Schöneboom
09-11-09, 09:17 PM
Guten Abend, Alle. This is a story I wrote a year ago for the Subsim Writing Contest. I figured it was time to share this with you. It is based on in-game events from an actual GWX mission. Time will tell if it becomes part of a novel (btw, this is why I chose to explain certain details that a general audience might not know about). I hope you enjoy the read.
Tschuss,
Wayne
* * * * * * *
"Breakfast at Lampedusa"
by Wayne Mathias © 2008
From the private diary of Kptlt. Peter Ullmann, U-577:
19 September 1942
At 2120, Bootsmann Fischer allowed himself an exhalation of relief. For the first time in hours, his hands relaxed on the hydrophone wheel. "The destroyer's definitely leaving, Herr Kaleun. Same speed, bearing 215... Contact growing fainter."
The tension in the control room visibly lifted. I turned to Reuter, my chief engineer, with a cautious smile. "Periscope depth, LI. It's time we had a look around. Maybe we'll even get some fresh air."
Borrowing Fischer's headphones, I listened to the eerie sounds of three ships imploding as they sank to the bottom of the Med. "Goering's boys better not try to claim the one we torpedoed."
Fischer stretched his legs and tousled his thin brown hair. "Mensch, two troopships and a destroyer... That's a lot of men in the water."
I knew what he was getting at. Returning his headphones, I said, "This close to Malta, the Tommies will fish them out soon enough."
Back in the control room, I consulted Kurz, our navigator. "At 10 knots, what's our ETA for Lampedusa?"
After walking the calipers on the map, he replied, "Eight hours, Herr Kaleun."
"Perfect. We'll arrive in port, load the spare eel, and have breakfast with the Italians." The men in the control room smiled at the prospect.
A careful scan with the observation periscope proved to my satisfaction there were no ships in the vicinity. At least none floating. "LI, surface the boat."
Upon opening the tower hatch, a whiff of burnt oil on the wind told us the destroyer must have been badly damaged by the Luftwaffe's attack. Perhaps that was why they gave up on us. On the bridge, the lookouts and I peered into the darkness.
Oberfähnrich Leykauf made himself useful by setting up our Biscay Cross. His repairs to the flimsy wooden aerial made it look as good as new. As he put it, "It's a lot like building a kite."
I remarked, "To think that our safety depends on this cheap contraption of sticks and wires! What's the Kriegsmarine coming to?"
"At least it works, Herr Kaleun," said Leykauf, descending the ladder. Radar had changed everything. Without that primitive detector, our days were numbered.
My First Officer, Hans Sievers, soon joined me on the bridge. He stared through his binoculars pensively, as if he wanted to say something.
"Out with it, Hans," I said finally. "What's on your mind?"
"We could still capture the commanders of those ships, Herr Kaleun," said Sievers.
"It's not worth the risk," I replied. "We'd have to pick the right men out of hundreds of survivors, in the dark, before the Tommies return."
Sievers gave the Biscay Cross a slight turn; it had to be turned by hand for full coverage. "Strange," he said. "Normally I feel great when we sink a ship. But after what happened to U-156..."
"I know... Hartenstein did the right thing, helping the Laconia survivors. They were five hundred miles from land. I like to think I would've done the same, in his place."
"What about BdU's orders?"
I lowered my binoculars to look him in the eye. "I'll make my own choices when it comes to survivors. Mind you, I won't endanger our boat for them."
Sievers gave a slight nod, then wiped his lenses methodically. "It's hard to believe the Allies would bomb their own people just to sink a U-Boat."
Far away, someone fired a signal flare. We watched it trace a steep, glowing arc in the sky. As it fell, it produced enough light for me to spot several life rafts bobbing in the sea.
I sighed. "I'm going to bed. Wake me when Lampedusa's in sight."
"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun."
My Second Officer, Leutnant Geddes, showed me the report he had composed. "Accurate, but too long," I said. "Even if the Tommies never crack our code, they can still triangulate on our signals. Every second counts." Geddes watched me make revisions at the mess table. Having shortened the report by a third, I handed it to Fischer for encoding and transmission.
Despite my exhaustion and the sea's gentle rocking, I slept very little that night. Usually I don't think much about the people on the ships we sink. However this time I could not avoid thinking of them as I lay in my bunk. It gave me no consolation that the men I put in the water were probably soldiers bound for Malta or Egypt. And Dönitz's order forbidding aid to survivors did not absolve me of all responsibility.
I must have surprised Sievers with my defiant tone. I wondered, would he be willing to falsify the logbook to hide our future acts of mercy from BdU? And if we were found out, what then?
The night passed uneventfully. I was already awake when Sievers informed me that Lampedusa was sighted. Geddes had just relieved Sievers on the bridge when I hauled myself up the ladder. With dawn coming on, I could tell we had another hot, clear day ahead of us.
Geddes pointed to the island; by now it was visible with the naked eye and growing by the minute. Arid and craggy, it reminded me of many Grecian islands I had seen.
"About half an hour till we're in port, Herr Kaleun," said Geddes with a boyish smile.
"That's if we continue on the surface," I said. "The sun's almost up."
"The water's shallow... Not much more than periscope depth."
"A little water over us is better than none at all," I replied. Hansen, one of the lookouts, gave the Biscay Cross a quarter-turn.
Geddes looked down at the turquoise water and sighed. I knew he was worried about our visibility to aircraft.
From below, Fischer called out: "Radar signal detected!"
