My first GWX mission...

[maillemaker]

It was our first patrol, starting in 1939. Our boat left Wilhelmshaven headed for a patrol grid just west of Ireland. On the way out we received constant radio messages informing us of the state of political turmoil and confusion regarding the state of war between us and various other factions - Britain seemed to be fair game but it was unclear whether France was in the game or not.

Just past the Shetlands we encountered two small merchants traveling alone. I inspected them though the scope and determined they were British, making them fair game. The rough weather and darkness made the approaches difficult, but I gave each a single torpedo before moving on. We made revolutions to leave even before they sank - I was not going to waste more eels on such meager prey, as I was sure they would sink in these seas before making port again, and even if they didn't they wouldn't be good for much more than scrap by the time they made it anywhere. My navigator was certain they sank and when I checked the charts later the next morning I discovered he had penciled them down as sunk.

We continued our cruise west, submerged by day until evening or the batteries were gone, and ran on the surface all night. It was rough weather all the way out to our patrol grid. While on patrol, we received a report of a task force convoy just south of Ireland. Being quite a distance away from us, I ordered ahead standard to conserve fuel, and made for an intercept. We made our 24 hours on grid just as we left it, heading southeast for the task force.

A couple of hours into our intercept course we received another report of a convoy headed up from the southwest, heading our way. I ordered a change of course to bring us right down their path. Knowing we would need our batteries later, I ordered us to the surface even though it was still daylight, to bring the batteries back up before we had to submerge to hit the convoy. We ran straight at them until I believed we could be close enough to hear them, and then ordered us down to periscope depth.

Sure enough, it was not long and we picked them up on the hydrophone. Easily 15 or so contacts - quite a convoy. I pressed in submerged, altering course southward slightly so as not to end up in the middle of the convoy as they came at us. Not that I would not have liked to have ended up there, but I knew also that that would bring the lead escort right over us also, and I felt safer being off to the side a bit.

We tracked the convoy in to where I was just about to order the periscope up to see if we could get a visual when they all vanished off of the hydrophone. Completely. It was as if the sea swallowed them up. We continued along the original course of the convoy for a couple of hours, listening in vain, before I ordered a course reversal and we tried backtracking, hoping that perhaps they had somehow gotten around us and we would pick them up in our baffles. Nothing. I chalked it up to an inexperienced and tired hydrophone operator but the crew was not happy, and thought it was a bad omen.

We were now to the point on fuel where we needed to head home, even though we had plenty of eels left. I decided to take us home via the Channel. Certainly there would be plenty of traffic to expend our remaining torpedoes on by that route.

Just as we broke from our search for the commercial convoy, we got a report that the original task force convoy was southwest of us, and heading away. I contemplated giving chase but at the speed they were moving we would have had to go all out on the surface and I was worried about the fuel and getting spotted by a convoy full of warships as we made our approach. I decided against it.

Two hours into our leg towards the channel, we came across another convoy full of merchants. The men were hopping excited - here was a chance to redeem our fruitless searches and reverse our string of bad luck. It was an easy 90 degree intercept to their course, and we made visual contact through the periscope just at nightfall. Lots of juicy merchant targets, and perhaps three escorts.

I set the crews to the torpedo rooms, made sure the eels were set to proper depths and impact pistols (I don't trust the magnetics, and we have gotten radio reports that make me trust them even less), and then gave the order for silent running. I let us drift to a stop, only occasionally spooling up the electrics to keep us right in the path of the convoy. The lead escort passed safely south of us, and the convoy drifted right over us. I raised the scope to just above the calm sea surface, and discharged all four forward tubes, two into a very large tanker, and then one each to a cargo and a munitions ship. I then swung the scope to our aft to see if there was a good setup for a stern shot, and indeed, a small merchant, screening the left side of the convoy, was passing a mere 500 meters away. I gave him the stern tube and pulled down the scope. Since all the escorts were far away on the perimeter of the convoy, I ordered silent running cancelled so the crew could get to work reloading the tubes. The work had just begun when we were rewarded with three torpedo strikes. I raised the scope and confirmed the tanker and the small merchant were going down.

