground mines. The boat eased down to forty meters, its electric motors purring quietly. To Hauser’s dismay a stream of water was discovered jetting into the pressure hull through the starboard propeller shaft. Zschech and his officers discussed the problem and opted to continue, hoping the flow would ease or stop once the shaft expanded slightly from the heat generated by the friction of normal use. Unfortunately it was not to be and U-505 made an ignominious return to base.