I yelled back, "ALARM!!!" Hansen threw our Biscay Cross down the hatch. We dropped into the control room in time for the usual stampede. Reuter had to restrain some of the men from running to the bow; in this case, a steep dive would have ensured a collision with the bottom. Reuter directed the planesmen and trimmer with the skill of an orchestra conductor. He loathed shallow crash-dives, but at such times, his mastery of the Type VIIC was indisputable.
When we leveled off at 30 meters, Geddes picked up the splintered remains of the Biscay Cross. "Another job for the kite repairman," he snickered. That broke the tension in the control room.
Though we felt relatively safe for the moment, we knew nothing about what was transpiring on the surface. Moving to the hydrophone station, Fischer said, "It could've been an Italian ship."
"That would be preferable," I commented. "By the way, I hope you've all been practicing your Italian."
"Will we meet the women of Lampedusa?" asked Geddes hopefully.
"We won't be in port that long," I replied. "In and out." Geddes laughed, though he knew I was letting him down gently.
Fischer leaned out of the sonar room. "Herr Kaleun, explosions at bearing 015!"
As he rotated the hydrophones, his expression turned grim. "No naval vessels moving. Must be bombers attacking the harbor." He handed me the headphones and turned the wheel to its previous bearing. I listened to the ominous thumps and booms.
"Perfect timing," I said. "The Schweine..." The earlier anticipation in the control room evaporated -- any lingering hopes for a shore leave were crushed.
Kurz called from the map table. "Herr Kaleun! We need to go to periscope depth, or we'll run aground!"
Not an ideal situation. By now we could hear the explosions without hydrophones. But we had no choice. "Go to periscope depth," I ordered.
Sievers said, "Hopefully the Tommies will be too preoccupied with the harbor to notice us."
I nodded. "This air raid will be over before you know it." Privately I was having doubts about the wisdom of going to Lampedusa, but I wasn't about to turn back now. As long as the bottom wasn't sandy enough to give us away...
A loud splash and explosion off our port bow made us jump. "What the hell was that?!" exclaimed Leykauf, who was wiring another Biscay Cross at the mess table. Fischer smiled knowingly. "The Italians got one!"
"Good for them," I said. I was sorely tempted to take a peek, but we were in sufficient danger already. After the bombing ceased, several minutes passed in silence as we crept towards the harbor. Finally I raised the observation scope and took a quick look around.
"No aircraft in sight," I said. "But a lot of smoke over the harbor." Lowering the scope, I turned to Reuter. "Surface the boat."
Once on the bridge, Sievers and I stared through our binoculars at the devastation. "Verdammt!" muttered Sievers. "Looks like they hit every ship!"
The five columns of black smoke we saw represented only a fraction of the ships damaged or sunk. This became clear when we passed the breakwater and had an unobstructed view of the port.
Bodies floated in the water near the sinking, burning wrecks. Even the fishing boats were not spared. I should not have been shocked by this barbarism, given how the RAF indiscrimately bombed our cities, and yet I was.
Ironically, the only ships that appeared relatively unscathed were a pair of Italian destroyers anchored in the bay. We identified ourselves with the Varta Lamp, then searched for a suitable place to dock.
Weber, a lookout, pointed to starboard. "A German U-Boat! Bearing 040!" To our surprise, the U-Boat was intact, despite being fully exposed at a pier. We turned at once to dock alongside her.
From the other boat's bridge, my bearded counterpart in the white hat greeted us. "Kapitänleutnant Horst Becker, U-205. Welcome to Hell, gentlemen!" With oily smoke billowing from flaming shipwrecks and the cacaphony of ambulance sirens and alarm bells around us, he was hardly exaggerating.
"Kapitänleutnant Peter Ullmann, U-577," I replied. A gangplank was laid to join our two boats, and I went over to visit Becker. Meanwhile, Sievers directed the loading of our external torpedo, and Geddes supervised the flak gunners.
Like me, Becker was one of the Old Guard, perhaps a year younger. Shaking my hand, he asked, "We haven't met before, have we?"
"This is only my second patrol with this boat. I transferred to La Spezia in June," I said. "Funny that we should meet here, of all places."
"God must want us alive for some reason."
"Further punishment, I suppose."
"Be thankful you weren't here earlier." He pointed at the pier beside us. There was a gaping crater in the concrete.
"Mensch! Was anyone hurt?!"
"Our ammo loader caught some shrapnel in his back. He was just taken to the base infirmary," said Becker. "He'll live, but he won't be going home with us."
I realized that U-205 had not escaped damage after all. Pieces of the deck were missing, directly over the engine room. Becker noticed I was looking.
"That was from a Sunderland," he said. "Hit us north of Sicily. We thought we had the port diesel fixed, but it broke again yesterday morning, along with the fresh water generator. Rather than go home, we came here so my LI could use the machine shop. He was up all night fabricating parts."
"How are your batteries?" I asked.
"Nearly flat. With only one good diesel, we can't recharge them enough. It's a wonder we made it this far. And what brought you to this flyspeck?"
"We came to load an eel," I said. "I thought it would be safer here than in the middle of the Med."
Becker let out a giddy laugh; under the circumstances, it unnerved me. I recognized it as a sign of battle fatigue. "Sank a lot of ships, eh?"
"Only three so far," I answered. "We have to fire from farther away now, because of the damned radar. And of course they zig-zag, too." Becker nodded sympathetically.
"We haven't sunk any. Lousy patrol from the very start!"
A swarthy man with piercing eyes poked his head from the aft hatch. Becker addressed him. "Jantzen, this is Kapitänleutnant Ullmann. Ullmann, Leutnant Jantzen, my LI."