Unfortunately, I had ordered a full stop to keep us from moving into the center line of ships in the convoy. In so doing, we lost our steerage, and the very top of our conning tower must have broken the surface. I was aware of this possibility, but given the extreme low profile of what would be showing, and the coming darkness, I was sure we would be safe. I was wrong. Suddenly we heard a whoosh overhead and a splash as an incoming shell from one of the escorts nearly missed us. I knew the chance to unload our remaining eels had passed and it was time to dive and make our escape. Just as I gave the order for flank speed and a dive to 100 meters, there was a massive blast from above. They had neatly shot us in the bridge, carrying away the radio antennae and damaging the attack periscope, which I had been raising to see how close the escort was. Clearly, they were quite close enough.

We got below the surface and away from their guns, but only barely. We could hear their screws churning for us and the grinding of steel on steel and sickening lurch as their hull brushed our stern on our way down. Why they didn't drop charges on us on that pass I don't know, unless they were afraid of blowing themselves up along with us.

We evaded them for over two hours, when finally they scored a good run. Massive explosions rocked our boat, and the deck heaved upward as our boat's nose was pushed upward by the force of their depth charges. Our forward tubes were leaking badly, as was the forward berth. The damage crews sprung into action, but the inexperience of the crew was hurting their effectiveness. Even with a full compliment the damage control team was having a hard time keeping up with the flooding, and we were slowly sinking past 100 meters. I ordered all non-essential crew aft to help trim us, and ordered ahead flank to give the planes more bite into the sea to stop our decent. Still further we descended, approaching 140 meters. I ordered a ballast blow.

Finally, the damage control team seemed to be getting ahead of the flooding, but we were still descending. Since I knew at flank speed and with the frantic repair efforts the escorts above must be easily hearing us, I ordered our navigator to tell me the depth under keel. A mere 10 meters between us and the bottom of the sea, and we were still sinking, and moving forward at some six knots. If we hit the damage would kill us. I ordered another blowing of ballast.

And it worked.

Slowly we rose from the depths. Our damage control boys had stopped the flooding in the bow torpedo room, and had begun working on the forward berths. I prepared to get back into the fight and evade again. I ordered down to ahead one-third, and to set a depth for 80 meters. Unfortunately, without the increased speed to keep our planes biting in and keeping us afloat, we began to sink again! I ordered yet another blow of the ballast, using up almost the last of the compressed air, but it was clear we would be hitting the bottom. At least there was a bottom, or we would have sunk until the sea crushed us. I ordered all stop, to try to lessen our impact into the bottom.

It did not help. With a mighty crash of loose things and men smashing into the deck and forward, we nosed into the sea bed. Reports came in from all over the ship of damage. Every compartment had been affected. After several minutes, though it seemed like hours, we settled onto the sea floor, and the aft compartments reported in. Most likely things only seemed damaged in the dark and chaos as the power went out when we hit the bottom, because everything aft of the forward berths still seemed intact. All the while we can hear depth charges going off nearby in the water. The sonar men in the escorts must be cheering as surely they heard us plow into the seabed.

But we seem to be OK. At least, we are alive. 156 meters on the sea floor, with no flooding. There is a lot of water in the bow of the boat though, and we are nearly out of compressed air. I'm not sure, even if we can get the pumps working, if we can get enough water out of the boat to get us off the ocean floor. I assign some fresher men to the damage control team, who have been working non-stop since we first took damage.

The damage control teams are still forward dealing with getting the water out of the boat. The hull has been popping and creaking non-stop under the crushing pressure of the sea and by all rights we should not be alive at this depth, so I have ordered the hatches dogged as a precaution. The crews have been working for half an hour when we are rattled by fairly close depth charges. I guess the escorts have not given up on us. Suddenly there is a huge crack and screech, like tearing metal, and the sound of screams and rushing water coming from the forward compartment. The entire damage control team is now dead and the fate of our boat is sealed. U-52 will never rise from the sea floor. We are finished.