U-1164, Jester of St Nazaire

[Bosje]

A story for those who like to read such things, I hope you enjoy it.

Based on my new career in SH3/GWX3, D.I.D. etc

Let's see how long it lasts

I'm making a seperate thread for this because I intend to write more as events unfold and I'd hate to clutter up the Story thread

anyway, here we go

Bosje

[Bosje]

He stroked his bearded chin with his left hand, thoughtfully, indecisively. His right hand held the binoculars through which he had been observing the destroyer as it crossed their path on the horizon, some 8 kilometers away. Not much more than a faint speck through the thin layer of fog which floated on the calm sea. The submarine, in turn, was nearly invisible in the darkness of a winter's evening. If he wanted, he could just turn away, nothing would happen, nobody would know. But he had a burning desire to prove himself, to test his boat and crew and, most of all, to destroy destroyers.

The destroyer was still not aware they were there, its radar was transmitting but not returning a signal off the submarine.

He continued to stroke his waxing beard while the destroyer crossed his bow. He would never be able to out-manouver it if it kept going west at this speed, modest for a destroyer but still beyond the abilities of a U-boat. He couldn't bear to see it just sail away like this. Oberleutnant Hans Bremer, commander of the brand new U-1164, finally made a decision. 'Clear the bridge, we dive.' The boys from third watch preceded their commander down into the boat and the boat settled down at 20 meters for a thorough hydrophone check of their surroundings.

'Just the one contact, Herr Kaleun, fast screws moving away on bearing 350. Nothing else.'
'Thank you, Heinz,' the commander answered. He was not actually a Kapitanleutnant but it was the traditional title for one of Germany's U-boat commanders. The First Officer grinned and said: 'We're getting away nicely. Good one, Herr Kaleun.'
'The destroyer is the one who is getting away, 1.WO. And I am going to bring him back so I can sink him. Surface the boat! All ahead full, make your heading 300. All hands to action stations.'

He had only taken the dive to make sure there were no other ships around. He dared to take on a destroyer, provided that it was just one against one. Even so, daring to take on a destroyer in the first place was a clear sign of madness, as far as the other officers were concerned. It was December 15th, 1943. The hunters were now the hunted and this was not a happy time for the gray wolves of the Atlantic. Oberleutnant Hans Bremer, however, was not playing along. He was going to turn the tables or he would get his arse handed to him while trying. He worded that thought carefully, it was bad luck to think about dying.

The other officers on board, two of whom shared the commander's rank of Oberleutnant, had their own ideas about this endeavor. But Germans had always been big on discipline and the orders were carried out without a hint of mutiny. Now, it was too late for any second thoughts. The destroyer made a sharp turn towards them, alerted by either the noise or the sight or the radar profile (or all of those at once) of a U-boat, surfacing and turning at full speed, exposing her flank as she did so. Ten seconds later, Bremer ordered the boat to dive again. Part one of his little plan complete, now for the more uncertain part two. The battle of wits, commander against commander, hunter against hunter.

[Bosje]

As soon as the boat was fully submerged he ordered a sharp turn to port, away from the destroyer which was speeding towards them. Not even a minute had gone by but it had already halved the distance to 4 km. It would be within asdic range shortly and Bremer had hoped to have turned his stern towards it by then. They did not make it but luck was on their side, the destroyer slowed down to listen for the submarine, it was about one km away. 'Silent running, 100 rpm, maintain rudder hard to port.' The commander had his eye pressed to the attack periscope. 'Target bearing 178, rudder amidships.'

His plan was simple but dangerous: he wanted the destroyer to come after him while he had his stern torpedo tube pointing straight at the enemy. The torpedo would run under the ship and devastate it with a magnetically detonated blast. If he missed, he would still have four bow tubes for another chance. Of course, that involved having the destroyer run right over him first, that was the tricky bit. The destroyer would likely drop depth charges and that would be a problem, to put things mildly. The plan seemed good at the time but now that there was a destroyer looming big and menacing in his periscope view, he suddenly wasn't so sure.

