Musings from the Bathtub

[Capt Bathtub]

February 25th 1941

We've been assigned to Brest now for about 6 months.

I am sitting at the deck gun, early in the evening while the boat heads out to its patrol area. The crew have gotten used to the fact that their captain sometimes needs to sit out here, on his own, watching the sun go down and at the moment the weather in the Bay is favourable.

The crew of the U-1 is quite an odd bunch, most of us have been together since the start of the war when we roamed the east coast of England in a type II, affectionately known as "The Bathtub". They have a few quirks which I am willing to allow, as long as they keep sending Britisher ships to the bottom.

For instance, the chief engineer, O. Totenhagen, he never seems to walk anywhere. He just glides, somewhat disconcerting and not altogether uncomical. And, there have been moments when I have ducked into the command room only to see him and the three seaman on duty hurriedly resuming their stations from what looked like a rather compromising clinch. That and his lack of sense of propriety whereas I have ordered the boat to silent running notsomuch to avoid detection but more to put a dampener on his incessant shouting. He has realised this and we have a laugh about it, especially when I order flank and he whispers "Yes sir", then shouts "AHEAD FLANK!"

And the Forward Dive Planesman, W. Barsch, has an annoying habit of constantly looking over his shoulder at me. This behaviour earned him several reprimands, but to no avail. If it wasn't for his uncanny ability to provide the boat with the finest French champagne, I would send him off to the Infantry.

The First Watch Officer, A. Mayer, also has shifty eyes that never look at you. At first I thought he was perhaps having deeply profound thoughts, the way he would look into the distance at nothing in particular but alas no, he is unfashionably stupid and tends to lack concentration. Several times in the past I have ventured to the bridge and asked him, "What is that?" to which he diligently replies "SHIP SPOTTED!". Genius.

But we do have a laugh though, such as yesterday when we reminisced about our very first patrol up the west coast of Norway. I allow a fair amount of discussion amongst the officers about tactics and procedures, though it irks the rest of us that A. Carlewitz is always the first to quote from "The Handbook", so we had a fine time cruising north practising various procedures. Then we surfaced on the fifth night at our patrol area to fog thicker than a panzer driver, heavy rains and waves that made going forward more of an up and down thing.

The running gag went something like this-
"But this is a coastal boat, we shouldn't even be here."
"Yes but we are off a coast'"
"Where?"
"Apparently there's one over there, might even be Norwegian"
"Ship spotted!"
"Where?"
"On the forward deck!"
"Well get them off, don't they know there's a war on"
"Sir, BdU says we should be more aggressive!"
"Right, number one, plot a solution, attack that wave"

Good times. It wasn't all rain and no ships though, we still talk about other stand-out patrols such as the Hartlepool Raid, the first convoy we ran into off the north coast of Ireland, the foggy convoy and the English Channel transfer which can best be summed up with the exchange I had with the chief -
"How fast should we make our run through the channel, cap'n?"
"We should run like we stole something"

For the last few months we have been interdicting the shipping lanes off Portugal where we have had alot of success albeit with a fair amount of dashes at flank speed over several hundred miles in response to ship reports from our fellow uboats. I do have to say though that boredom is our worst enemy at the moment. The English aren't very active, they must be regrouping, building up their forces, having cups of tea. Or perhaps our attacks on the mercantile fleet is proving costly and we could be home by Christmas...

[bigboywooly]

Nice one :up:
Looking forward to more bathtub musings

[Jimbuna]

Good reading...another budding novelist in the community :yep: :up:

[DanBiddle]

Good stuff! I enjoyed reading that.

Cheers,
Dan

[Capt Bathtub]

We have discovered that most of the watch crew tend to display a nervous disposition, such as whenever anyone should so happen to venture near the forward deck gun, or even the AA gun. I will usually find them cowering somewhere down the back of the boat. Admittedly as a crew, we aren't very proficient at gunnery but we still get a childish kick out of things that go bang and it is more exciting than watching a stopwatch in a "will they, won't they hit it" kind of way.

