U-Boat Scourge

by J Eugene Porter

  Milner studied the new photograph. When he lifted his chin, his expression had turned stern and his voice was weaker. “Where did you get these pictures, what else do you have on the attack?” Milner looked back down at the photograph as Brand pulled out several more to show him.

  Hartung was now taken back even more. The young lieutenant was now shredding the confidence of a German submarine officer and getting him to open up as if he was a young school girl.

  “Here, Herr Milner, is the second bomb which hit your boat. You can see the boat rocked to port and the stern rising. Were you down below?”

  “Yes,” Milner said staring at the photos of his boat as it was being hammered from above by the two planes. His voice dropped to whispers as he squinted at the picture to see who was on top in the conning tower.

  Brand did not let him contemplate too long. “This is the most interesting photograph, Herr Milner. It shows the crew jumping off the submarine, and in the near distance, you can see the plane that had made the last attack. Your men are getting clear, and there are at least two of your small rafts in the water. Out of a crew of fifty-four, I am sorry that nine men did not get out of the boat. I understand your captain was killed in the second pass by the plane. He was on the conning tower, is that correct?”

  Milner looked at the tragedy unfolding in the photographs. He had relived those dreadful minutes for the past weeks while in captivity. He had nightmares as he looked down into the boat seeing that several men were trying to scamper up the ladders to safety but were being sucked under by the rising water. He remembered the body of the captain as it floated in the “tub,” the top part of the conning tower where the crew stood for watches and nighttime attacks. He thought of the wounded men who were being pulled into the little boats and the miracle of the float planes dropping several large life rafts into the sea and waited for the men to be pulled into the safety of the boats.

  Brand drew out the last photograph which showed one of the planes dropping its life raft near the sinking U-boat and marking the location of the boat with dye packets.

  Scanning the last photograph, Milner commented, “These planes killed my submarine, and many of my fellow crewmen, and then they saved the survivors. I know we would not have done the same for the crew of the plane if we shot it down, so I guess I owe the crew of those planes for our lives.”

  Jameson now saw his opening and said in his now flawless German, “Herr Milner, you may thank Lieutenant Brand for that act of chivalry to sailors lost at sea. He was in one of the navy bombers along with Captain Flannigan. I was in the other plane, and we are all glad that you and most of your crew survived. War is hell, so said one of our generals during our Civil War, but it does not mean our humanity should succumb to the vilest parts of the human condition.”

  Milner now stared at the captain and the other two officers with great concern and clouded emotion. He knew for him the war was over. He would survive. He had been serving on submarines since 1938, and he was slotted to get a new Type VII when this cruise ended. He was thrilled at the possibility of command but also apprehensive about his ability to be ruthless to the enemy and at the same time uphold his Catholic beliefs.

  Brand detected the conflicting emotions going through the German’s head. He decided to go on the gentle side for now. “Herr Milner, I do not take any great satisfaction in sinking your boat. Nor do I or the rest of our crew feel good about you losing members of your crew. We are not as war weary as other nations. We believe in fair play, openness, and the freedom to have different opinions even in times of war. I doubt that any of us could leave your crew to die on the open sea. I have seen the damage done by your submarines to our ships and seamen, and many have not been as fortunate. We intend on waging a total war, but we will do it with humanity, and we will end it with a clear conscience.”

  Milner looked at the young lieutenant with new respect. He had heard the platitudes the Americans bragged about. The German media had blasted these as being soft and immoral. Yet, here he was with three officers who gave him more information about what happened to his ship than he knew himself. He also found out what had saved him and how it came to pass. He felt even more conflicted and stared once more at the photograph of the planes dropping life rafts. He saw the navy captain looking at him as an older brother would look at his younger brother after a losing day at a track meet.

  Brand noticed the expression and began to walk Milner back to his first experiences in the Kriegsmarine and his training as an officer. Within an hour, unbeknownst to Milner, he had provided the U.S. Navy with significant intelligence that seemed innocuous to him, even months later after he had been moved to a new POW camp in Hearne, Texas.

  When the interview was finished and the German U-boat officer was returned to the prisoner compound, Captain Jameson looked over at Brand saying, “Damn fine job, James. I did not think this would have the effect that it did. Did you get what you were looking for?”

  “Yes sir. I think I have enough pieces of information that can be spliced together to make a very accurate picture of their intentions, capabilities, and personnel challenges. The crew will be the key to breaking the sub menace, and if we can undermine them in any way, we can get a leg up on their offensive plans.”

  “Captain, may I ask a question?” Hartung spoke hesitantly not knowing what he had witnessed nor able to make a clean assessment of what all this meant.

  “Commander, I guess you are wondering why we made you the odd man out in this project?”

  Hartung nodded yes and began to speak, but Jameson continued. “Commander, you were left in the dark on purpose. You had conducted your interrogations like others who were trained to deal with enemy combatants. Your legal training gives you an edge in normal interrogations and briefings in peacetime. It does little to help in times of war. We came here because of our need to uncover more information about the sinking of the U-boat, and yes, all three of us were on the two planes that made the attack.”

