NORTH SEA HUNTERS
Brad Harmer-Barnes
Copyright 2017 by Brad Harmer-Barnes
To Charlie, for encouraging me to do this, and Rey, for giving me a reason to.
At the start of the Second World War in September of 1939, the German Kriegsmarine was in possession of forty-six operational U-Boats.
A U-Boat commander’s primary mission was to operate against merchant ships, with the intent to cut off supplies to Great Britain. By the end of 1939, one hundred and fourteen merchant ships had been sunk by U-Boats.
The U-Boats were not invulnerable, however, and one in five U-Boats and their crews had also been lost. While excellent at hiding and striking from underwater, submarines were extremely susceptible to depth charges, and bombing or strafing runs from aeroplanes.
Then there is the case of the U-Boat known only as “U-616”.
Names of personnel and ships have been changed, as requested by their nation’s respective governments.
***
“The only thing that ever really frightened me during the war was the U-Boat peril.”
- Winston Churchill
-ONE-
“Alarm!”
The men who had – until now – been relaxing atop the deck of U-616 practically fell down the ladder into the darkened control room, in their haste to fulfil their allocated task. Bells rang and klaxons sounded as the crew of the Type VIIB U-Boat quickly began preparations to submerge. The crew span cranks, yanked levers and fastened bulkheads as the ballast tanks of the submarine began to fill with the sea water that would give them the necessary weight to sink below the waves.
Kapitänleutnant August Krauser had been in command of the U-616 ever since the war had started, though of his crew of forty-four, only twenty or so of the original members remained. Some had died in action, of course, but some had been transferred to other boats, or since promoted to command of their own vessels. They had been replaced by fresh, new faces, some of whom seemed barely old enough to grow a beard during the course of the two week long patrol. Nevertheless, regardless of their individual experience levels, the crew around him worked in unison, adjusting the levers and controls necessary for the boat to dive.
Krauser swept his gaze across the control room, where his second-in-command, Johann Hertz, was already in position. Slightly below average height, Hertz ran a hand through his dark blonde hair and flashed a smile to the captain, the grime and sweat on his face causing Krauser’s stomach to turn. Of course, he thought to himself, absently rubbing at the week’s-worth of growth on his face, you’re looking no better. Appearances were of no importance while at sea.
“Well, gentlemen…what do we have?” he asked, approaching the periscope.
“It’s a freighter,” replied Kleiner, his chief engineer. “We only just spotted it on the horizon when we called the alarm; but I’d hazard a guess that it’s four – perhaps even five – thousand tonnes.”
Krauser tried his best not to let his surprise (and perhaps a little excitement) show on his face. Kleiner had served with the U-616 since the beginning, and it was not uncommon for the man to get a little excitable as “The Hunt” approached. “Five thousand tonnes would be rather a large target, and a large victory for us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hertz, periscope.”
Hertz span down the periscope, and moved it into the correct position, before standing aside to offer control to the captain.
Krauser peered through the lenses. It took him a couple of minutes to find Kleiner’s freighter. Attempting to spot a small grey spot against a grey-blue sky and a blue-grey sea was hard enough without the distraction of the waves lapping against the upper lens of the periscope. After a little panning back and forth, he managed to focus on what Kleiner had seen. It was indeed a freighter; there was no mistaking that. The engineer had somewhat overestimated its size, but it was at least three thousand tonnes. Not exactly the trophy he had been secretly hoping for, but still a worthwhile target.
“Slow down,” he said. “Let’s keep low and attempt to engage when it turns dark. I can’t make out if it has an escort, and I don’t want to run the risk of coming across a destroyer in full daylight.”
“Yes, sir.” said Hertz.
“It doesn’t seem to be travelling very fast, so I think we can keep it in sight until then. What do you think, Mr Hertz?”
“I agree, sir.”
Krauser suppressed a sigh. “But you have another suggestion, don’t you?”
His second in command feigned confusion. “Sir?”
Krauser straightened up and raised an eyebrow. At thirty, he was at least five years younger than Hertz, and he knew that this bothered the man. Although, in theory, rank and experience counted for everything; he knew that in actuality men still judged age to be a factor. You were taught from a young age to respect your elders, but respecting a younger man in a higher position than you was hard. “I know you well enough to know that you have an alternative suggestion. I would like to hear it.”
Hertz swallowed, before replying. “Sir, the torpedoes are unreliable at best. I’d estimate there’s possibly as high as a one in four failure rate. I would prefer to rely on the deck gun, if possible.”
Klauser gave the idea some consideration. There was an eighty-eight millimetre cannon mounted to the deck of the boat, but he was sceptical of its uses. You needed to be close and – perhaps more significantly – you needed to be surfaced. The deck gun may be less susceptible to dud rounds than the electric or even steam driven torpedoes, but it was nowhere near as explosive when it did strike a target.
“We will approach the ship as per my orders. Once we are closer, I will reassess the risk and consider using the deck gun. I hope this is satisfactory to you, Mr Hertz?”
“Your orders, sir.”