So we spent the last patrol bravely shooting at the RAF whenever they appeared, which seemed to be as soon as we boarded the boat. This all went swimmingly, we'd watch those pretty little Fairey something-or-others light up the sky as they careered into the ocean thanks to the skill of one H. Richtoffen - no relation, I asked. But someone had to spoil the fun by bombing the conning tower killing our gunner and Lieut Snr K.Wurdemann. No more ack-ack for us now, so it's back to the basics of Uboat operations : safety, counter-detection and sinking merchants.

Patrol 18 sees us at periscope depth more than not as the RAF seems to be able to find our small boat regardless of the size of the ocean. Stuck as we are within the confines the ol' bathtub, I feel it's the obligation of the crew to entertain their captain and I don't mean some preverted version of a Die Grunderzeit cabaret number with unwashed submariners dressed in rough cut hemp negligees. No, I want quality. The forward torpedo section's abrigded recital of Henry V was the best I have yet seen, even if they did ride into Agincourt on their torpedos rather lewdly.

Unfortunately with morale at a low, all that can be mustered is the traditional jokes about girls in ports (and not very good ones either) -

"Have you seen the Head Mech's girl?"
"No. And neither has he!"
fa-doom-chi
"I hear she defies description"
"I heard she relies on description, she's that ugly"

Aaaand so on. We are heading past the Western Approaches to a patrol area between Iceland and Ireland and the traffic in the shipping lanes has been minimal. All that was spotted was a C class paddling along at about 12 knots, just after midnight. Outrageous. So much so that I broke with tradition and actually set up a solution to attack, partly to boost the morale of the crew and partly for want of something to do. It is immensly satisfying to have a British destroyer wander into the path of one of our torpedos and it actually detonates. I kept the scope up while the Britisher sank and let the watch crew ponder the futility of modern naval warfare as they each had a peek.

Onwards to our patrol area and a large merchant is discovered with the hydrophone and we unleash a two eel attack, one midships and one under the stack. As I am doing the usual watch through the periscope to determine if she's sinking I spot a plane one mile off the port bow. It seems that the British Bulldog has got new tricks learned.

[Jimbuna]

Careful now...them bulldogs can have a nasty bite !! :arrgh!:

[Capt Bathtub]

With nothing sited during the 24h patrolling of our alloted area I made the decision to head towards Iceland and the harbour of Reykjavik, as this wasn't marked on any of the Kriegsmarine maps the navigator had to refer to the Encyclopedia Britannica owned by the radio operator, G. Vogler. He brings one tome on each patrol and thankfully this patrol was H to J. The British hold a garrison here as well as an air base and naval facilities, so a reconnaissance might yield a warship or too in harbour.

After an eerie journey further north than we have gone before, the sun only just set below the horizon and a creepy fog set about the boat, we arrived to within a hundred nautical miles of the coast. A mid-sized merchant was heard on the hydrophone and we tracked it for about half an hour until it mysteriously started sinking, the howls of the cracking hull echoed through the boat. It's usually about this time that someone, anyone, should lighten the mood with a ribald story of prostitutes and venereal disease but the crew remained silent.

The circuit of the harbour area took place in shallow waters, only about 6 fathoms deep, with the fog still hanging over the area. Several installations were reconoitered that weren't in the Britannica so notes were made of these and only two mid-sized merchant ships were spotted, bearing the neutral US flag. So, with much relief from the crew, I order a course west out of the harbour and as the batteries were nearly exhausted I ordered to surface soon after. The watch crew remained silent as we slowly edged away from this strange land where not a soul was spotted.

Unlike in the aft torpedo room, however, where gunner H. Markewitz was enthralling us with a rather risque number that was a pastiche of Herr Hitler and Charles Chaplin. This man is quite the wit when it comes to this sort of thing, apparently he spent a few years in Berlin during the thirties. He had just finished a song entitled "Oi Vey, it's a Gold Rush" when the number one whispered in my ear that perhaps it would be better if I went to the bridge as the watch crew were fairly wetting themselves not from mirth, but from fear.