  Jameson looked over to see James shuffling his papers and looking at the photos of the U-boat. He turned again to face the commander. “It was Lieutenant Brand’s strategy and tactics that won the battle with the sub and he wanted to come full circle to learn even more about the crew and the specifics of the attack. Rarely in warfare, do you get to interview the man you were trying to kill only a few weeks previously. It is very important that we learn everything we can about the enemy, not only his equipment and tactics but the men themselves. What makes them tick and what makes them fight until death.”

  Hartung looked at Brand now seated at the desk furiously writing notes and Flannigan putting away the submarine photographs. He opened his mouth to speak, but again, Jameson stopped him cold.

  “Commander, I am now ordering you to forget everything you saw or heard in this room. Any divulgence of the information you heard or witnessed here will result in a court-martial. This series of interviews did not happen. I have seen to it that there is no paper record of any of these meetings and there is now no record that we were ever on this base. The base commander was so notified under the same order you are receiving now. We will be leaving shortly for our base of operations. No additional questions or inquiries as to this mission will be tolerated. Do you understand, Mr. Hartung?”

  In his entire life, Hartung had never been spoken to like this captain had just spoken to him. He could see the navy captain had a large amount of disdain for him and it was now evident in his manner. He was unsure of the violent nature of this man or the marines who accompanied him. He suddenly felt the need to use the head, but had the mental prescience to say, “Yes sir, Captain. I will comply with your orders.”

  “Good for you, Mr. Hartung. If I even suspect you will mention the names of the officers’ present to anyone, I will make sure you are sent to the most remote naval facility on this planet to sit out the war playing with yourself because you will be the only one at that base. You are not much of an officer are you, Mr. Hartung? You decided to
stay in the navy to help your business and legal career. You don’t want to see any action in this war, and God help us if you did. You would not last one day with real men in a real war. You are lucky I’m in a kind mood right now, otherwise I would have you transferred somewhere very cold.”

  Flannigan gave a nod of his head which Jameson interpreted as everything was cleared and they could leave. Brand had stopped writing in his strange shorthand and was also standing. The gunny instinctively opened the door, and the two junior officers walked out.

  Before walking through the door, Jameson said, “Hartung, let me never find out you said anything to anyone at this or any other facility in the world about what you saw or heard. That includes your family, your girlfriends and your pet dog. You will be watched so behave.” With the final admonition, the captain left with an impish smile on his face knowing that Lieutenant Commander Hartung would never whisper a word to anyone even on his deathbed.

  Part 7

  28

  8 March 1942

  Bethesda, Maryland

  • Japanese forces invade Lae and Salamaua, New Guinea.

  • Japanese occupy Rangoon, Burma.

  Shoemaker was a good pilot and was ready for the team. They were in the air within thirty minutes. The base commander did whatever he could to ensure this group from headquarters was gone and out of sight as quickly as possible. Air traffic control had been notified, and they were number one for takeoff. As soon as the plane leveled off at six thousand feet, Brand started to compile his notes, and everyone else just looked out the window, except for Jameson and Flannigan who were having a private conversation. What they were saying to one another was anyone’s guess, but the gunny knew it was none of his business, so he decided to snooze a bit on the flight back to Washington.

  The flight went as planned and the plane arrived late in the evening. By the time they got to the house in Bethesda, or as the marines called it, the mansion, everyone was ready to hit the hay. Even Brand looked bushed. He gladly said goodnight to Captain Jameson and Captain Flannigan, went into his room, and turned off the light. Everyone knew he would start banging on his typewriter within a few hours, so it was a good time to get some sleep.

  Two days passed while Brand wrote his report with the aid of Captain Jameson. They also spent some time at Old Navy digging into intelligence reports on U-boat sightings and attacks. They were also looking at the classified reports the British continued to send to Admiral King, although he didn’t take their advice seriously. Brand and Jameson knew differently and were preparing a report based on American-supplied information and their own work with the POWs. Jameson thought the crux of Brand’s arguments would stand on their own merits, but he wanted as much additional corroboration as possible.

  Flannigan wasn’t involved in these activities and stayed at the house talking to his men and reading some of the reports Jameson passed on that he would otherwise never see. Chief Schmidt provided sanitized copies of reports he picked up on the radio and chatter from other top secret cleared radio operators. Jameson had warned him of sharing too much, but he knew Flannigan was no security risk. This evening was a bad one for Flannigan. He had a chance to see a classified report on the probable sinking of the USS Houston and the HMAS Perth off the coast of Java. He knew some of the navy officers on board and many of the marines who manned the open-deck guns, forming the marine detail on the cruiser. There was no confirmation from the navy, but the Japanese had claimed to have sunk the Galloping Ghost of the Java Coast many times. Flannigan knew things were getting worse for the men left on Bataan and elsewhere in the Philippines, but he had hoped remnants of the old Asiatic Fleet would somehow make it out like he did.

  He was sitting at the table in the kitchen looking at a piece of warm bread that the assistant housekeeper and cook, Missy Rains, had given him after pulling it out of the oven. The smell was something that drove most of the marines crazy. The gunny always commented fresh baked bread was better than anything else in the world including a woman, but he was known for stretching the truth.

