Dusk fell at about 10.30 p.m., and in accordance with his usual custom Baker-Cresswell sent off the Amazon and Broadway to search out to ten miles on either beam of the convoy; but they sighted nothing, and soon returned to their night screening positions. Meanwhile the 7th Escort Group’s four corvettes were carrying out an extensive search astern of the convoy, before making for their new rendezvous. As an additional precaution, at 11.45pm. Commodore Mackenzie made an evasive 30-degree turn to starboard; and by midnight the 3rd Escort Group had settled down to what seemed likely to prove yet another night’s watchful screening, with little to disturb the peace except the continuous “ pinging ” of their Asdics and the periodic rings of the zig-zag clocks.
But U-boat Headquarters had not yet finished with OB.318, and on the 8th Dönitz wrote in his War Diary that he was moving the northern boats further west “ for the reasons set out on 6th May ” (i.e., to take advantage of the greater spread of our shipping between 25° and 30° West1). Six boats were immediately affected (U.94, U.556, U.201, U.97, U.93 and U.98); but another one, U.110, had meanwhile arrived south of Iceland from France, and as she concerns us very intimately we will follow her history in some detail.
Her Commanding Officer was Kapitänleutnant Fritz-Julius Lemp, who was the son of an army officer and was born in the Germany colony of Tsingtao (China) in February, 1913. He had joined the Navy early in 1931, and achieved his first command seven years later. Although we did not know it until after the war Lemp had achieved a high degree of notoriety as Captain of U.30 by sinking the Donaldson liner Athenia with heavy loss of life on the very day that war was declared. Even in German circles that act caused some consternation, for it directly contravened Hitler’s orders that the U-boats were to wage war only in accordance with the Hague Conventions. Hitler’s reasoning was not altruistic. He wished only to avoid a repetition of the consequences of sinking ships such as the Lusitania in the 1914–18 war. Lemp’s actions were fully investigated, and he was held to have mistaken the Athenia for a troopship, and to have “ acted in good faith ”; but the Germans decided to hush the whole matter up, the incriminating pages were removed from U.30’s log and destroyed, and the whole truth did not come out until the trials of the major “ war criminals ” took place at Nuremberg. The circumstances in which the Athenia was sunk, and the actions taken to conceal the identity of the culprit were then produced as evidence in support of the charges against Dönitz. On the British side the consequences of Lemp’s action against the Athenia were by no means wholly unfortunate; for it convinced us that the Germans intended at once to resume unrestricted U-boat warfare against merchantmen, and so eliminated our last lingering doubts regarding the need to sail ships in convoy.
Lemp made no less than eight war cruises in U.30, but only three of them yielded any significant results. It was he who, on 28th December, 1939, hit the battleship Barham with one torpedo, and on arriving back in Germany from his eighth sortie in August, 1940, he found himself a hero with nine merchantmen alleged to total 46,500 tons to his credit. Though his actual sinkings, including the Athenia, amounted to only six ships (31,648 tons), he was entertained by Dönitz and awarded the Knight’s Insignia of the Iron Cross.
On 21st November, 1940, Lemp commissioned the new Type IXB boat U.110 at Bremen. She was a 1,050-ton “ Atlantic boat,” of a class which gave the enemy excellent service in the more distant waters. Her “ legend ” was as follows:—
LENGTH: 252.5 feet.
BEAM: 22.3 feet.
DRAUGHT (laden): 15.5 feet.
DISPLACEMENT: 1,050 tons surfaced.
1,178 tons submerged.
MAXIMUM SPEED: 18.2 knots (on surface).
7.3 knots (submerged).
ENDURANCE: 12,400 miles at 10 knots, on diesel-electric drive.
64 miles at 4 knots submerged, on electric motors.
DIVING DEPTH: 330 feet.
ARMAMENTS: 4 bow, 2 stern torpedo tubes; 19 torpedoes carried or, alternatively, 44–66 mines (depending on type).
1–10.5 cm. (4.2 inch) quick-firing gun.
1–37 mm. and 2–20 mm. A.A. guns.