After clearing the southern peninsula I ordered a course to the Western Approaches, our new favoured hunting grounds and a drop to periscope depth as it was getting lighter than the light of night time. Not long after that the hydrophone picks up a large merchant heading NNW so I make to intercept. On slower moving ships I have been employing what has become the boat's trademark firing solution, that being a stern shot followed by a bow shot - always two for the bigger ships. This stern eel was an electric that duds on the hull of the C2 and, annoyed at the officer that set the depth, I fire two bow eels into her before she starts zigging wildly.

Well things are starting to heat up a bit what with the constant threat from the air, the lack of lone merchants and the increased reports of convoys progressing along the shipping lanes. We have only come into contact with two convoys so far, the first being just north of Ireland, heading towards Liverpool with 20 merchants and four escorts containing them. We spent most of the time tracking the escorts, learning their tactics but we still managed to get into a suitable position for a hurried bow shot at three ships in the front line. Two were tracking a tanker, unknown size, and one each on small merchants. One eel detonated prematurely but three ran true disabling a coastal freighter and setting alight with a heavy starboard list one tanker. She sank an hour later.This first foray into convoy hunting was tentative, I will admit, but we learned a great deal and at no time were we detected.

As opposed to the second convoy we contacted, off the coast of Portugal, heading towards Gibralter, in heavy fog. Apparently this is known as a BAD THING TO DO, at least according to Carlewitz and that infernal Handbook. But I was determined and somewhat restless, two states of the captain that the crew have learned can cause them heart palpitations. So ever onward we plunged surfacing and diving, listening on the hydrophone for location. It was known to all onboard that as soon as we spotted a ship, they'd spot us so I had all the tubes flooded and the outer doors opened in preparation for some real "Yankee shoot from the hip" action. As far as I was concerned the rationale was sound if somewhat dangerous - in heavy fog the escorts will be slow to respond if they even do at all.

The next thirty minutes was probably the most hair-raising of this war with hurried shots at apparition-like ships that appeared and then disappeared and several ramming attempts. A large cargo ship was hit once with a stern shot that set the fore deck alight - quite the beacon in this weather! But all other attempts to come around for a bow shot ended with dramatic dives on our behalf. The merchant crews earned our respect this day for ,even without escort help, they were very aggressive in attempting to ram us. Admittedly half our eels were wasted with them fired at too sharp an angle for proper impact onto the hull but we came away with two confirmed mid-sized merchants sunk and a damaged cargo vessel that limped south at 4 knots.

The chief has asked that we don't do that again. I shall consider this. But now we have received a contact report of a convoy mid way from Iceland to Ireland, mainly neutral ships, just under 100 nautical miles form our current position. This time there is no fog, just 2-3m waves, lots of whitecaps, endless daylight and 7 torpedos ready to perform for the Fatherland. I'd better get some rest, I've calculated that we'll end up 11 nautical miles from their projected position at around 8am tomorrow.

[Corsair]

Nicely written, keep them coming...;)

"Not long after that the hydrophone picks up a large merchant heading NNW..."
You have damn good operators if they can identify targets from sound...:D

[Capt Bathtub]

Rockall Bank
The boat is sluicing through the water at a good speed, about 15 knots, and the crew are readying themselves for a long day ahead. Though it is night, the northern lights are betraying our position in a majestical fashion. We've spent the last few hours stowing everything in readiness, well everything except for those bloody bananas near the compressor that no one is game enough to touch. It seems to be a tradition within this flotilla to leave moldy food hanging where it might be, until at port and then the French dock workers are instructed to remove them. No one seems to notice the smell. Must be a highly superstitious crew.