Once more though, it was too late for second thoughts. The destroyer had found them and came charging at them, coming in fast, directly behind. 'Ahead flank!'
The stern tube was now pointing exactly the right way but the destroyer was aware of that and made a series of tight turns, still coming at the U-boat but never in a straight line. That did not make aiming the torpedo any easier and the commander muttered curses in his beard. One stack, slightly tilted, little guns all over, torpedoes on deck, Q/R/S/T class. Which one exactly was immaterial, the depth of the keel would be 4.7 meters. 'Tube 5, magnetic trigger, depth 6 meters. Flood tube, prepare to fire on my bearing. Target speed and AOB blank!'

The crew needed a short while, then came the return: 'Set!'
'Bearing 190, standby, 187, standby, 185, standby, SCHEISSE, standby, standby, 186... FIRE!'
Breathlessly they waited while the commander looked on. He would need to start evasive manouvers soon. One second, two seconds, three sec...WHOOM.
The destroyer was lifted up by the bow as the torpedo exploded right underneath. It farted a series of depthcharges as it crashed back down in the sea and then it ran wildly away over starboard. All the crew on the bridge must have been swept off their feet. The 1.WO shouted down through the hatch into the control room: 'We got her!' and the news was met with cheers from below. Hans Bremer looked on, wordlessly, as the destroyer came to a stop, a fire burning just forward of the bridge. Then the bow took a plunge down into the water. She stood there for a moment, upright with her screws high up in the air, then she was gone.

The commander climbed down from the conning tower and looked at his men who looked back in awe. 'And that, boys, is how we do that.' It was terribly droll but the boys seemed to buy it. 'Congratulations on your first kill, Herr Kaleun,' the navigator said.
'Thank you, Herr Obersteuermann. We'll celebrate later, let's surface the boat and see if it's all clear up top. Maybe we can help some survivors.' Inside, he was bursting with pride and satisfaction. Destroying destroyers was like a drug; an incredible rush and the immediate desire for more. And, of course, the realisation that it was really not very healthy at all, a thought which he quickly suppressed again.

[Bosje]

The chief engineer shared his thoughts on the meal by means of a loud belch and the assembled staff of U-1164 sat back on their seats in the officer's mess, relaxing for a while after a pleasant dinner. The cook brought coffee to complete it all and the commander raised his cup for a toast: 'Gentlemen, here's to accumulating kills and getting away with it!' They toasted to their success. That morning at 5:48 they had torpedoed a fully laden Liberty ship. A well executed kill after a careful setup from the surface and a quick dive to periscope depth before the torpedo exploded. The merchant had been bristling with searchlights and guns, it had even fired at their periscope head but the boat had not been hit. An hour later, the merchant was gone, unable to overcome the heavy flooding in her forward holds after the torpedo ripped open the keel. Two torpedoes, two kills, some 10.000 tons. And not even a scratch on the U-boat.

'God bless the Allies for sending single ships into our claws,' mused Oberleutnant August Euler, the LI or chief engineer: 'We are very lucky to find lone merchants like that, you know. Convoy hunting is a dangerous sport these days.' The commander agreed but couldn't help adding: 'Be that as it may, we still have the job of sinking ships. And there are many ships in a convoy. We have to at least try, should a convoy come within our reach.'
Erich Braunig, First Officer, leaned in: 'With all due respect, Herr Kaleun, the convoy escorts and the independent escort groups are wreaking havoc among the U-boat fleet. Do you really think it's wise to deliberately get in their way? Don't get me wrong, of course we have to attack enemy shipping, but perhaps it's better for us if we focus on, ehm, easier prey.'

Commander Hans Bremer finished his coffee and put the cup on the table. 'Let's not prance around the point here, I have no intention to go on suicide missions or to do insanely stupid and brazen things, but you all have to realise that we are NOT defenseless. We nailed that destroyer. It was a risk but we came out on top. Calculated risks, gentlemen, that's our business. Yes we will be under attack sooner or later, we will probably be in serious danger at some point. If not on this patrol, then on the next one. I am not planning on sacrificing us all, just for the mere possibility of maybe getting a kill, but if I see a good opportunity to attack our enemy, I WILL take it.' The second officer and the navigator nodded at these fighting words, the other two and more senior officers looked less convinced. The commander went on: 'Of course, this is all a moot point at the moment because we are at sea for five days now and apart from the air patrols which we dive away from three times a day, we only encountered those two ships which we sank. Dinner is over, gentlemen, I'm going to have a nap. Have a good watch.' And he left the room.