So my first guess was correct. We saluted but did not shake hands; Jantzen's fingers were stained black, just like Reuter's. "How much longer?" Becker asked him.
"Two more hours, Herr Kaleun," said Jantzen. "Then we can test-run the diesel."
Becker's red eyes darted around. "Faster, Jantzen! I want us out of here in one hour."
The engineer flinched slightly. "Understood, Herr Kaleun." He disappeared down the hatch.
Glancing around, I remarked to Becker, "Our men look worried."
"With good reason," he said. "Shall we put on some soothing music?"
"A bit too obvious, I think... Are you feeling peckish?"
He took the hint. "As a matter of fact, I was just about to have breakfast before the Tommies so rudely interrupted. You must be my guest. We have fresh bread from the Italians."
"Excellent! We should have it al fresco, right here."
He called down the hatch, "Dieter! Breakfast for two, per favore!"
"Subito, Herr Kaleun!" came the jaunty reply from below.
We set up three empty crates on deck: two for sitting, one for our table. A few minutes later, Dieter the Smutje brought us a tray of sliced oranges, toast, butter, and jam. He quickly returned, bearing a coffee pot with angular sides.
"You're in for a treat," said Becker, as Dieter poured me a cup. "If you've ever had espresso, this is rather similar."
The first sip made me gasp, "Mein Gott! Do you strip paint with this, too?"
Becker cackled gleefully. "It's an acquired taste. I was lucky to find this 'moka pot' in Milan," he said. "Alfonso Bialetti is the inventor. He'll make a fortune, no doubt about it."
With a little sugar, I began to appreciate the intensity of the brew. As we calmly ate our breakfast, the men on deck took notice. It seemed to allay their fears to see us like this, apparently without a care in the world.
"I saw your last report to BdU," said Becker. "So soon after Hartenstein's little misadventure, I couldn't help but--"
"Our situation was quite different from his."
"You gave no help to the survivors?"
I shook my head. "None at all."
"Well, you followed your orders," he said. "If it still bothers you, Ullmann, tell me of one instance, just one, when the Allies helped the survivors of a German freighter they sank."
"I... I can't think of any..."
"Here's to chivalry," he said, raising his cup. "Gone but not forgotten." I clinked my cup against his.
We watched my men maneuver the reserve torpedo onto the loading cradle. Even in the calm water of the bay, this procedure demanded serious concentration.
"The only safe place to do that now is in a concrete bunker," said Becker.
"Well, nobody joins the Kriegsmarine looking for safety."
"Indeed," he sighed. "But I'd kill for a teaching post at the U-bootschule."
"It's not as cushy as you might think, Becker. I taught for a year at Danzig."
"And you returned to the front?! Are you insane?!"
"Actually, my CO and I agreed that my tactical experience had become obsolete," I said. "So now I'm catching up -- much to my discomfort."
"Then it's my turn to teach," he said, wiping crumbs from his beard. "Maybe you could put in a good word for me?"
"Of course," I replied. He was doing his best not to look desperate, but I understood only too well. "I used to think ASDIC was the worst. Now I know, it's radar."
Little by little the torpedo disappeared down the forward hatch. Sievers, standing behind the deck gun, gave me a devious grin; I waved back. We had seen so many torpedoes sliding into tubes that nothing had to be said. Becker recognized our expressions and burst out laughing.
At that instant, a fiery explosion about 300 meters away jolted us.
"That was the tanker," said Becker. "What a mess!"
"I wish we could help somehow," I said.
"Unless your men are fluent in Italian, they'd just get in the way. We have our own boats to worry about." I nodded; he was right, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear.
"How do you think the war's going, Ullmann?" That took me by surprise. Not knowing him well, I had to be cautious.
"We're in a tight spot, that's for sure," I answered. "If it weren't for that warmonger Churchill, we could've negotiated a settlement by now."
"Ja, well, there's nothing for it," he said. "So tell me, what's our inevitable victory supposed to look like, hmm?"
The way he said that, I realized he was fishing: for an ally, most likely, not someone to turn in to the Gestapo. I replied, "Clearly, we're not going to occupy Britain or the whole Soviet Union, let alone America. That's physically impossible. In the best case, we'll inflict enough losses that they'll come to the bargaining table."
"You honestly believe that's going to happen? All three of them?"
"The way things are, all the lucky breaks must be ours," I admitted. "The Allies have to make all the mistakes."
"Ah, a realist." He smirked and sipped his coffee. "We may not be able to force Roosevelt or Churchill out of office, but..." He hesitated; he had to be careful with me, too. I took the risk of completing his thought, in a lower tone.
"If Germany had a change of government, the Allies might be willing to negotiate. But how many people really want that?" I was worried; it's one thing to be defeatist -- quite another to talk treason.
"Oh, you'd be surprised," said Becker. "There are enough people. Some of them very high up. Maybe your friends in the Abwehr would know more about that."
My jaw dropped. How did he know about my work with the Abwehr?!
The wind shifted and blew some of the acrid smoke our way. At Sievers' urging, the men on deck hurriedly dismantled the torpedo winch.
Becker's Second Officer gave U-205's Biscay Cross a turn. Moments later, a voice cried from below, "Radar signal detected!"
"Lieber Gott, not again!" Becker moaned as he flung his cup into the water.
"We could stick together and concentrate our firepower," I offered.
"No, get moving! A pair of U-Boats would be an irresistible target! Good luck, Ullmann!"