After arriving at the projected intercept point just after 0630 the boat is ordered to periscope depth and begins to crawl west, towards the convoy. We have arrived early thanks to some fine tinkering from the machinists to get an extra knot into our speed - well, that's what's written in the report to BdU but the actual reason is a simple miscalculation on my behalf. An hour later and the first contact is made with the convoy, 2 merchants 1600 metres apart, eastbound. Not long after and the whole first row of the convoy ( 5 ships ) is tentatively marked on the chart along with 3 warships - the box formation again with a rearguard no doubt somewhere. The van disappears amongst the noise of the convoy but its position can be safely assumed at this stage. But of prime interest to us is the track of the starboard escort, who soon starts his run perpendicular to the convoy.

Our position is off the starboard bow of the convoy proper, in-between them and the starboard escort, at about 80 degrees. As soon as that escort starts its run and the van passes to our aft, I risk the use of the periscope and do a quick scan of the convoy. Six large ships, tankers and cargo, and the rest, about 14, smaller merchants. And the US flag. Most of the ships on the outer, facing us, flew the flag of the neutral. One that didn't was a tanker, front row, fourth from our position.

Our current load is I and IV with steam and II and III with electrics. I had the spent the previous night running possible solutions through my mind from single shots, a la Kretschmer, to full salvos. Right now, with that tanker in my sights, I ordered II and III to run deep in a 3 degree spread salvo right across the nose of the convoy. Time to impact reckoned at 1 minute 45 seconds.

Immediately ordered a drop to 15 metres due to the sea conditions and set the boat around for a stern shot, the saving grace should we have to flee immediately. By the time we heard two impacts I had the periscope up and had ordered the stern torpedo off on its course towards a large (4000 tonnes?) cargo vessel, nearest column in from us. Another heading change, back to north, and a hurried set-up for the tail end of the convoy with our last 2 eels of this load. Inevitably, the hydrophone operator, the brilliant A.Bauer, started pitching his voice up with reports of fast screws to the north-east, getting louder.

With the periscope up for no longer than 5 seconds I guessed the plot for another large merchant, far side of the convoy, on a slight diagonal line from us and on the port side of a US flagged ship, a cumbersome 7000 tonner. The two eels pushed their way north towards the target, the periscope went back into its well at a painfully slow pace and my eyes burned with the image of a tanker on fire, US flags and a wall of steel.

Another impact was heard thoughout the boat that brought grins to all. Then another, too soon for the last solution. After a brief spurt of speed into the wake of the convoy and then a turn to the south, we settled in to wait for an appropriate time for the slow re-load to commence, a highly risky endeavour. That fast approaching escort seemed to have taken up a search course well off our port bow near to where the burning tanker was last seen and that starboard escort was not far from it. So far so good.

[Jimbuna]

Rockall Bank....rock on :rock:

[Capt Bathtub]

A confessional
For three hours we edged our way from the convoy as 2 escorts circled several miles from us in a rather useless fashion. As a parting shot, Carlewitz starts to sing "Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves". This ordinarily strait-laced officer is finally lightening up a bit, though he'll never be invited to the Burlesque Hour that is held in the aft torpedo room every now and then. He's too much of a Nazi.

Just as the boat was being readied for surfacing and a start made on the return passage, a straggler is picked up on the hydrophone, south of the convoy that has long passed. A quick course change and 20 minutes later the periscope is turned towards a large cargo vessel, listing and managing only about 1 knot. It flies the flag of the neutral, US. For several seconds I pondered this but the American-made tanks tied down on the upper deck favoured one opinion only - one eel into the midships, magnetic. She went down fast. Which is what American girls do, apparently.

As the boat chugs it's way back to port and I sit in my office, the deck gun, the past 20 months seems a world away. Our patrols in the U-1, a type II, where we mainly toured the coast of England. Looking at things. It was a fine wee boat though, cosy, intimate. Actually it was rather claustrophobic but as we didn't have much of a range that didn't really present itself as a problem. No, now that we have the U-71 and can roam for weeks, now it is a problem. G.Wissman has taken to yanking the hairs from his nostrils in the pitiful logic that it will help remove the smell. Some of those hairs are extraordinarily long.

