Kptlt. Siegmann
05-30-12, 11:17 AM
I decided for my 6th career with GWX, that I would write a story here in the forums. My career was almost cut short on the August 1939 shakedown cruise! Enjoy everyone!
August 1st, 1939. It was a calm and beautiful evening as I set sail for my first patrol in command of my own u-boat. U-9, a Type IIA coastal boat. Crew complement, 5 officers, including myself, 8 petty officers, and 11 sailors. For the majority of the crew, this was their first patrol in u-boat. I was glad this was going to just be a shakedown cruise. It gave me time to train my crew and condition them into finely tuned fighting force. Little did I know that we would all be put to the test just an hour later.
I was enjoying a most beautiful sunset when the boat was thrown into the air followed by a deafening explosion and a bath as water fell onto the conning tower. One of the watch crew was thrown clear overboard and disappeared. While I couldn't fathom how this could have happened, I instinctively knew what took place. We had hit a mine. I quickly ordered the engines to be stopped, and slid down into the control room to assess the damages and the state of my crew. Miraculously, no one below was injured beyond minor scrapes. Less could be said for the boat however. Damage reports flooded in. All three bow torpedo tubes were non-functional. Hydrophone receivers were destroyed, as well as the station itself. All batteries were destroyed, spewing out toxic fumes from the bow quarters. The main pump was not working, but could be repaired in a few moments. The fuel bunkers were ruptured, leaking precious diesel fuel into the sea. That would be the least of my problems though, as soon thereafter I was informed that both diesel engines were severely damaged. The electric motors were damaged as well, but they were useless with the batteries destroyed anyway. The compressor was also damaged, and the flak gun and both attack and observation scopes were destroyed. Every compartment was taking on water, but it was under control. The hull had held up to the mine. I was astonished. But worst of all, the radios and antenna were both destroyed. Unable to sail, and unable to call for help, and no incoming or outgoing traffic that I could see, and night was fast approaching.
I decided that so long as the boat was still afloat, our chances of survival would be the best if we stayed aboard. The two primary concerns were stopping water from getting into the boat, and repairing the diesels so we could limp back to port. And so the battle for our survival began, in our own waters, in peace time. It didn't take long for the flooding to reach a dangerous level. The bow compartments were taking on water quicker than we could get it out. The bow was now under the water. The chief reassured me that we would remain afloat. I trusted his judgement and let the crew keep on working.
After a couple hours, the port diesel was in working order, albeit capable of only slow speeds. I turned the boat around and sailed for port at a snail speed of two knots. The crew by this point had stopped all the leaks in the boat and repaired everything we needed to sail back into port. I ordered all hands to don live preservers and get out onto the deck. If the boat decided to give up, at least everyone had a chance to abandon ship instead of being trapped in the coffin, and it kept the crew away from the toxic fumes below. Around midnight we spotted a freighter leaving for the open sea. I signaled by lamp to render assistance. When she was alongside, I carried out a conversation by megaphone with her captain, informing him of our situation, and to radio our Flotilla of our return. I kindly refused his offer to transfer me and my crew to his ship. My boat so far has been willing to stay afloat. I very much wanted to return with her.
Some four hours later, a blood curling cry came from the bow, "Herr Kaleun! Ship steaming straight for us, about starboard 30!" I made out the shadow with some difficultly in the moonless night and immediately realized that the ship may be too close to avoid us. I waved the signal lamp at the ship in panic, hoping the captain would understand and steer clear. Luck was on our side as the towering menace veered away just in time to miss our boat.
As the sun crept over the horizon, several motorboats came to our aide. They kept our path clear of traffic and guided us in. At 0835 the morning after setting sail, we finally reached safety. A couple days later I brought the boat into drydock. To my surprise, the boat held up really well. The workers said it should only take three weeks to get her back out on patrol. I regret having lost a sailor, but I thanked the heavens for allowing the rest of us to live. I took this as a good omen for our future patrols with this boat. I was determined to keep U-9 as long as possible. She was lucky.