Lemp took with him to U.110 three officers who had served with him in U.30 (Oberleutnants-zur-See, Greger and Loewe, and Leutnant Wehrhofer), and in November, 1940, the new boat sailed for the Baltic to carry out trials. She was, however, delayed by defects which developed in her diesels and her electric motors, and it was 9th March, 1941, before she was ready to sail on her first war cruise. The middle of that month saw the “ wolf pack ” attack on convoy HX.112 in which U.99 (Kretschmer) and U.100 (Schepke) were sunk.1 Lemp’s U.110 was also involved in that operation. He sank the 6,207-ton tanker Erodona on 15th March, and was then hunted by the Volunteer and Vanoc; but he got away, and took no part in the next night’s attacks when his two distinguished colleagues lost their ships. On 23rd March Lemp pursued a small Norwegian ship and engaged her with his guns; but one of the crew evidently forgot to remove the gun’s muzzle tampion before firing (an omission which has also been known in the Royal Navy!), the gun exploded and the boat’s periscope was damaged. Lemp had to abandon his cruise, and arrived in Lorient on 29th. He considered that his young crew had, with few exceptions, done well on their first war operation, and that they were now “ efficient and blooded.” Dönitz visited the ship soon after her arrival in port, and awarded several Iron Crosses. He seems to have had a soft spot for Lemp, and wrote on his report that he agreed with all the Captain’s remarks and actions—except regarding the forgotten gun tampion! There is no doubt at all that Lemp was a very popular as well as an efficient Commanding Officer; for his crew later described him as “ well liked, even-tempered, very determined, and possessed of unshakable calm ”; but while at Lorient after U.110’s first cruise Oberleutnant Dietrich Loewe relieved Greger as First Lieutenant; and he was evidently a very different type of man.
Though a cousin of Lemp, who was certainly not the man to tolerate discord in his ship or inefficiency among his crew, Loewe was apparently not popular with the men, who held him in small regard. Moreover German sailors (like British ones) are evidently superstitious; and the fact that two of the ships in which Loewe had previously served had been sunk made them regard him as something of a “ Jonah.” He was, moreover, an ardent Nazi, and seems to have behaved callously towards his subordinates. To make matters worse the junior executive officer, Leutnant-zur-See Ulrich Wehrhofer, was regarded as unreliable. If indeed one accepts the contemporary views of their shipmates regarding those two officers it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that Lemp himself must have been a poor judge of character. On the other hand the Engineer Officer, Leutnant Hans-Joachim Eichelborn, had a pleasant personality and was considered very competent at his job. The Petty Officers were nearly all experienced men, who had served some time with Lemp. One of them, who had formerly been an officer in the Merchant Navy, had been shockingly treated in a concentration camp—presumably because of his political views. In marked contrast to the senior ratings, many of the younger men were still very raw and inexperienced; and, in spite of the Captain’s optimism, those who had watched their reactions during the first cruise had serious doubts regarding their ability to face a serious emergency without panicking. The total complement was four officers (Lemp, Loewe, Wehrhofer and Eichelborn), fifteen Petty Officers and 27 junior ratings—46 in all; but before leaving Lorient a war correspondent, Helmuth Ecke, also embarked for the cruise.
U.110 sailed outward-bound on 15th April, and five days later was on patrol to the west of Ireland. Nothing happened until 26th, when she sighted a steamer; and late that night Lemp sank her. She turned out to be the Vichy French ship André Moyrand. Once again Lemp had aimed his torpedoes at an ill-chosen target. He next began to move west on the surface, and made good progress until, early on 8th May, an aircraft forced him to dive. This was probably one of No. 204 Squadron’s Sunderlands, which were then searching to the south-west of Iceland. That afternoon Lemp brought U.110 to the surface again, and at
4 p.m. he sighted smoke ahead. There is no doubt at all that it came from convoy OB.318. Lemp’s report reached U-boat Headquarters some two hours later, and he was told to attack if possible, but in any event to shadow the convoy. Dönitz also ordered the other boats in the vicinity to report their positions, so that their attacks could be co-ordinated. But the listeners at the British wireless stations had also picked up Lemp’s sighting report, and at 7.07 p.m. the Admiralty signalled a warning that they considered OB.318 was still being shadowed. This time their deduction was perfectly correct; but the message shattered the hope, which had been rising in the convoy since the previous midnight, that the alteration of course to the west had shaken off all pursuers. At dusk, therefore, Commodore Mackenzie made an evasive alteration of 30° to port; but it is in fact almost impossible for an 8-knot convoy to rid itself of a determined shadower by such means—especially on a fine, moonlit night.
