by Don Keith
She was clearly sinking. They had to find out where the flooding was and stop it. And the whole thing could blow up at any time, too.
Just catching the sub was a task unto itself. She was still running in a broad circle, moving at about seven or eight knots, her big diesel engines rumbling dutifully along.
Albert David and his men were finally able to catch her, tie up to her flank, and climb onto the U-boat’s deck. They fought to hold their balance in the rough seas and with the circling motion of the sub. Then they tried to concentrate on what they had learned in their training back in Norfolk. From here on, they would need to follow their instructions to the letter. But they also needed to be ready to improvise, depending on what they might find in the dark interior of the wounded enemy boat.
By this time, the stern of the U-505 was covered with water and the sea reached almost to the top of the conning tower. They had to get below and they had to do it quickly so they could close the valves. If they couldn’t find all the main sources of flooding, the boat would be lost for sure and they could go down with her.
David and his men knew, too, that the Germans had almost certainly set the timers on the scuttle charges, and that they could be located anywhere on the boat. As their feet touched the top rungs of the ladders, they had no way of knowing that the fleeing crew had only had time to set one charge, that the switch on that charge was corroded and failed to close. David and the others took heart in the fact that there had not been an explosion already. The Germans would have wanted the charge to go off before any boarding party got aboard to minimize the chance it could be disarmed first.
The object was not to try to blow up the assault party; it was to destroy the submarine before anyone else could get aboard.
As they climbed to the top of the conning tower, the Americans stepped around one dead German sailor. His body lay on the deck, obviously a victim of the gun attack. Quickly they dropped down the open hatches and fanned out in different directions, again performing the way they had been trained to do back in Norfolk.
Machinist’s Mate First Class Zenon Lukosius was the first to locate the source of so much of the flooding. The Germans had opened a big pipe, called a sea strainer, and the seawater was coursing through in torrents, spreading through open doorways into all compartments. Lukosius quickly tracked down the strainer cover and secured the opening, shutting off the worst of the inrushing seawater.
Meanwhile, the other members of the boarding party had located the armed scuttle charge and tore away the wires, disarming it. There was no way to be certain that was the only one. A nerve-racking, systematic search of all the sub’s compartments began, working from the control room forward and aft. Others in the crew hurriedly gathered up every chart, codebook, and scrap of paper they could find, including two M4 Enigma code machines. They took it all topside to be carried back to one of the ships. This was valuable material to liberate. The assault would now be a success, even if the submarine were still lost.
The Pillsbury pulled alongside the moving sub to try to put over towlines, ignoring the continued risk of an explosion or of the submarine foundering and going down. As she jostled against the sub, the German boat’s bow plane rammed through the destroyer’s side, opening a gash, flooding several compartments. The Pillsbury had to pull away to take care of her own wounds.
There was another struggle going on by that time, and it had nothing to do with the Germans, their submarine, or the boarding party. It originated back in Norfolk. When Captain Gallery reported back to U.S. naval headquarters the news of the successful seizure of the U-boat, there was the expected round of hearty congratulations. But then, almost immediately, a terse message was sent to Gallery, ordering him in no uncertain terms to abandon his plans to tow the U-boat to Africa, even though it was the closest and most logical friendly beach. Ports there were reportedly crawling with German spies. Instead he was to pull the dead-in-the-water vessel all the way to Bermuda, a journey of close to twenty-five hundred miles. The trip would have to be accomplished on a short fuel supply, too.
Gallery questioned the wisdom of that plan, but he was told to do as ordered and not question the decision. He was also instructed to refrain from any further mention of the event on the radio. His men were to be told in no uncertain terms not to tell anyone—anyone!—what they had accomplished that day. Each sailor in the task group was ordered to sign an oath of secrecy before the day was over, verifying he understood what would happen to him if word of the sub’s capture got out. If anyone specifically were charged with revealing the taking of the U-505, it would result in the death penalty for treason. A similar order went to all three thousand members of the various hunter-killer task groups in the Atlantic.
No one was to learn of the capture of the U-505, least of all the German high command.
The news of the submarine’s capture had sent a certain admiral back in Norfolk into a rage. Admiral Ernest King, commander of the Atlantic Fleet, was too angry for the moment to appreciate the skill and bravery of his sailors and what they had accomplished out there. He knew if the Germans found out one of their U-boats and its codebook and Enigma machines had been captured, then the hard-won translation of that code that they had done already would become worthless. So would the codebooks and Enigma machines that Gallery and his boys had captured. The enemy would immediately change to another set of ciphers, and it might take years to break those, even if they could ever be figured out.
It had happened before. In 1943, guerrillas broke into the Japanese embassy in Portugal. Assuming their diplomatic codes had been compromised, the Japanese changed them. Of course, the Allies had broken the code sometime before that, but that hard-won accomplishment was useless the instant the Japanese learned of the break-in half a world away. The new version of the Japanese code would still not be broken by the time the war ended.
