Steel Boat, Iron Hearts

by Hans Goebeler

  The next day was spent preparing U-505 for its transport into the dry dock inside the armored bunkers. Hundreds of little maintenance duties had to be accomplished before she could be moved and overhauled. Once these chores were completed, the shipyard workers took over. With our major responsibilities on the boat finished, the first train tickets to home were passed out to the crew. Half of us would go on furlough while the other half would perform watch and training duties onboard U-505. A week later, the other half of the crew would have their chance for leave.

  I felt that a few days of leave wasn’t sufficient for a proper visit to my parents, so I stayed the entire period before our next war patrol in Lorient. The first couple of days were spent cleaning and performing some minor maintenance duties aboard U-505. Once our boat had been hoisted into its armored dry dock, the real work began. We changed the oils, overhauled the engines, tested the controls, and dozens of other tasks. There was also more training to keep us current on the latest tactics and operational routines.

  The nights, however, were usually free of duty and we were able to enjoy some well-earned recreation. Our main destination was the U-bootsheim, the “U-boat Sailor’s Home” in Lorient, where we could watch the latest German movies, play cards, mail letters, buy cheap beer and snacks, and generally just relax and converse with fellow sailors.

  Despite the best efforts of the Navy to provide wholesome entertainment for us, the civilian entertainment district drew us toward it like a magnet. For boys like me, who had spent their entire lives in small agricultural villages, the streets of Lorient were like a dreamland. One would have never guessed from the gaiety of the nightlife on the streets that France was a defeated country, much less that there was a war going on anywhere.

  Our favorite street was nicknamed “Der Strasse der Bewegung” (The Street of Movement) because of the constant buzz of activity. Music and laughter poured from almost every window. French love songs, German sailor ditties, and even American jazz music, officially frowned-upon as decadent, combined in a crazy jumble of sound.

  The sweet scents of perfume also filled the night air with its hypnotic magic. There were certain houses renowned for the beautiful girls who, for a small fee, gave comfort and entertainment to lonely sailors. Glamorous mademoiselles with fancy dresses and flowers in their hair beckoned from the doorways. Speaking both German and French, the lovely sirens would tempt us to enter. “Come in, sailor! Good music, beaucoup dance, good drink, amour….”

  Once inside the establishments (etablissements), the Madam would personally greet us. “Hello, boys! How have you been? Just come back from the sea?”

  Taking our caps and leather coats, she would fuss over our newly won medals while the ladies came forward with bottles of wine and Anisette. The drinks were twice as expensive as in a regular bar, but who cares when a beautiful young girl is sitting in your lap? If all the girls were busy, we could pass the time watching motion picture films of the French art of love. Since most of us had never been with a girl before, these “training films” gave us plenty of ideas of what to do when our turn with the ladies finally came. After a few hours we would stagger back to our barracks, our faces covered with telltale traces of lipstick and rouge.

  In time, we developed a personal relationship with our favorite Madam. She would greet us by name when we entered and tell us when our pet girls were available. After a few weeks, when our money began running low, she would make sure that our drinks were “on the house.”

  We showed the same largesse to our comrades in the Navy. At the beginning of our leave, when we had lots of money, we would buy drinks for crewmen from other boats. A few weeks later, when we were broke and the time before our next patrol was running short, they would buy drinks for us. This reciprocal generosity built a sense of comradeship between us sailors. The comradeship sometimes even extended between us and the Army soldiers stationed in the area. For instance, I became good friends with a soldier from a nearby Panzer unit. I would share with him food and drink unavailable to Army troops’ he, in return, would take me for rides on some of the armored vehicles. One time later in the war I got to ride on top of a giant Tiger tank. It was great fun to roar about the maneuver area, smashing down small trees.

  Of course, it wasn’t all love and kisses during our leave time; we also enjoyed an occasional fight. Sometimes another U-boat crew would have a few too many beers and start bragging about how they had the best boat or the cleverest skipper. In cases like that, we had no choice but to knock some sense into their heads! We also didn’t like the administrative troops who somehow managed to drape their uniforms with medals for doing nothing more than pushing paper all day. While we were out on war patrol, these desk-sailing heroes would be safely back at base enjoying all that Lorient had to offer. There was nothing more satisfying than to let off some steam by throwing a scare into the little worms.

  The greatest object of our scorn, however, was the Feldgendarmerie, the military police. We called them “Chained Dogs” because of the big metal police gorget they wore suspended around their necks on a chain. They usually looked the other way and allowed us to go about our business when we first returned from a patrol. But after a couple of days, they would lose their patience and start to break up our fun. It was serious business to be arrested by the military police! If we saw the Chained Dogs coming, we would give a certain alarm whistle and our whole gang would split up into small groups and run in different directions. Later, we would rendezvous at our favorite bar and the fun would start all over again. Usually we didn’t want any trouble from the military police, but sometimes we were in the right mood to have a brawl with them, despite the risks.