Krauser turned from the command room, and toward the rear of the boat, squeezing past shifting, stinking sailors in the painfully cramped corridor. Food and supplies were stuffed into every nook and cranny in a desperate attempt to save on space. When they had first set out, one of the toilets had been turned into a larder, and wasn’t usable until the crew had managed to eat their way through it.
Finally squeezing between a semi-naked gunner and a crate of cured ham, he reached his bunk. Most of the crew had to share a bed. When your shift was finished, you threw out the man sleeping in your allocated space, and replaced him until, several hours later, it was once again his turn to replace you. Being Captain had certain privileges, though, and a bunk of his own was the one that he took the greatest pleasure in. Far from being an opulent, wood panelled cabin, such as he might have been given on a surface ship, it was a bunk like any other on board the boat. It did have two luxuries, however. Firstly, there was a curtain that he could draw for a little privacy. Secondly, he didn’t have to share it with anyone. It was his and his alone.
The U-616 was a Type VIIB class U-Boat. Active since 1936, the Type VIIs were the backbone of the German navy – the Kriegsmarine. They were attack boats built to withstand depths of up to two hundred and fifty metres, and had – so far – been the most successful submarines of the war. A capacity of fourteen torpedoes, complemented by Hertz’s much loved eighty-eight millimetre deck gun and an anti-aircraft gun placed it head and shoulders above its predecessor, the Type VIIA.
It was obvious to all that even Winston Churchill was rattled by how successful their raids on the North Atlantic and North Sea around the British Mainland had been. Several thousand tonnes of supplies – both civilian and military – had been lost to the “wolfpacks” of submarines operating in unison, or even to lone hunters, such as the position in which the U-616 was now operating.
Krauser opted to leave the cur
tain to his bunk open. It was nice to have privacy, but it also helped morale if he could show himself to be approachable; and it was only a matter of minutes before someone did stop to see him.
“How are things, my Captain?”
Krauser set down the book that he had yet to make it past page twenty of, and smiled at his old friend.
“Until now, things have been rather too quiet.”
Dr Josef Arnold was the ship’s medical officer, responsible for taking care of any sick and injured crew. On a good trip, there was nothing for him to do, other than to pitch in during times of great strain and difficulty. A bad trip - such as the previous patrol, which had seen an ensign break both arms when a torpedo tore loose of its mountings - would end in the doctor tired beyond all measure.
“Too quiet? Can there really be such a thing?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, doctor and all too easily. A quiet ship is a quiet crew, and a quiet crew is a bored crew. You know that some of the men have arranged a chess tournament?”
“I’m confident I’ll make it through to the quarter finals, at least.”
Krauser laughed. “I don’t doubt it. Blumenfeld is a good player, though. I think he will take the prize.”
“And what is the prize?”
“A bottle and a woman of your choice at the next shore leave.”
“Then I expect you shall be playing your hardest?”
The Captain shook his head and sat up in his bunk. “No, I will not be entering. It’s uncomfortable for the crew when I join in these things. They don’t want to beat me, but they don’t want to be seen to be losing too easily to me either. It is better I do not join in.”
“It sounds to me like you’re trying to avoid losing.”
Krauser threw up his hands in defeat. “Yes, yes; I am awful at chess. I lack the ability to plan forward more than one move at a time. Sometimes I can see two, I suppose, but a truly great chess player can be ten, fifteen, twenty moves beyond you, in his head. I lack that foresight, that memory, that…forethought.”
Dr Arnold raised his eyebrows. “Rather an odd admission for the captain of a sea vessel, in time of war.”
Krauser lowered his voice, now wishing that he did have a cabin or an office of his own. “I suppose that is why this particular role suits me so well. I can cruise along, and only have to come up with a strategy once we actually engage the target. I don’t have to worry about where the enemy is three weeks in advance, or the counterintelligence he has. I just have to turn up, and engage on the fly, almost. I will never be a Dönitz, or a Rommel – or even a Churchill, for that matter – but this? This is a job I can do.”
“I understand completely. For me, every patient is a surprise. I don’t know what sickness or injury will greet me until I see it with my own eyes. It is both a blessing and curse.”
Krauser stood from his bunk, and gripped the doctor’s arm. “It is good, then, that we have both found careers that so suit our abilities and foibles.”
The doctor nodded. “Is there anything I can do to help you at present, my Captain?”
Krauser shook his head. “I, and all my chief staff, are well. So, unless you want to provide me some chess lessons…”
“And give away all my best strategies? The prize is mine, sir!”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Hertz, stinking and sweating. “Sir, we have determined that the freighter is unescorted. Permission to surface?”
Krauser nodded. While known for operating underwater, truth be told, U-Boats were only supposed to do so when threatened, or otherwise attempting to avoid detection. “Permission granted. Surface, but slowly if possible.”
“Yes, sir.” Hertz snapped and headed quickly to the control room.
“He likes being in the control room when you’re not there,” said Dr Arnold, wryly. “It gives him a chance to play act as captain for a while.”
Krauser knew the doctor was right, and it irked him a little. He thought he was the only one who had detected Hertz’s suppressed resentment, but apparently this was not the case. “He’s a good man. He would make an excellent captain – on another ship, mind – if he managed to get that chip off his shoulder.”