The chief engineer looked as if he wanted to say something rebellious but then he shrugged and said: 'Well, he's the only one on board with actual combat experience, apart from the Oberbootsmann. And he did a pretty good job with that destroyer. Good evening, gents.' And he returned to his station in the control room.


U-1164 continued on her course, steadily getting out further into the Atlantic, 10 miles further with every hour that went by on that cold, clear winter night. It was almost Christmas and the world looked beautiful. Enjoy it while it lasts, boys, because it probably won't.

[Jimbuna]

Great read

[nikbear]

Good start 43'Things are going to be tricky right from the off

[meduza]

Interesting read! Keep them coming...

[Bosje]

U-1164 was doing her rounds, back and forth, east to west and back again in the search pattern to hunt for ships. They were in their assigned patrol area, north east off the Azores. Days and days of nothing at all to report, bar the usual goings-on. The wind had picked up and the boat danced merrily across the wavetops on her perpetual rounds through an empty sea. Morale was getting slightly lower with each day but that was just the usual boredom of the long war patrol. Commander Hans Bremer kept a close eye on his crew, they were only a week into the patrol and he considered it a highly eventful journey so far, with two kills in the first week alone. Most of the men were simply not accustomed to days with nothing at all to do, except watchduty. That was the problem, keeping a sharp eye on the horizon and sky while nothing ever showed up. The men would learn, in time, but if they missed that single thing which was there to be seen, it could mean the great big end. He almost wished that the RAF would visit them every now and then, just three times a day, for fun, to keep his men occupied, as long as they had their radar sets turned on so he got an early warning off the RWR. The RAF did not oblige, maybe they all had a week off for the holiday season.

Christmas came and went. A relatively luxurious dinner, alcohol for the men as they got off duty and that was it. A few more days of nothing at all and then it was New year's eve in the officer's mess. Nothing impressive. No fireworks because they had nothing to shoot at and it would be wildly irresponsible to send up a couple of flares. The men were cramped around the radio, listening to the German broadcasts and then tuning in to the BBC for another round of the same, even though hardly any of them understood what the comedians and reporters were saying. The second officer lost himself a bit: 'A toast, gentlemen, to 1944, to victory, to the Fuhrer, to the Reich and to the death of...' -the commander cut him off: 'Don't make an arse of yourself, Friedrich, let's toast to our good luck instead.' - 'To good luck!' they all agreed. The staff went up on the bridge to smoke some cigars, hiding the glow by staying down behind the casing and the crew were allowed to join them in groups of four. After that little ritual of disregard for protocol, they allowed themselves the luxury of a slight booze-up while the boat dived to a safe depth, if an enemy ship happened to cross their path that night, the tommies could toast to their own good luck as well.

The commander allowed such liberties, partly because he was rather partial to cigars and booze himself and partly because it was the first day of 1944 and they were in a U-boat out in the Atlantic. That, he thought, would just have to do. Around three in the morning, Hans Bremer went to his cabin, shared some inebriated insights with the boys in the radio room and fell asleep. He dreamed about dozens of ships sailing around them, always just outside of his reach, while his engines wouldn't work and the weather just kept messing up his firing solutions. He woke up four hours later in a hell of a bad mood.

U-1164 continued to do her rounds back and forth across the empty sea. The next day, the commander's dream seemed to have been prophetic, for the wind increased as the clouds came down to embrace the boat and visibility through the rain, fog and high seas was instantly reduced to zero. 'That's just great,' the commander thought. Little did he know that it was only the start of a full month of some of the worst weather the Atlantic could throw at a U-boat.

[Bosje]

January 6th, early in the afternoon. Stabsbootsmann Heinz Schmidt, senior sonar operator, turned the hydrophone head around like he had been doing all week, just in case. The boat crashed her bow down into the sea with every wave and the sonar station was manned on the off-chance that the sound of a merchant's propeller made it through to the earphone. It seemed a longshot and Heinz was terribly bored with it after almost a week. To be honest, he had already been terribly bored with it after two days but like all men on board, he got used to the endless watch duty with nothing to report. Another week or two, he thought, and then the fuel situation would force to boat back to St Nazaire where the bars were waiting for his wages and the girls were waiting for his stories about the hard life on board. Suddenly, he sat up straight and turned the wheel back to bearing 280. He waited, nothing. Hang on, yes, there it was again! Very faintly and only during the short interval when the bow was dipping into the sea, but it was there!