"You, too, Becker!" We shook hands, and I dashed back to U-577. Air raid sirens began to wail.
Frantically my men stowed the remaining winch parts. When I reached the bridge, our diesels were revving up. I sent Sievers below, then yelled into the voice-tube, "Both engines, full speed reverse!"
As our boat withdrew from the pier, Geddes spotted the bombers. "Aircraft at 2 o'clock! Gunners, hold your fire! Wait till they're in range!"
I called down the hatch to my helmsman: "Rudder, hard to starboard!" I heard the drone of the bombers, as well as Becker screaming to his crew. U-205 remained motionless.
As soon as we were in position, I cried, "Rudder amidships! Full speed ahead!" Above us, the squadron of RAF Hudsons peeled off for the attack run.
Geddes yelled, "Fire at will!" and we dove for the deck. Our gunners blasted away for all they were worth, as did Becker's and those of the Italian destroyers. But the bombers would not be deterred.
Machine-gun fire rained down on us. I cringed behind the thin steel of the tower as the bullets whistled, ricocheted, and splintered wood all around us. Then the bombs fell, again and again. They missed us, but exploded near enough to wreak havoc below.
"Flooding in all compartments!" cried Sievers from the control room. When the bombers passed, I peered over the rim of the bridge to make sure we were still on course. We had to get past the nets and close to the destroyers for any hope of better protection.
More bullets raked our boat. Again Geddes and I hit the deck. I heard a scream, then realized our flak guns were silent. Looking aft, I saw two gunners down, covered with blood. As soon as the enemy fire abated, Geddes and I ran to them. I saw at once there was no hope: Ehrhardt took one in the head, and Schaefer was not breathing; his chest was riddled with holes.
The bloodbath on the lower Wintergarten was even worse. Schumacher, the starboard gunner, and Althoff, the loader, were shredded by bullets and shrapnel. Only the port gunner, Ewald Carlsen, showed any sign of life. There was no time to be afraid: Geddes and I rapidly hauled Carlsen down the aft hatch as the bombers turned around.
I had to think fast. To remove and replace the dead flak crew struck me as futile and suicidal. "ALARM!!!"
Reuter must have thought I was mad, but he obeyed instantly. With all the damage and flooding, even he could not control the dive perfectly, and we scraped the bottom hard enough to knock us over. We had not a moment to lose.
"LI, stop the flooding! Sievers, take his position!" Reuter grabbed his tool-kit and ran aft, where the damage was worst. Fischer and Geddes tended to Carlsen, who clearly needed a hospital, not a medical kit.
"Rudder hard to port! Course 090!" There was no ideal solution, but I had to do something, anything, to improve our odds. Bullets rattled off the hull. Then came the bombs. They exploded at the surface; the shock waves threw us around like rag-dolls and started more leaks. With all the damages being reported, it would have been easier to list what was left undamaged!
Repair teams worked feverishly in every compartment. Without Reuter leading them, we surely would have lost the boat. Even after the flooding was stopped, he never even paused. "Must check the batteries," he muttered. "If they got wet..." It turned out several cells had cracked; luckily for us, the seawater had not reached them. And what acid had leaked into the bilge was neutralized with lime.
Fischer quietly informed me that Carlsen was dead. Geddes closed the drapes on the petty-officer bunk where they left the body. We were still too numb to react. By this time, the raid was over; I confirmed that with the periscope, and we surfaced.
Only one of the corpses remained on deck. Ehrhardt's body was caught in the Wintergarten railing.
Through binoculars I looked back at the harbor just in time to see a fireball erupt from where we had docked. Bodies were blown high into the air. In my gut I knew Becker was dead.
The Italian destroyers made it through the raid intact -- the only vessels larger than a dinghy still afloat. Who can explain such ironies?
"I think those bombers returned especially for us," said Sievers.
"You may be right about that."
"Shall we go back, Herr Kaleun? There might be survivors from U-205."
I thought about it for a few moments. "The Italians will take care of them," I said at last. "We need to get away from this death-trap. The survival of our boat comes first." It was a hard thing to say, but it was the truth.
On the bridge, a damage control team performed critical external repairs. Meanwhile, Carlsen and Ehrhardt's bodies were sewn into sections of sailcloth for burial at sea. I took the opportunity to change my bloodstained clothes. It was then, whilst undoing my buttons, that the full horror of the attack caught up with me. I drew the curtain of my room and sat on the bunk until I stopped shaking.
The proximity of the radio and sonar stations meant that Fischer saw me in private more than anyone else. I knew he was aware of my distress, but wisely did not call attention to it. I pulled myself together and composed a report for BdU about the attack, our losses, and the sinking of U-205. I hoped it was enough so that Dönitz would not have to enquire further.
Fischer said softly, "No music today, I assume?"
"Not today," I answered. "As for tomorrow... we'll see."
Due to our precarious situation, a formal ceremony with everyone on deck was out of the question. On the intercom I explained to the crew that we would have a proper memorial service upon our return to La Spezia.
I called a halt to the repair work for a moment of silence. Hansen and Weber, who had volunteered as pallbearers, lowered the wrapped bodies into the sea. The only others present were the lookouts, the damage control team, Geddes, and myself. The bodies, weighted with artillery shells, sank quickly in our wake.
"Clear the bridge," I said. "Prepare to dive."
By this time, we had received BdU's succinct reply: "We all grieve with you. Return to base."
In the stillness of deep water, I wrote the letters of condolence. I hardly knew the men who had died for us, but Geddes told me the essentials.
"Schaefer was going to get married right after this patrol," he said. "Ehrhardt had a wife and two daughters."