“Agreed. Anyway, I shall let you rest. I have chess to practice.”
The U-616 sailed slowly through the North Sea, unseen by the Norwegian supply ship Freyr, bound for Britain, with a cargo of meat, fish and clothing. An experienced sailor can easily navigate by the moon and the stars, of course; and the crews of both the U-616 and the Freyr were experienced, trained and able to do so. Truth be told, most could navigate to their destination armed only with a map and a compass; but the night holds other dangers. Darkness holds other dangers.
The sea is dark, and the sea is deep, and it holds many secrets.
At ten o’clock that night, Krauser climbed from his bunk and made his way to the control room. The attack would begin shortly.
-TWO-
Krauser stepped into the control room to salutes from Hertz and the attendant seamen. There was a tension in the air, such as always preceded an attack like this. Days and days of no action took a toll on the men who had signed up to do their part for their country, and nothing blew off some steam quite like firing a brace of torpedoes towards a fat, juicy target.
“Report, Mr Hertz,” said Krauser, stepping to the periscope.
“Vessel is a Norwegian freighter, sir. Heading for either North England or Scotland. We’re matching speed at fifteen knots, at present. No sign of escort, or air support.”
Krauser peered through the periscope at the darkness all around them. The ship was close now, but he was confident that the U-Boat would sit too low in the water to be easily spotted. He was able to read the name Freyr on the side. The Norse goddess of the harvest. “Let’s go up top. I can’t see much through the scope at night.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two of them, accompanied by four men – two to arm the flak gun, two to the deck gun – climbed up through the hatch. The noise inside a U-Boat was a constant drone of diesel and machinery that was cacophonous at first, but eventually became such a constant background that one barely noticed it. Up top, the waves and the wind were just as loud, but they were jarringly different. The whirring and oscillating of the noises of the U-Boat were at least a constant. The noises of the waves playing against the side of the boat, the howling of the wind, and the distant chug of the Freyr’s engines were all somehow discordant and chaotic compared to the consistency of the submarine.
Krauser wished he’d brought a windbreaker up with him, and suppressed a shiver in the North Sea breeze. Hertz had come prepared, and while he said nothing, Krauser still felt as though he was taking this as yet another of his silent victories over the younger captain. He pulled his binoculars up, and studied the vessel. “That hull looks to be reinforced.”
“Sir?”
“I don’t think the deck gun will penetrate. Prepare to fire torpedoes.”
“Sir, I must protest. The deck gun carries eighty-eight millimetre shells; that’s more than even our largest tanks can fire, and this is just a freighter…”
“It’s a large freighter, Mr Hertz. And I intend to see it destroyed as quickly and efficiently as possible. The torpedoes will not have to worry as much about penetrating the armour, and the wind…The wind, Mr Hertz, will make the deck gun inaccurate. We will fire torpedoes.”
“Sir, I really have confidence in our men and our equip-“
“Do you not also have faith in your Captain, Mr Hertz?”
The seamen accompanying them shifted awkwardly in the silence. Krauser mentally cursed. He hated that this showdown had happened in front of the men, regardless of their number. He didn’t need rumours of a rift between officers spreading across his boat.
Hertz blinked and composed himself before replying. “I have faith in my Captain, sir.”
“See that you do. I have faith in my men, and I have faith in my equipment. All I ask is that they have faith in
me in return.”
“Yes, sir.”
Krauser eyed Hertz for a little longer, before climbing back down into the command room. “Prepare to fire a volley of three steam torpedoes.”
The U-616 carried two different types of torpedoes in its arsenal. The G7a was steam propelled, and was by far more reliable and had a greater range than the G7e. The G7e was propelled with the aid of a lead-acid battery, and while it was more susceptible to failure than its steam driven cousin, the lack of jet or tell-tale bubbles made it much harder to detect when fired. However, with no escort on hand to interfere, Krauser felt that the steam driven torpedoes would make a much better option.
Shouts and alarms and knocks and bells indicated that his order was being relayed to the men working the torpedo bay. This was their first attack of this patrol, and the men were ready and eager. The rattles and clanks and gentle groans and screeches rattled around the ship, and back to the command room as the seven metre long torpedoes were slid into their compartments, and the bulkheads sealed shut behind them.
Krauser peered through the periscope one more time. This moment was the one he hated and loved the most. The moment where he could feel the present being split into two different futures, one where he called off the attack, and was not responsible for the deaths of innocent people; and the one he knew that he had to take, where the war marched on, and his part was but a minor speck of ash in the fire that consumed the world.
The moment seemed to drag until he finally broke the oppressive silence. “Fire one.”
Shouts of “Fire One!” echoed down the noisy, humid length of the boat as his order was relayed once more. Then there was a shuddering jolt felt the length of the command room as the first torpedo spat forth towards its target.
“First torpedo away, sir!” called Hertz, sweat pouring off his forehead.
Krauser continued to watch through the periscope. The seconds ticked by.
North Sea Hunters Page 1