'Sound contact, slow screws, closing, bearing 280!' His triumphant call caused quite a stir in the boat and commander Hans Bremer smashed into the paneling as he flung himself out of his cabin, not four feet away from the sonar station, just as the boat rolled over to starboard. His yells added to the air of urgency as the crew scrambled to their action stations.

The men on the bridge tried to penetrate the mush around them with their eyes but all they could see was gray rain, gray fog, gray sea and gray clouds. In the radio room, they switched on the radar set, something they usually never did for fear of detection by enemy RWRs. Back on the bridge, the commander was commenting on the weather. His repertoire allowed him several minutes of foul language before he had to repeat himself and the watchmen couldn't help grinning. Profanity was funny for some reason, even though there was nothing funny about the situation. Navigator Gunter Esselmann yelled into the commander's ear: 'Jorg can't get the radar to work properly, Sir, the waves interfere too much.' As if to prove his point, a roller crashed into the bridge, forcing the men to duck behind the casing. Their radar was a rather basic design consisting of a series of devices mounted to the conning tower. The waves kept towering high above them on all sides, rendering the device near useless. The navigator continued his summary of the situation: 'We will not be able to get a fix on the target, Sir, this is insane, the conditions are just too bad for an attack!' Hans Bremer cared not: 'I'll be damned if this bastard gets away from me, flood all the forward tubes, we will fire on estimated gyro-angles. And tell those idiots in the radio shack to give me an approximate target bearing or I'll go down there and personally put my boot up their bare bottoms!' Poor Gunter tried again: 'But it's useless, Herr Kaleun!'

The commander exploded into another session of elaborate cursing to send the navigator on his way but he was interrupted by the sight of a huge dark shadow which majestically parted the curtain of gray in front of him. 'All back emergency, hard to port!' Five seconds of maneuvering brought his bow more or less to bear on the target which appeared to be a large merchant. He looked at the ship and his mind suggested: 8 knots. His eyes replied: fair enough, then he fired a fast running torpedo on an 8 degree lead angle. As soon as the torpedo left the tube he realised that he had missed, the merchant was sailing at an undeterminable angle away from them and he sent three more torpedoes after it, on decreasing lead angles. Before the last torpedo left the tube, the second one struck the merchant just aft of the engine room and then it vanished out of sight through the gray curtain. The U-boat was still in reverse. They quickly went after their prize through the rain, spurred on by the cursing commander and guided by the fire which now blazed on the freighter like a torch. They came alongside and then turned away from her to starboard, lining up the sterntube for the coup de grace. Then it was over, as suddenly as it had started.

His heart still pumping from the adrenaline kick, Hans Bremer climbed down into the control room where he was greeted by cheering crewmen and by the LI who said: 'Congratulations, Herr Kaleun, but that was madness.' Bremer grinned and replied: 'Yeah but wasn't it fun, though?' and then he dictated the entry for the log which ended with: -14:59 – merchant approx. 10.000 tons sunk after firing five torpedoes of which two hits, no survivors found owing to rapid sinking and poor visibility.
He then called his navigator for a private meeting and told him to never ever second guess his decisions again and finally he announced that the whole crew would be enjoying a shot of victory schnapps that evening. Another cheer from the men and that was the messy and rude story of his third kill.

[Bosje]

April, 1944.


Commander Hans Bremer tried to take deep breaths but he soon ceased his attempts as the influx of cold fresh air made him throw up. The wine had been excellent but two bottles was obviously too much. He looked around for his transportation but then realised that he had no idea how he had arrived at the club 6 hours before. He decided to walk back to his hotel and randomly aimed for one of the streets which St. Nazaire offered to him. A tottered kilometer later he realised he had no idea where he was, nor where he was going, nor where his lodgings actually were. Did he even stay at a hotel at all? Bastard French and their bastard wine! This was unfair, of course, but he was annoyed at his predicament. He threw up in a side alley and that helped. Think, dammit! How did he get here?