I nodded and sighed. More letters to write.
The torpedo that we had loaded at such great cost remained in its tube until our return to La Spezia.
Tschuss,
Wayne
* * * * * * *
"Breakfast at Lampedusa"
by Wayne Mathias © 2008
From the private diary of Kptlt. Peter Ullmann, U-577:
19 September 1942
At 2120, Bootsmann Fischer allowed himself an exhalation of relief. For the first time in hours, his hands relaxed on the hydrophone wheel. "The destroyer's definitely leaving, Herr Kaleun. Same speed, bearing 215... Contact growing fainter."
The tension in the control room visibly lifted. I turned to Reuter, my chief engineer, with a cautious smile. "Periscope depth, LI. It's time we had a look around. Maybe we'll even get some fresh air."
Borrowing Fischer's headphones, I listened to the eerie sounds of three ships imploding as they sank to the bottom of the Med. "Goering's boys better not try to claim the one we torpedoed."
Fischer stretched his legs and tousled his thin brown hair. "Mensch, two troopships and a destroyer... That's a lot of men in the water."
I knew what he was getting at. Returning his headphones, I said, "This close to Malta, the Tommies will fish them out soon enough."
Back in the control room, I consulted Kurz, our navigator. "At 10 knots, what's our ETA for Lampedusa?"
After walking the calipers on the map, he replied, "Eight hours, Herr Kaleun."
"Perfect. We'll arrive in port, load the spare eel, and have breakfast with the Italians." The men in the control room smiled at the prospect.
A careful scan with the observation periscope proved to my satisfaction there were no ships in the vicinity. At least none floating. "LI, surface the boat."
Upon opening the tower hatch, a whiff of burnt oil on the wind told us the destroyer must have been badly damaged by the Luftwaffe's attack. Perhaps that was why they gave up on us. On the bridge, the lookouts and I peered into the darkness.
Oberfähnrich Leykauf made himself useful by setting up our Biscay Cross. His repairs to the flimsy wooden aerial made it look as good as new. As he put it, "It's a lot like building a kite."
I remarked, "To think that our safety depends on this cheap contraption of sticks and wires! What's the Kriegsmarine coming to?"
"At least it works, Herr Kaleun," said Leykauf, descending the ladder. Radar had changed everything. Without that primitive detector, our days were numbered.
My First Officer, Hans Sievers, soon joined me on the bridge. He stared through his binoculars pensively, as if he wanted to say something.
"Out with it, Hans," I said finally. "What's on your mind?"
"We could still capture the commanders of those ships, Herr Kaleun," said Sievers.
"It's not worth the risk," I replied. "We'd have to pick the right men out of hundreds of survivors, in the dark, before the Tommies return."
Sievers gave the Biscay Cross a slight turn; it had to be turned by hand for full coverage. "Strange," he said. "Normally I feel great when we sink a ship. But after what happened to U-156..."
"I know... Hartenstein did the right thing, helping the Laconia survivors. They were five hundred miles from land. I like to think I would've done the same, in his place."
"What about BdU's orders?"
I lowered my binoculars to look him in the eye. "I'll make my own choices when it comes to survivors. Mind you, I won't endanger our boat for them."
Sievers gave a slight nod, then wiped his lenses methodically. "It's hard to believe the Allies would bomb their own people just to sink a U-Boat."
Far away, someone fired a signal flare. We watched it trace a steep, glowing arc in the sky. As it fell, it produced enough light for me to spot several life rafts bobbing in the sea.
I sighed. "I'm going to bed. Wake me when Lampedusa's in sight."
"Jawohl, Herr Kaleun."
My Second Officer, Leutnant Geddes, showed me the report he had composed. "Accurate, but too long," I said. "Even if the Tommies never crack our code, they can still triangulate on our signals. Every second counts." Geddes watched me make revisions at the mess table. Having shortened the report by a third, I handed it to Fischer for encoding and transmission.
Despite my exhaustion and the sea's gentle rocking, I slept very little that night. Usually I don't think much about the people on the ships we sink. However this time I could not avoid thinking of them as I lay in my bunk. It gave me no consolation that the men I put in the water were probably soldiers bound for Malta or Egypt. And Dönitz's order forbidding aid to survivors did not absolve me of all responsibility.
I must have surprised Sievers with my defiant tone. I wondered, would he be willing to falsify the logbook to hide our future acts of mercy from BdU? And if we were found out, what then?
The night passed uneventfully. I was already awake when Sievers informed me that Lampedusa was sighted. Geddes had just relieved Sievers on the bridge when I hauled myself up the ladder. With dawn coming on, I could tell we had another hot, clear day ahead of us.
Geddes pointed to the island; by now it was visible with the naked eye and growing by the minute. Arid and craggy, it reminded me of many Grecian islands I had seen.
"About half an hour till we're in port, Herr Kaleun," said Geddes with a boyish smile.
"That's if we continue on the surface," I said. "The sun's almost up."
"The water's shallow... Not much more than periscope depth."
"A little water over us is better than none at all," I replied. Hansen, one of the lookouts, gave the Biscay Cross a quarter-turn.
Geddes looked down at the turquoise water and sighed. I knew he was worried about our visibility to aircraft.
From below, Fischer called out: "Radar signal detected!"
I yelled back, "ALARM!!!" Hansen threw our Biscay Cross down the hatch. We dropped into the control room in time for the usual stampede. Reuter had to restrain some of the men from running to the bow; in this case, a steep dive would have ensured a collision with the bottom. Reuter directed the planesmen and trimmer with the skill of an orchestra conductor. He loathed shallow crash-dives, but at such times, his mastery of the Type VIIC was indisputable.