But that first patrol in a type VII was an introduction to what a real Unterseeboot is. Before, in the U-1, it was the consensus of the crew that we should remain on the surface as much as possible. This might have been caused by the inelegant demonstration of crash diving conducted by A.Mayer where we...well, bounced off the seabed and re-surfaced. A fine example of the delicacies involved in Modern Naval Warfare. Now the U-71, however, was all class and as A.Conrad remarked in a misplaced but believable New Jersey accent, "She's a regular lady".

We cut our teeth in this boat at the approaches to Hartlepool harbour where we inched forward as far as possible (nets, mines, shallow waters, some destroyers and fishing boats, nothing a seasoned Kaleun like me can't handle) and then lobbed as many torpedoes as we could in towards a large tanker and cargo ship, giddy with excitement. Then all hell broke loose as RN ships came charging in from everywhere, they even built new ships, launched them and conducted a shake-down cruise by depth charging the sheisser out of us. Let's just say that if we'd draped a towel across the conning tower we would have been mistaken for any other fat English nanna sunbaking amongst the barbed wire - this is how we crawled along a beach to safety.

The war seems to be a long and ever increasing list of things we don't ever, ever do again.

[bigboywooly]

:rotfl: :rotfl:

[Jimbuna]

We cut our teeth in this boat at the approaches to Hartlepool harbour where we inched forward as far as possible (nets, mines, shallow waters, some destroyers and fishing boats, nothing a seasoned Kaleun like me can't handle) and then lobbed as many torpedoes as we could in towards a large tanker and cargo ship, giddy with excitement. Then all hell broke loose as RN ships came charging in from everywhere, they even built new ships, launched them and conducted a shake-down cruise by depth charging the sheisser out of us. Let's just say that if we'd draped a towel across the conning tower we would have been mistaken for any other fat English nanna sunbaking amongst the barbed wire - this is how we crawled along a beach to safety.

:rotfl: I've posted this warning before !!
BEWARE THE MONKEY HANGERS !! :lol:

[Capt Bathtub]

Our arrival back at port was heralded with the usual parade of people with nothing better to do, those that only turn up for the free drinks, a band that couldn't get any other gig (probably because they only know one song) and the inevitable earnest reporter trying to get the "big story". Well today they might be in luck, I might have caused an international incident with that sinking of the US ship. Maybe started a war...

No such luck, they only chastised me and I know why. We had lost our top three commanders in the weeks gone. This war of attrition grinds onwards taking all under its weighty pestle and other such superlatives. Thankfully Markewitz, our artistic gunner, saved me from getting too maudelin for my memoirs and dragged me off to a public house where we drank, caroused and sang the national songs loudly. And in English. Nothing gets the locals more perplexed than than a group of drunken submariners singing "German, German overalls!" at the tops of their voices, I can tell you.

Of course, when we got back to our billet, most of the other fellows were full of stories about luscious French mademoiselles and the things they could do with caviar. Why, for the love of Der Fuehrer, don't they ever invite their Captain? Svinehunds! I suppose I shouldn't complain, I could be married to some sturmtrooper of a fraulein and have pretty children that all wear white laced petticoats and black socks, like a good Ubermensch should. Instead I joined the Kriegsmarine. And don't get to cheat on my non-existent wife.

We've been trying to come up with a new name for our boat as, lets face it, numbers are endearing only to mathematicians. The previous nom de familiar, if you will, was for the U-1 and that was the "Bathtub". But now she is amongst the nether regions of the Baltic teaching cadets to swim whilst shaking one hand with the Bolshevik and slapping him in the face with the other. So we have a new boat and no name. We're holding a competition of sorts that will last until we find a good name but my suggestion of the sort of optimistic names the Royal Navy use found no favour with the crew. What's wrong with calling your boat "Splendid" or "Unruffled"?