After it had become dark Lemp closed in cautiously with the intention of attacking; but he found the bright moonlight little to his liking, and even though none of the escorts detected him he was evidently aware that they were present in considerable strength. He decided that discretion was the better policy, and withdrew again to continue shadowing from the starboard beam or quarter. At 4.16 a.m. on 9th he again reported the convoy’s position and course, and soon afterwards Dönitz’s attempts to concentrate several U-boats against it bore fruit. U.201 (Oberleutnant-zur-See Adelbert Schnee) had intercepted Lemp’s earlier sighting report, and had been working round to the north of convoy during the night. He actually sighted OB.318 at 8.30 a.m., and soon afterwards gained visual touch with Lemp. The two captains brought their boats close together, and discussed their mode of attack. Their decision was that Lemp should go first, and that Schnee would follow after half an hour’s interval. They believed that U.556 (Kapitänleutnant Herbert Wohlfarth), whom we shall encounter again shortly, and possibly U.96 and U.553 were also in the vicinity; but as no other boats had made their presence known Lemp and Schnee decided to delay no longer. Actually U.556 was still some way to the east at the time, and neither of the other two U-boats was anywhere near the scene. In retrospect, however, it does seem rather unlucky, from the British point of view, that this conference between two surfaced U-boats should have taken place just out of sight of the convoy at the very moment when our air escorts had ceased. Baker-Cresswell and his consorts were, of course, completely unaware of what was being hatched just over the wide rim of the northern horizon.
After a comparatively undisturbed night on the chart-house settee Baker-Cresswell came on to the Bulldogs bridge at about 4.30 a.m. on the 9th to watch his group take up their day screening positions. This was to be the last day with the convoy, and when his ships’ fuel reports came in the escort commander knew that they would have to break off at about 4 p.m. if they were to reach Iceland with a reasonable margin. By that time it should be perfectly safe to disperse the convoy; for no U-boat had yet attacked so far to the west. In spite of the Admiralty’s warning of the previous evening the situation seemed quite satisfactory, and the pleasant train of thought passing through the commander’s mind was soon enhanced by the sight of his unfailing steward Gaston dodging along the upper deck between waves with his breakfast wrapped in a napkin.
The forenoon passed quietly on a course of South 40° West (true), Baker-Cresswell took his sun sights and was just preparing to exchange noon positions with the Commodore when, suddenly, a column of water shot up on the starboard side of the Esmond (No. 91), the leader of the starboard wing column.1 A few seconds later it was followed by a rumbling explosion. She had been hit by two torpedoes. For a second or two Baker-Cresswell stared incredulously; since a torpedo attack in longitude 33° West, almost within sight of the Greenland coast, seemed highly improbable. But hardly had the thought come and passed when the Bengore Head (No. 71), the leader of Column 7, was also struck. Lieutenant-Commander Dodds, Chief Engineer of the Bulldog, happened to be on deck at the time, and he saw the Esmond’s stern lift out of the water and rise steadily upwards to the vertical, while her deck cargo of vehicles and cased goods from her holds cascaded into the sea, reminding him “ of a child pouring toys out of a box.” Then she slid slowly and steadily beneath the surface, until only bubbles remained to mark her grave. The Bengore Head was hit amidships and broke her back immediately, but her bow and stern remained afloat for some time with the two masts actually crossing.
As soon as the first torpedo exploded the Commodore ordered an emergency turn to port, and Baker-Cresswell, realising that the attack must have come from between the Broadway and Aubrietia, reacted instinctively. Telling Roper of the Amazon to take charge of the convoy he swung the Bulldog round towards the position from which the U-boat must have fired. Taylor did much the same manœuvre with his Broadway; but it was not the destroyers which located the enemy first this time.
We cannot be quite certain with regard to the course of events on board U.110 after she parted from U.201, but Lemp seems to have acted with a degree of confidence amounting almost to recklessness. Some of his officers urged him to postpone the attack for a few hours, as they realised, quite correctly, that the powerful escort must soon leave the convoy; but Lemp did not wish to be drawn too far to the west. He dived at 10.37 a.m. and approached the convoy from the starboard bow. At one minute before noon—and British and German times here synchronise with unusual accuracy—he fired three torpedoes from periscope depth at 30-second intervals. The fourth bow tube, which was to have been fired at what the Captain called “ a 15,000-ton whale oil factory ship ” (probably one of the tankers in the convoy riding high out of the water in ballast) missed fire. Nor did Lemp dive immediately on completing his attack. He stayed at periscope depth to watch the results; and that final incaution probably sealed his fate.