  I know it must be difficult for someone who has never served aboard submarines to understand our desire to get drunk, cavort with prostitutes, and fight with the police. Our nation’s armed forces certainly didn’t have a reputation for tolerating these irresponsible kinds of behavior! But after being crammed into a steel cigar for three months with constant hard work and danger, a man must be allowed to let off steam. Luckily for us, the U-boat command understood this. Navy doctors regularly inspected the girls in the etablissements for diseases. The U-bootwaffe (Submarine Service) also gave us the finest food and drink available, and later in the war, would even send us on crew vacations to ski resorts. And when we did get in trouble, our skippers tried their best to intervene with the police on our behalf. I’m certainly not proud of everything we did in those days, but when you consider the fact that of the 38,000 men who served on U-boats during the war, more than 30,000 lost their lives, our behavior may seem a bit more forgivable.

  When I first arrived in Lorient, I spent most of my time walking up and down Der Strasse der Bewegung, sampling as many different girls as I could. Having so many beautiful women open to one’s advances was something I had never experienced before. Back in my little hometown of Bottendorf, most girls were careful not to get a bad reputation by sleeping with men. Such behavior, however, would earn a girl a very good reputation among us sailors in Lorient!

  Nevertheless, in time I developed a special relationship with one of the French girls I met. Her name was Jeanette and she worked in one of the etablissements officially approved by the U-boat service for visits by their crewmen. She was a pretty girl, with a slender figure and soft, light-brown hair. I liked her from the first moment I met her. I found myself going to her more and more often.

  Well, after one of our trysts one day, she asked me if I would like to accompany her to the coiffeur to have her hair cut. I was surprised by her request, but immediately accepted. I must admit that, contrary to my expectations, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. It was quite amusing to sit there waiting for Jeanette while the other French women in the place clucked their tongues and gossiped about us.

  Afterward, we went to a bistro and ate dinner. We spent a long time there, talking and laughing and learning about each other. I don’t know how or why it happened, but sometime during that dinne
r we realized that we had developed a deep affection for each other. We dared not call it love because of the hopelessness of our situations. After all, she was a young woman of the night having an affair with an enemy sailor, and I was a crew member of a U-boat with very little chance of surviving the war. Perhaps we felt close to each other because we both had such uncertain futures.

  Anyway, after we left the bistro, we were walking down the sidewalk when she abruptly stopped in front of a jewelry store. “Oh heavens,” I thought, “she wants me to buy her a ring!” But instead, she darted into the shop and a moment later emerged with a beautiful little St. Christopher pendant on a chain.

  “Here,” she said, “I want you to have this. St. Christopher is the protector of all sailors and travelers; he will bring you safely back to me.”

  When she handed it to me, I could see it was solid gold. I protested that the present was far too expensive, but she would hear none of it. After all, she said with a sly smile, it was my money that she had spent, anyway.

  After that evening, we grew very close. But it was a strange, complex relationship. We had a deep emotional bond between us, though we still took care not to use the word “love.” We still retained the “business” aspect of our relationship when I first returned from a patrol with plenty of money to spend. But after a few weeks when my money ran low, it was she who would pay for things. Indeed, she usually spent far more on me than I was ever able to spend on her. Sometimes, when I was laying in my bunk on a war patrol, I dared dream of a future for us.

  The following weeks passed quickly as final preparations were completed for U-505‘s next war patrol. We had clocked 13,253 nautical miles on our previous voyage, and the diesel engines had been badly in need of an overhaul. Once that was accomplished, we began the task of loading torpedoes and other stores aboard the boat. Unlike our first war patrol, this time we did not mind the overcrowding due to the storage of foodstuffs. We all remembered the gastronomic monotony and health hazards we experienced after running out of fresh food on our last trip. By the time we were finished, our control room looked like a restaurant pantry.

  We had also learned the layout of the boat well enough so that each of us had secret little hiding places where we stashed a few special, personal items. The nature of these items, of course, varied according to individual tastes. Tiny stockpiles of chocolate, cigarettes, liqueur, and little Souvenir booklets with pictures of women in scandalous poses were squirreled away throughout U-505.

  Before we left, Admiral Karl Dönitz, Commander-in-Chief of all U-boat forces, paid us a visit. Dönitz made it his policy to personally acquaint himself with his submarine skippers, and we crewmen were thrilled to see him cross the gangplank and board our boat. After conferring with Kapitänleutnant Löwe, Admiral Dönitz wrote in U-505’s war diary, “First mission of Captain with new boat, well and thoughtfully carried out. Despite long time in operations area, lack of traffic did not permit greater success.”

  The visit of the tall, distinguished Admiral to our sub made an everlasting impression on me. We U-boat men had unbounded confidence and respect for both his abilities and devotion to duty. It was for good reason that we called him “the Great Lion.” Many readers may not realize that in the final days of the war, Dönitz became Germany’s official head of state after Hitler’s death. After the war, despite the Allies’ intense desire for revenge, Dönitz (and the U-boat service in general) was absolved of any war crime guilt during the Nuremberg Trials, primarily due to the courageous testimony by the American Admiral Chester Nimitz.