Second warpatrol, left port in high spirits after the success of their first patrol. Crossed the bay of Biscay during the night, heading out into the Atlantic. Air attack, alarm! He remembered the failing vents and the boat still being on the surface as the bomber came screaming in. Guns manned, bombs falling, bullets flying, plane going down in flames, boat completely wrecked, guncrew dead, limping back to port, made it. That was it, now he remembered. They went for a drink to celebrate their safe return and to drown the memory of the terrible attack and to toast to their fallen comrades. But he still didn't remember where he should go now. He turned round and tried to find the club again.

He opened the door of the club and stepped back in. He stumbled and fell face first onto a fortunately placed couch, floored by the impact of the hot, thick and moist atmosphere inside. The LI was least inebriated and noticed his captain had returned. The officers carried him over to their table and sat him down on the chair he had vacated shortly before. He mumbled: 'take me to my toat...boat', and then he fell asleep.


By the end of the month, boat and crew were back in shape and they set out again, the commander was in a grim mood this time but he was also bent on sinking some allied shipping.

[bojan811]

Bravo!!!
More...more!!!

[Mopy]

Good stuff. Liking this one

[Bosje]

'Lovely weather' – 'Hmm' – 'Smoke?' - 'Yeah thanks'
The concise conversation between the two officers stalled when they both lit their cigarettes. Commander Hans Bremer looked out across the ocean and he was happy. Times were hard but he just loved setting out to sea, especially in a boat like this. He loved U-1164 and he enjoyed taking her out for patrol. The bow split the sea before them with ease and the sleek gray hull of the Type VIIC/41 U-boat slivered through the Atlantic almost unnoticed. They just cleared the shallow and dangerous Bay of Biscay during the night and now, the morning after, they all felt better. Air patrols were still all around but at least now they had some depth to escape to for safety. It was sort of a barrier which had to be crossed at the start of each patrol.

Aircraft forced them to dive every couple of hours and they usually stayed down for about an hour each time. Getting anywhere took some time this way but there was not much else for it. The captain thought about the old days, when captains did emergency drills every couple of days, to keep the men on their toes. These days, the enemy kept them on their toes more than they would have liked. The RAF came calling again: Incoming radar transmission!' - 'ALAAARM.'
And down they went. It had quickly become a routine.

In the afternoon they took the opportunity to do a deep dive, the captain wanted to be sure his boat was in good shape after all the repairs from the last disastrous adventure. At 200 meters the boat started to sound off deep moans but that was all she did. Hans Bremer took her down to 250 meters and stayed there for a while, strolling through the boat, listening to the creaks and chatting with the boys in the various compartments. Then he finally ordered her back up, to the relief of his men. Depth was their friend and ally but beyond the 200 meter mark, being calm and at ease was a rare trait which only a few on board seemed to have.

U-1164 kept going, on the surface and below, not very quickly because they were often recharging their batteries but the boat still made steady progress towards their patrol area off the Iberian coast. They got there on the last day of April and established a search pattern to hopefully catch anything which tried to sail by. The Commander sat on his bed and read up on all the decoded radio messages. U-277 was in trouble after being attacked, an incomplete report and then nothing. Several attempts from BdU to contact them, then the sad announcement of yet another boat presumed lost at sea. He re-read the interrupted first message from U-277 when the radio announced a new message. The radio operator needed a while to decode it. Bremer got impatient: 'Well, Hermann?' - 'Got it, Herr Kaleun. Contact report on a convoy, about 12 merchants and 3 escorts, southbound at 5 knots, quite close.' The captain snatched the thin sheet of paper and climbed through the hatch into the control room where he went to work on the charts with the navigator. News travelled fast and soon the whole crew were talking excitedly about the opportunities and dangers which a convoy would present to them.

Commander Bremer hoped that the report was accurate about the enemy escorts. Three escorts, three escorts, three escorts and about twelve merchants. He stroked the stubs on his chin, not even a beard yet, they had barely started their patrol. And already a target within striking distance, with only three escorts. He really hoped that the report was accurate. In the early morning hours of May 1st, U-1164 turned her bow north to intercept the enemy.