When we leveled off at 30 meters, Geddes picked up the splintered remains of the Biscay Cross. "Another job for the kite repairman," he snickered. That broke the tension in the control room.
Though we felt relatively safe for the moment, we knew nothing about what was transpiring on the surface. Moving to the hydrophone station, Fischer said, "It could've been an Italian ship."
"That would be preferable," I commented. "By the way, I hope you've all been practicing your Italian."
"Will we meet the women of Lampedusa?" asked Geddes hopefully.
"We won't be in port that long," I replied. "In and out." Geddes laughed, though he knew I was letting him down gently.
Fischer leaned out of the sonar room. "Herr Kaleun, explosions at bearing 015!"
As he rotated the hydrophones, his expression turned grim. "No naval vessels moving. Must be bombers attacking the harbor." He handed me the headphones and turned the wheel to its previous bearing. I listened to the ominous thumps and booms.
"Perfect timing," I said. "The Schweine..." The earlier anticipation in the control room evaporated -- any lingering hopes for a shore leave were crushed.
Kurz called from the map table. "Herr Kaleun! We need to go to periscope depth, or we'll run aground!"
Not an ideal situation. By now we could hear the explosions without hydrophones. But we had no choice. "Go to periscope depth," I ordered.
Sievers said, "Hopefully the Tommies will be too preoccupied with the harbor to notice us."
I nodded. "This air raid will be over before you know it." Privately I was having doubts about the wisdom of going to Lampedusa, but I wasn't about to turn back now. As long as the bottom wasn't sandy enough to give us away...
A loud splash and explosion off our port bow made us jump. "What the hell was that?!" exclaimed Leykauf, who was wiring another Biscay Cross at the mess table. Fischer smiled knowingly. "The Italians got one!"
"Good for them," I said. I was sorely tempted to take a peek, but we were in sufficient danger already. After the bombing ceased, several minutes passed in silence as we crept towards the harbor. Finally I raised the observation scope and took a quick look around.
"No aircraft in sight," I said. "But a lot of smoke over the harbor." Lowering the scope, I turned to Reuter. "Surface the boat."
Once on the bridge, Sievers and I stared through our binoculars at the devastation. "Verdammt!" muttered Sievers. "Looks like they hit every ship!"
The five columns of black smoke we saw represented only a fraction of the ships damaged or sunk. This became clear when we passed the breakwater and had an unobstructed view of the port.
Bodies floated in the water near the sinking, burning wrecks. Even the fishing boats were not spared. I should not have been shocked by this barbarism, given how the RAF indiscrimately bombed our cities, and yet I was.
Ironically, the only ships that appeared relatively unscathed were a pair of Italian destroyers anchored in the bay. We identified ourselves with the Varta Lamp, then searched for a suitable place to dock.
Weber, a lookout, pointed to starboard. "A German U-Boat! Bearing 040!" To our surprise, the U-Boat was intact, despite being fully exposed at a pier. We turned at once to dock alongside her.
From the other boat's bridge, my bearded counterpart in the white hat greeted us. "Kapitänleutnant Horst Becker, U-205. Welcome to Hell, gentlemen!" With oily smoke billowing from flaming shipwrecks and the cacaphony of ambulance sirens and alarm bells around us, he was hardly exaggerating.
"Kapitänleutnant Peter Ullmann, U-577," I replied. A gangplank was laid to join our two boats, and I went over to visit Becker. Meanwhile, Sievers directed the loading of our external torpedo, and Geddes supervised the flak gunners.
Like me, Becker was one of the Old Guard, perhaps a year younger. Shaking my hand, he asked, "We haven't met before, have we?"
"This is only my second patrol with this boat. I transferred to La Spezia in June," I said. "Funny that we should meet here, of all places."
"God must want us alive for some reason."
"Further punishment, I suppose."
"Be thankful you weren't here earlier." He pointed at the pier beside us. There was a gaping crater in the concrete.
"Mensch! Was anyone hurt?!"
"Our ammo loader caught some shrapnel in his back. He was just taken to the base infirmary," said Becker. "He'll live, but he won't be going home with us."
I realized that U-205 had not escaped damage after all. Pieces of the deck were missing, directly over the engine room. Becker noticed I was looking.
"That was from a Sunderland," he said. "Hit us north of Sicily. We thought we had the port diesel fixed, but it broke again yesterday morning, along with the fresh water generator. Rather than go home, we came here so my LI could use the machine shop. He was up all night fabricating parts."
"How are your batteries?" I asked.
"Nearly flat. With only one good diesel, we can't recharge them enough. It's a wonder we made it this far. And what brought you to this flyspeck?"
"We came to load an eel," I said. "I thought it would be safer here than in the middle of the Med."
Becker let out a giddy laugh; under the circumstances, it unnerved me. I recognized it as a sign of battle fatigue. "Sank a lot of ships, eh?"
"Only three so far," I answered. "We have to fire from farther away now, because of the damned radar. And of course they zig-zag, too." Becker nodded sympathetically.
"We haven't sunk any. Lousy patrol from the very start!"
A swarthy man with piercing eyes poked his head from the aft hatch. Becker addressed him. "Jantzen, this is Kapitänleutnant Ullmann. Ullmann, Leutnant Jantzen, my LI."
So my first guess was correct. We saluted but did not shake hands; Jantzen's fingers were stained black, just like Reuter's. "How much longer?" Becker asked him.