  Dr. Feldman had just come in from the Naval Hospital after another uneventful day of taking care of senior officers and malingering sailors. He found Flannigan sitting at the table scrutinizing a report that could only be top secret from all the red ink stamped on top. He walked over to the newly minted captain and saw him distraught over whatever he was reading. “Hey, Robert, what are you doing home? No training problems to attend to today?”

  Flannigan looked up and saw the smiling face of Dr. Feldman. “No, just hanging out looking at more sad news.”

  Feldman almost sat down beside the marine but then thought differently. “Hold that chair for me, I’ll be right back.”

  Flannigan said nothing as the doctor walked back to his room, the one he now shared with Flannigan. He had moved out of Brand’s room to give the young genius more space for chalkboards and files. He rummaged around in a small chest of drawers that contained his uniforms and some non-regulation clothing for going out on the town and found what the navy considered contraband.

  Returning to the kitchen, the good doctor went to one of the cupboards and retrieved two glasses. He sat down next to his friend, still engrossed in his reading. Feldman placed both glasses in front of him, pulled out a bottle of first-rate scotch and poured two inches into each glass.

  Flannigan finally acknowledged his friend. “So, Doctor, do I look so bad that the physician of the house has to prescribe some sort of medicinal brandy to improve my health?”

  Feldman pushed one of the glasses to Flannigan and picked up his own saying, “Well, my young captain of marines, it is sometimes important for members of the naval medical community to spend quality time with the downtrodden, the insane and the feeble. Which I have been told means members of the United States Marine Corps.” Feldman picked up his glass and looking right at his close friend said, “Semper Fidelis, Captain Bob.”

  Flannigan could not turn down the toast to the corps, but he did have ideas on how the naval medical service could be improved with better breeding habits.

  “Semper fi, Lieutenant Feldman, semper fi.” Both men downed the contents of their glasses and placed them firmly on the table.

  “Doc, seems the naval medical service has access to a much better quality whisky than we poor members of the Corps. Where did you find this stuff?”

  Feldman looked at the last drops in the glass and then turned to Flannigan replying, “My dear Bob or should I call you Captain Bob? It seems that as a resident physician I picked up a few pointers on the finer aspects of American whisky. I also have a refined palate for scotch whisky as well as the Canadian variety. My family is always searching for a good value and when you have an uncle in the booze business in New York, what would you expect me to serve my brave comrades in arms?”

  Flannigan eyed the bottle and mouthed, “More.”

  “Why sure, Captain Bob, let us drink to the team or Admiral King or to whatever you choose.” Feldman poured two more fingers of scotch into each glass and waited for a toast from the marine captain that he had grown to admire and love like a brother.

  Flannigan picked up his glass and in a strong voice said, “To Capt. Albert Rooks and the gallant men of the USS Houston. May God be kind to you and ease your passing into Heaven.” Flannigan threw back the dark liquid and placed the glass on the table.

  Dr. Feldman did likewise quietly setting his glass next to the marine captain, sensing his friend must have received some information concerning the ship and its crew. He decided to go ahead and see what kind of non-alcoholic therapy he could administer. “Bob, it sounds as if you have received some bad news on the Houston, can you tell me what you found out?”

  Flannigan turned toward his friend and physician, picking up some of the classified papers. “You’re not a spy so you can look at these as well. Just remember, you didn’t see a thing nor do you know anything, got it?”

  “Sure thing, Bob, but what’s going on?” Feldma
n took the onion skin copies called “flimsies” by radio operators who would have to make five or six copies of each message using the “flimsies” and carbon paper. Feldman knew you needed lots of paper to win a war and the U.S. Navy was very good at paper.

  Feldman started reading the reports which went back three weeks. Seems there was a confusing naval battle in the Java Sea involving the Houston and several U.S. destroyers along with two Dutch light cruisers and a couple of Dutch destroyers plus the HMS Exeter, the HMAS Perth and a few British destroyers. The battle was a mess of misdirection and leadership with the Dutch Admiral Doorman in charge instead of the American Admiral Glassford. Glassford had replaced Admiral Hart earlier in February but because of the nature of the multi-nation forces involved, the Dutch Admiral was in command. Evidently, the two Dutch cruisers were sunk along with one of their destroyers plus a British destroyer. The Exeter was badly damaged and steamed away with two of the American destroyers. They were not heard from again.

  The next report mentioned the Houston and Perth heading back to someplace called Surabaya. Then under constant aerial attack, both ships left the harbor trying to escape the Java Sea by heading through the Sunda Strait, the water passage between the islands of Sumatra and Java. Nothing was heard from either ship again nor was there word from a Dutch destroyer that tried to negotiate the same passage.

  Feldman put down the report and saw the grief of not knowing written on Flannigan’s face. The greatest fear of war is not knowing what happened to people or places or ships you have known. You often place guilt on yourself for not being there, or not being adequate or strong enough to help in their hour of need. Feldman had seen this expressed on the faces of parents and siblings of people involved in disasters, which left survivors searching for answers to prayers that never came. He decided on a dual strategy, booze and talk, so he poured another round. This time both he and Flannigan slowly sipped the brown colored liquid and each man stared deep into the bottom of their glass.