A few seconds before the Esmond was hit Lieutenant-Commander Smith in the Aubrietia, which was then about 4 cables (800 yards) from the starboard wing column, heard the approaching torpedoes on his Asdic set, and at once turned to starboard.1 At 12.03 he sighted a periscope, and almost simultaneously his Asdic operator, Able Seaman William Samuel Rutledge, obtained a firm contact at about 800 yards. Unluckily the Asdic set then went out of action; but Smith got in a quick attack by eye with a full pattern of 10 charges set to 100 and 225 feet. He realised, however, that it was “ a chancy business ” and unlikely to produce results. A few minutes later Rutledge reported his instrument in action, and quickly regained contact at 1,700 yards. The U-boat was now steering towards the sinking merchantmen, and at 12.23 Smith attacked it from the port quarter with another full pattern—settings 150 and 385 feet. But the pattern was fired rather late, and he did not at first think it could have been successful. He then closed the sinking Esmond to pick up her survivors. Meanwhile the Broadway and the Bulldog had both gained firm contact, and were preparing to attack, when a patch of disturbed water attracted everyone’s attention. Dozens of pairs of eyes focused on it, and a silence that was almost eerie descended on the three ships. It was broken only by the steady “ pings ” of the Asdics and the unmistakable “ pongs ” of a returning submarine echo; but a few guns did start to train round in that direction—at first almost with hesitancy.
U.110 broke surface soon after the plumes from the Aubrietiah second pattern had subsided; and then things began to happen extremely fast. In Smith’s log the time was recorded as 12.35 p.m., and although the other ships differed slightly we may take that as accurate. It was the sight for which every captain of an anti-submarine vessel prays—and all too rarely sees in a form of warfare in which he is always trying to grapple with an invisible enemy. It is not surprising that first reactions should have been to “ see red.” After all that evil-looking black shape had just torpedoed two ships, some of whose crews had probably been killed, while others were still floundering in the water. For a few seconds Baker-Cresswell certainly knew that “ seeing red ” was not entirely a figurative expression, and he was about to give the order to r
am when the “ redness ” cleared and his usual calm returned. Seeing men pour out of the U-boat’s conning tower he swung the Bulldog off her ramming course. Then, as the Germans clustered around their 4.2-inch gun, he thought that they must mean to fight it out, and gave the order to open fire. The 3-inch HA/LA dual-purpose gun fired the first round, which hit the conning tower; and then every type of weapon joined in. An R.N.V.R. Lieutenant on the bridge picked up a “ stripped Lewis gun ”—a sort of gangster weapon provided for quick use against low-flying aircraft—and asked if he could open fire. “ All right, let them have it,” said the Captain, and just as the shattering racket started close to his ear he saw that the Germans were abandoning ship and jumping into the water. All “ redness ” had now cleared from the escort commander’s mind, and he realised that the moment had come when an attempt to capture the enemy might come off. Ordering “ Full Speed Astern ” on the engines he brought the Bulldog to a stop only 100 yards from the U-boat. His next order was “ Away Armed Boat’s Crew.”
Then, to Baker-Cresswell’s horror he saw the Broadway heading straight for the U-boat, apparently intent on ramming. He flashed to Taylor to “ keep clear,” seized the loud-hailer (which could carry a voice over a mile on a calm day and shouted into it “ DO NOT RAM ”; but still the Broadway came on. Maybe, thought Baker-Cresswell, he is still “ seeing red ”; but actually Taylor was, by his own account, intending to drop two shallow-set depth charges right under the enemy “ with the object of preventing the U-boat diving again, and to force the crew to abandon ship without scuttling or destroying secret material.” Moreover the firing of his own 4-inch guns had cracked all his bridge windows so badly that he could not see out of them. It was thus completely unintentional that, in closing the slowly circling U-boat to drop his depth charges, Taylor struck her a glancing blow. The consequences to the destroyer’s flimsy plating were serious, for the U-boat’s hydroplane (a horizontal fin mounted near the bows, and used for altering trim) tore a big gash in her port bow, holed her badly below the waterline amidships, and knocked off her port propellor. How much the Broadwa’s effort contributed to the capture of the enemy it is impossible to say; but she certainly damaged herself quite seriously. Baker-Cresswell, who was thinking more of getting his men aboard the U-boat than of the damage sustained by his subordinate, saw the Broadway draw clear with relief.
The Secret Capture Page 11