"Two more hours, Herr Kaleun," said Jantzen. "Then we can test-run the diesel."
Becker's red eyes darted around. "Faster, Jantzen! I want us out of here in one hour."
The engineer flinched slightly. "Understood, Herr Kaleun." He disappeared down the hatch.
Glancing around, I remarked to Becker, "Our men look worried."
"With good reason," he said. "Shall we put on some soothing music?"
"A bit too obvious, I think... Are you feeling peckish?"
He took the hint. "As a matter of fact, I was just about to have breakfast before the Tommies so rudely interrupted. You must be my guest. We have fresh bread from the Italians."
"Excellent! We should have it al fresco, right here."
He called down the hatch, "Dieter! Breakfast for two, per favore!"
"Subito, Herr Kaleun!" came the jaunty reply from below.
We set up three empty crates on deck: two for sitting, one for our table. A few minutes later, Dieter the Smutje brought us a tray of sliced oranges, toast, butter, and jam. He quickly returned, bearing a coffee pot with angular sides.
"You're in for a treat," said Becker, as Dieter poured me a cup. "If you've ever had espresso, this is rather similar."
The first sip made me gasp, "Mein Gott! Do you strip paint with this, too?"
Becker cackled gleefully. "It's an acquired taste. I was lucky to find this 'moka pot' in Milan," he said. "Alfonso Bialetti is the inventor. He'll make a fortune, no doubt about it."
With a little sugar, I began to appreciate the intensity of the brew. As we calmly ate our breakfast, the men on deck took notice. It seemed to allay their fears to see us like this, apparently without a care in the world.
"I saw your last report to BdU," said Becker. "So soon after Hartenstein's little misadventure, I couldn't help but--"
"Our situation was quite different from his."
"You gave no help to the survivors?"
I shook my head. "None at all."
"Well, you followed your orders," he said. "If it still bothers you, Ullmann, tell me of one instance, just one, when the Allies helped the survivors of a German freighter they sank."
"I... I can't think of any..."
"Here's to chivalry," he said, raising his cup. "Gone but not forgotten." I clinked my cup against his.
We watched my men maneuver the reserve torpedo onto the loading cradle. Even in the calm water of the bay, this procedure demanded serious concentration.
"The only safe place to do that now is in a concrete bunker," said Becker.
"Well, nobody joins the Kriegsmarine looking for safety."
"Indeed," he sighed. "But I'd kill for a teaching post at the U-bootschule."
"It's not as cushy as you might think, Becker. I taught for a year at Danzig."
"And you returned to the front?! Are you insane?!"
"Actually, my CO and I agreed that my tactical experience had become obsolete," I said. "So now I'm catching up -- much to my discomfort."
"Then it's my turn to teach," he said, wiping crumbs from his beard. "Maybe you could put in a good word for me?"
"Of course," I replied. He was doing his best not to look desperate, but I understood only too well. "I used to think ASDIC was the worst. Now I know, it's radar."
Little by little the torpedo disappeared down the forward hatch. Sievers, standing behind the deck gun, gave me a devious grin; I waved back. We had seen so many torpedoes sliding into tubes that nothing had to be said. Becker recognized our expressions and burst out laughing.
At that instant, a fiery explosion about 300 meters away jolted us.
"That was the tanker," said Becker. "What a mess!"
"I wish we could help somehow," I said.
"Unless your men are fluent in Italian, they'd just get in the way. We have our own boats to worry about." I nodded; he was right, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear.
"How do you think the war's going, Ullmann?" That took me by surprise. Not knowing him well, I had to be cautious.
"We're in a tight spot, that's for sure," I answered. "If it weren't for that warmonger Churchill, we could've negotiated a settlement by now."
"Ja, well, there's nothing for it," he said. "So tell me, what's our inevitable victory supposed to look like, hmm?"
The way he said that, I realized he was fishing: for an ally, most likely, not someone to turn in to the Gestapo. I replied, "Clearly, we're not going to occupy Britain or the whole Soviet Union, let alone America. That's physically impossible. In the best case, we'll inflict enough losses that they'll come to the bargaining table."
"You honestly believe that's going to happen? All three of them?"
"The way things are, all the lucky breaks must be ours," I admitted. "The Allies have to make all the mistakes."
"Ah, a realist." He smirked and sipped his coffee. "We may not be able to force Roosevelt or Churchill out of office, but..." He hesitated; he had to be careful with me, too. I took the risk of completing his thought, in a lower tone.
"If Germany had a change of government, the Allies might be willing to negotiate. But how many people really want that?" I was worried; it's one thing to be defeatist -- quite another to talk treason.
"Oh, you'd be surprised," said Becker. "There are enough people. Some of them very high up. Maybe your friends in the Abwehr would know more about that."
My jaw dropped. How did he know about my work with the Abwehr?!
The wind shifted and blew some of the acrid smoke our way. At Sievers' urging, the men on deck hurriedly dismantled the torpedo winch.
Becker's Second Officer gave U-205's Biscay Cross a turn. Moments later, a voice cried from below, "Radar signal detected!"
"Lieber Gott, not again!" Becker moaned as he flung his cup into the water.
"We could stick together and concentrate our firepower," I offered.
"No, get moving! A pair of U-Boats would be an irresistible target! Good luck, Ullmann!"
"You, too, Becker!" We shook hands, and I dashed back to U-577. Air raid sirens began to wail.
Frantically my men stowed the remaining winch parts. When I reached the bridge, our diesels were revving up. I sent Sievers below, then yelled into the voice-tube, "Both engines, full speed reverse!"