August 1st, 1939. It was a calm and beautiful evening as I set sail for my first patrol in command of my own u-boat. U-9, a Type IIA coastal boat. Crew complement, 5 officers, including myself, 8 petty officers, and 11 sailors. For the majority of the crew, this was their first patrol in u-boat. I was glad this was going to just be a shakedown cruise. It gave me time to train my crew and condition them into finely tuned fighting force. Little did I know that we would all be put to the test just an hour later.
I was enjoying a most beautiful sunset when the boat was thrown into the air followed by a deafening explosion and a bath as water fell onto the conning tower. One of the watch crew was thrown clear overboard and disappeared. While I couldn't fathom how this could have happened, I instinctively knew what took place. We had hit a mine. I quickly ordered the engines to be stopped, and slid down into the control room to assess the damages and the state of my crew. Miraculously, no one below was injured beyond minor scrapes. Less could be said for the boat however. Damage reports flooded in. All three bow torpedo tubes were non-functional. Hydrophone receivers were destroyed, as well as the station itself. All batteries were destroyed, spewing out toxic fumes from the bow quarters. The main pump was not working, but could be repaired in a few moments. The fuel bunkers were ruptured, leaking precious diesel fuel into the sea. That would be the least of my problems though, as soon thereafter I was informed that both diesel engines were severely damaged. The electric motors were damaged as well, but they were useless with the batteries destroyed anyway. The compressor was also damaged, and the flak gun and both attack and observation scopes were destroyed. Every compartment was taking on water, but it was under control. The hull had held up to the mine. I was astonished. But worst of all, the radios and antenna were both destroyed. Unable to sail, and unable to call for help, and no incoming or outgoing traffic that I could see, and night was fast approaching.
I decided that so long as the boat was still afloat, our chances of survival would be the best if we stayed aboard. The two primary concerns were stopping water from getting into the boat, and repairing the diesels so we could limp back to port. And so the battle for our survival began, in our own waters, in peace time. It didn't take long for the flooding to reach a dangerous level. The bow compartments were taking on water quicker than we could get it out. The bow was now under the water. The chief reassured me that we would remain afloat. I trusted his judgement and let the crew keep on working.
After a couple hours, the port diesel was in working order, albeit capable of only slow speeds. I turned the boat around and sailed for port at a snail speed of two knots. The crew by this point had stopped all the leaks in the boat and repaired everything we needed to sail back into port. I ordered all hands to don live preservers and get out onto the deck. If the boat decided to give up, at least everyone had a chance to abandon ship instead of being trapped in the coffin, and it kept the crew away from the toxic fumes below. Around midnight we spotted a freighter leaving for the open sea. I signaled by lamp to render assistance. When she was alongside, I carried out a conversation by megaphone with her captain, informing him of our situation, and to radio our Flotilla of our return. I kindly refused his offer to transfer me and my crew to his ship. My boat so far has been willing to stay afloat. I very much wanted to return with her.
Some four hours later, a blood curling cry came from the bow, "Herr Kaleun! Ship steaming straight for us, about starboard 30!" I made out the shadow with some difficultly in the moonless night and immediately realized that the ship may be too close to avoid us. I waved the signal lamp at the ship in panic, hoping the captain would understand and steer clear. Luck was on our side as the towering menace veered away just in time to miss our boat.
As the sun crept over the horizon, several motorboats came to our aide. They kept our path clear of traffic and guided us in. At 0835 the morning after setting sail, we finally reached safety. A couple days later I brought the boat into drydock. To my surprise, the boat held up really well. The workers said it should only take three weeks to get her back out on patrol. I regret having lost a sailor, but I thanked the heavens for allowing the rest of us to live. I took this as a good omen for our future patrols with this boat. I was determined to keep U-9 as long as possible. She was lucky.