Heading out for our next patrol and it's sunrise over the Bay of Biscay. I keep telling the watch that it's worth risking a visit from the RAF just to glimpse this. They keep telling me that it's the same sun no matter where you are in the world. Fine. As revenge I yell out "Alaaaarm!" and smile to myself as they kick and fall on top of one another in the mad scramble below decks. Must keep the crew well drilled otherwise they degenerate into the whore-loving, opium-smoking bastards that they are. And I'm stuck in this boat with them.

As some British admiral sir sea lord type once said, "submarines are underhand, underwater and damned un-English...and no occupation for a gentleman".

[Capt Bathtub]

W of Cape Finisterre

I am impressed by the watch crew and how they maintain a vigil with their binoculars even though they can barely see the ends of the boat. This is the thickest fog, rain, cloud, end of civilisation weather we've yet seen. Worse than Norway. So most of tonight is spent submerged, training the crew on hydrophone techniques by listening and comparing results with periscope observations.

Just discovered that the Snr Warrant Officer Radioman's first name is Wolf. Who on earth would name their child Wolf? This country's gone mad. He has been with us since the beginning and I never knew his full name. Well he doesn't say much, but apparently he's very good at listening. Mein gott, I even awarded him an Iron Cross, without knowing his name. I need to spend more time down the aft end of the control room, where that "crew management" desk is, there could be other humourous names. Herbert Andersen!! And A.Goldbeck sounds like a small child when he talks.

Southbound and we intercept a large cargo, grid CG13, rough seas, clear skies. Send 2 eels in deep, one aimed below stack detonates true, second aimed for midships duds on hull (assume pistol error, never mine), enemy ship comes to stop and lists to the starboard and stern. Come about for stern shot, impact on hull midships. Ship state remains at 0604. Will wait for sinking, sunrise, seas too rough for deck gun! 0828 and the aft gun on the cargo starts taking shots at our position when we round the ship, spots us due to visibilty of conning tower in rough seas. Might stay away from that end of the cargo. 0947 and the ship still shoots at the periscope when I leave it up long enough for them to spot, so they haven't fully abandoned ship yet. 1029 no change, too dangerous with weather, daylight and possible assistance heading this way for them, so will send an electric, impact pistol 4m depth, into their portside. They won't see it coming...impact at 1054 she finally splits and sinks beautifully. The only shadow over this action was that during the wait whenever I popped back into the command room for a check via the Observation periscope, Totenhagen would hurriedly step back from the earshot of Barsch. I know they're up to something. Put the junior lieutenant, F.Kaeding, the officer with no hat, on duty in his stead.

Same happened next day at 1822, picked up merchant on hydrophone, went to investigate. Found a large cargo, sent 2 eels in usual spread 1841, fires on deck and heavy list dead in water, set up for another shot and lo and behold she sinks at 1856. Surface the boat at 1915 due to stunning aspect of quarter moon and sunset. Maintaining station south half of BE90, been given freedom of action by BdU, heavy storm lasts for 2 days, seas still too rough for loading external stores - may set course for Spanish coastal waters if seas don't abate.

Pick up C3, two shot salvo long range 2000m+, rough seas, 1027, third shot needed as ship still managing 5 knot speed. Third eel under the stack brings to a halt. Observe ship sink at 1040 stern first then performs death roll at 45deg. Awe inspiring! Maintaining station at BE99, 2 forward torpedoes remain plus external stores awaiting suitable weather.

Heading now to Cape Finisterre for external reload leeside, according to the Britannica there's a suitable area called Punta da Insua, unless seas abate beforehand. Hmmmm, cerveza anyone? The leeside has a port near to a town called Laxe, so naturally gunners will be sent out to requisition as much of this cerveza as they can carry. Within an hour. Good luck gentlemen. Land sighted at 0130. 0245 we drop anchor in shallow waters and send our intrepid gunners on their way. External reload commences. Raiding party consists of gunners B.Kettner and K.Vogler with rating H.Ebert all led by Snr Warrant Officer P.Hessler. Neutral Spain must not be made aware of our presence.

[IRONxMortlock]

:rotfl:
Great stories and very funny!
________
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