  I never lost my admiration for Admiral Dönitz. In 1980, I attended his 89th birthday celebration at the Dönitz family’s ancestral home in Aumühle, Germany. In a short speech he delivered before we toasted the memory of our missing comrades, the Great Lion expressed his heartfelt gratitude for the loyalty and sacrifice made by his men in the U-boat service. It was a deeply emotional experience for all of us. Later that year, I received a personally signed letter from him, one of the last letters he ever wrote. Calling me Kamerad, he warmly acknowledged my efforts to organize a reunion for U-505 veterans. Finally, on January 6, 1981, I had the sad honor of attending his funeral. Großadmiral Karl Dönitz will be forever remembered, by both friend and foe, as a master strategist and a true gentleman.

  By early June, U-505 was ready for another war patrol. This time, lack of targets was not expected to be a problem: Admiral Dönitz had decided to send our boat to the fertile hunting grounds of the Caribbean Sea. Of course, the “officially neutral” United States had been aggressively attacking our U-boats since September of 1941, a full three months before her declaration of war on Germany. We were eager to get revenge for what we regarded as Roosevelt’s underhanded war against us. The Americans had made dramatic improvements in their anti-submarine operations since the early days of hostilities, but even so, it was expected that there would still be plenty of under-protected targets for us to sink.

  As far as we crew members were concerned, our next mission couldn’t begin soon enough. Despite the varied entertainment available to us, we had become fed-up with life on base. And, despite all its hardships and dangers, we yearned to return to the sea. Salt water, so to speak, was now in our blood. We also knew the war was entering a critical phase. The fighting was reaching a crescendo in Africa and in Russia, and we were eager to do our fair share for the war effort.

  So it was, on June 7, 1942, U-505 slipped out of Lorient harbor and we embarked on our second war patrol.

  This remarkable image was taken aboard U-505 on June 29, 1942, during a war patrol in the Caribbean. It shows the Thomas McKean, a new 7,400-ton freighter, burning a few hundred yards away. Author’s Collection

  Chapter 4

  Caribbean Cruise

  By 2030 Hours, we had cleared Lorient harbor and were heading for open waters. Our initial destination for this leg of the voyage was Grid Square DD50. Once there, the skipper opened his sealed orders to reveal our destination: the Caribbean Sea. Our mission was to prowl the western Caribbean and intercept traffic coming through the Panama Canal. A thrill ran through us when we heard we would be sailing across the Atlantic, for American waters were still rich hunting grounds for our U-boats at that stage of the war.

  The waters of the Bay of Biscay were being whipped by summer storms, so for the next several days we ran about one-third of the distance submerged in order to save wear and tear on our boat and crew.

  On June 11, we received several short FT radio telegrams from one of our sister boats from Lorient, Kapitänleutnant Heinrich Schuch’s U-105. The frantic messages reported that she had been attacked by aircraft and her situation was critical: she was leaking seriously and unable to submerge. The broadcasts ceased a few minutes later. We then received orders from Admiral Dönitz’s headquarters to speed to U-105 ‘s last reported position to render assistance. Before we reached her, however, we were ordered to resume our previous course. We all knew what that probably meant.

  When we returned to base after this patrol, we were relieved to learn U-105 had not sunk, but at the time we were all heartsick over what we assumed had happened to our comrades. I felt especially bad because I had been originally assigned to U-105 during my first month in Lorient. If not for a lucky transfer to U-505, I mused, I would be sharing that watery grave with my old friends right now. Of course, life goes on and I had to stay alert as ever at my duty station in the control room. But sometimes, when all was quiet except for the monotone rumble of the diesels, I would get lost in thought and imagine the faces of those boys sealed in their steel tomb at the bottom of the sea.

  Unfortunately, U-105’s good luck was the exception rather than the rule. Almost all of our comrades from that early period were eventually lost during the course of the war. The death of so many friends and family members caused some of us to become morose or frightened. Not me. As our casualties mounted, I became angry and more determined than ever to defeat our nation’s enemies. Perhaps I was just too young and
idealistic to read the writing on the wall, but I believed—right up until the very end—Germany would triumph in the war.

  The next couple of weeks passed quietly. We are able to run most of the time on the surface, making good time in our transit across the Atlantic. My favorite moments were passed on bridge watch, especially during the relatively cool nights. Blazing stars filled the summer heavens, the whole universe seemingly dipping and swaying with the gentle rocking of our boat. Around midnight, Anton “Toni” Kern our boat’s cook, would come to the bridge with his steaming pot of Mittelwächter, a welcomed mixture of very strong coffee laced with rum. He had to guard the pot like a hawk since the tasty black brew was very much desired by everyone in the crew, whether on watch or not.

  Toni and I became good friends. I remember the first time he tried to make a big pot of hot tea for the crew. Most Germans are coffee drinkers, so Toni had not been trained how to make tea during his four-week cooking course in U-boat School. In his ignorance, he used the same measure of tea leaves as one would use for coffee. He boiled the leaves until the tea was as black as old motor oil. The stuff tasted bitter as poison when we tried to drink it. Kapitänleutnant Löwe’s mother was Dutch, so the skipper was a big tea drinker. Naturally, he demanded it be properly brewed. It was very amusing to watch the skipper hovering over the stove like a patient old aunt, instructing a very embarrassed Toni on the intricacies of tea making.