As our boat withdrew from the pier, Geddes spotted the bombers. "Aircraft at 2 o'clock! Gunners, hold your fire! Wait till they're in range!"
I called down the hatch to my helmsman: "Rudder, hard to starboard!" I heard the drone of the bombers, as well as Becker screaming to his crew. U-205 remained motionless.
As soon as we were in position, I cried, "Rudder amidships! Full speed ahead!" Above us, the squadron of RAF Hudsons peeled off for the attack run.
Geddes yelled, "Fire at will!" and we dove for the deck. Our gunners blasted away for all they were worth, as did Becker's and those of the Italian destroyers. But the bombers would not be deterred.
Machine-gun fire rained down on us. I cringed behind the thin steel of the tower as the bullets whistled, ricocheted, and splintered wood all around us. Then the bombs fell, again and again. They missed us, but exploded near enough to wreak havoc below.
"Flooding in all compartments!" cried Sievers from the control room. When the bombers passed, I peered over the rim of the bridge to make sure we were still on course. We had to get past the nets and close to the destroyers for any hope of better protection.
More bullets raked our boat. Again Geddes and I hit the deck. I heard a scream, then realized our flak guns were silent. Looking aft, I saw two gunners down, covered with blood. As soon as the enemy fire abated, Geddes and I ran to them. I saw at once there was no hope: Ehrhardt took one in the head, and Schaefer was not breathing; his chest was riddled with holes.
The bloodbath on the lower Wintergarten was even worse. Schumacher, the starboard gunner, and Althoff, the loader, were shredded by bullets and shrapnel. Only the port gunner, Ewald Carlsen, showed any sign of life. There was no time to be afraid: Geddes and I rapidly hauled Carlsen down the aft hatch as the bombers turned around.
I had to think fast. To remove and replace the dead flak crew struck me as futile and suicidal. "ALARM!!!"
Reuter must have thought I was mad, but he obeyed instantly. With all the damage and flooding, even he could not control the dive perfectly, and we scraped the bottom hard enough to knock us over. We had not a moment to lose.
"LI, stop the flooding! Sievers, take his position!" Reuter grabbed his tool-kit and ran aft, where the damage was worst. Fischer and Geddes tended to Carlsen, who clearly needed a hospital, not a medical kit.
"Rudder hard to port! Course 090!" There was no ideal solution, but I had to do something, anything, to improve our odds. Bullets rattled off the hull. Then came the bombs. They exploded at the surface; the shock waves threw us around like rag-dolls and started more leaks. With all the damages being reported, it would have been easier to list what was left undamaged!
Repair teams worked feverishly in every compartment. Without Reuter leading them, we surely would have lost the boat. Even after the flooding was stopped, he never even paused. "Must check the batteries," he muttered. "If they got wet..." It turned out several cells had cracked; luckily for us, the seawater had not reached them. And what acid had leaked into the bilge was neutralized with lime.
Fischer quietly informed me that Carlsen was dead. Geddes closed the drapes on the petty-officer bunk where they left the body. We were still too numb to react. By this time, the raid was over; I confirmed that with the periscope, and we surfaced.
Only one of the corpses remained on deck. Ehrhardt's body was caught in the Wintergarten railing.
Through binoculars I looked back at the harbor just in time to see a fireball erupt from where we had docked. Bodies were blown high into the air. In my gut I knew Becker was dead.
The Italian destroyers made it through the raid intact -- the only vessels larger than a dinghy still afloat. Who can explain such ironies?
"I think those bombers returned especially for us," said Sievers.
"You may be right about that."
"Shall we go back, Herr Kaleun? There might be survivors from U-205."
I thought about it for a few moments. "The Italians will take care of them," I said at last. "We need to get away from this death-trap. The survival of our boat comes first." It was a hard thing to say, but it was the truth.
On the bridge, a damage control team performed critical external repairs. Meanwhile, Carlsen and Ehrhardt's bodies were sewn into sections of sailcloth for burial at sea. I took the opportunity to change my bloodstained clothes. It was then, whilst undoing my buttons, that the full horror of the attack caught up with me. I drew the curtain of my room and sat on the bunk until I stopped shaking.
The proximity of the radio and sonar stations meant that Fischer saw me in private more than anyone else. I knew he was aware of my distress, but wisely did not call attention to it. I pulled myself together and composed a report for BdU about the attack, our losses, and the sinking of U-205. I hoped it was enough so that Dönitz would not have to enquire further.
Fischer said softly, "No music today, I assume?"
"Not today," I answered. "As for tomorrow... we'll see."
Due to our precarious situation, a formal ceremony with everyone on deck was out of the question. On the intercom I explained to the crew that we would have a proper memorial service upon our return to La Spezia.
I called a halt to the repair work for a moment of silence. Hansen and Weber, who had volunteered as pallbearers, lowered the wrapped bodies into the sea. The only others present were the lookouts, the damage control team, Geddes, and myself. The bodies, weighted with artillery shells, sank quickly in our wake.
"Clear the bridge," I said. "Prepare to dive."
By this time, we had received BdU's succinct reply: "We all grieve with you. Return to base."
In the stillness of deep water, I wrote the letters of condolence. I hardly knew the men who had died for us, but Geddes told me the essentials.
"Schaefer was going to get married right after this patrol," he said. "Ehrhardt had a wife and two daughters."
I nodded and sighed. More letters to write.
The torpedo that we had loaded at such great cost remained in its tube until our return to La Spezia.