Now, there was a chance of that same thing happening with the Germans and their submarine codes. That possibility was what set Admiral King off on a tirade. Some in the Tenth Fleet reported that the admiral was mad enough to demand that Captain Gallery be court-martialed the instant he returned to Norfolk. That never happened. Gallery had permission from his superiors to attempt the capture.
For the time being, Daniel Gallery had no inkling of the hot water his glorious mission had gotten him into.
Besides, the commander had his hands full, trying not to lose the sub now that he had her. There was still a good chance the boat was going to sink, and her rudder was still jammed hard to the starboard. That would make it difficult to control her enough to tow her to land.
Water was still getting into the submarine from somewhere, likely due to the damage caused by the Chatelain’s depth-charge attack. Another whaleboat had made its way from the Guadalcanal to the U-505 by then, and those men were assisting the first bunch in looking for any more scuttle charges, still-open sea cocks, and any damage that might be contributing to the flooding.
The Guadalcanal had finally succeeded in securing towlines to the submarine and salvage operations began in earnest, even as the stern of the sub disappeared completely and waves rolled threateningly over most of the boat’s decking.
Commander Earl Trosino crawled around in the flooded bilges, treading filthy, oily water beneath the vessel’s diesel engines, tracing pipes and closing valves leading to damaged piping.
Later, in an August 1945 article for the Saturday Evening Post, Daniel Gallery described how Trosino “risked his life many times . . . squirming into inaccessible corners . . . where he wouldn’t have a chance to escape in the case the sub started to sink.” He credited Trosino and “his total disregard of his own safety” for their success in saving the U-505.
Radioman John Fisher was among the early crew members to board the submarine. He was sent over because he knew what the Enigma machines looked like, and which papers were the most important to get off the boat. He remembers a captured sailor from the U-505 who was Polish. One of the American sailors
was of Polish descent and they quickly discovered that they were distant relatives.
The U-boat sailor volunteered to go back aboard the damaged submarine and show the Americans how to disconnect the rudder so it would no longer be an impediment. In return, the sailor wanted asylum in the United States. His deal was approved and he kept his end of the bargain. The U-boat sailor was later seen aboard an airplane taking off from the Guadalcanal , headed for the United States. Fisher never knew if he received his asylum or whether he went to a POW camp like the rest of his shipmates.
The surviving German sub’s crew members were all pulled from the sea and from their lifeboats and taken to the Guadalcanal. In all, fifty-eight submarine sailors were rescued. Only one German was killed, the one the boarding party saw on deck when they climbed aboard. In addition to the captain, his executive officer and one enlisted man were wounded. Those men were taken back to Bermuda along with their boat. From there they went to a POW camp in Ruston, Louisiana.
There they were treated very well, as was typical of prisoners of war captured by the United States. They were isolated from other prisoners, however, and the United States was absolutely and unashamedly guilty of one major breach of Geneva Convention rules: the Germans were not allowed to write letters to their families back home to let them know they were okay. Later that year, the German navy informed the U-505’s family members that their men and the U-boat they were aboard were long overdue, that they were missing and presumed dead.
Admiral King directly ordered the departure from the dictates of the Geneva Convention. It was essential that no one knew the U-505 was in American hands.
The prisoners made several efforts to let their government know what had happened. They tried some slick tricks to try to get word of their capture back to their families, too. At one point, they fashioned some balloons and filled them with home-brewed helium, made from cleaning supplies they found at the camp. Messages were attached to the balloons and they were released into the Louisiana night. They apparently never made it to anyone who could relay those messages to Berlin.
After the war, the prisoners were allowed to return home to their surprised and grateful families.
Despite the difficulties, Gallery and his task force, with some help, were able to begin the tow of their prize to Port Royal Bay, Bermuda. Salvage crew members disconnected the boat’s diesel engines from her electric motors and allowed her propellers to turn as she was being towed. This actually worked to charge the batteries enough that the submarine’s pumps could be used to remove water from her compartments. After three days, with the submarine riding high in the water and no longer in any danger of sinking, the task force was met by a sea tug. It hooked up and continued the tow. They also met a tanker, bringing much-needed fuel for the thirsty warships.
Once in Bermuda, the U-505 was the object of attention from a whole group of navy engineers, intelligence agents, and others. She was a virtual treasure trove of information. Her codebooks gave instant access to the communications between Berlin and her U-boats that were still operating in the Atlantic. That information gave the Allies a powerful new ability to find and destroy the elusive U-boats. An especially surprising discovery was that the Germans had recently begun using a new type of acoustic torpedo. Now they had an actual working model to study.
While there are numerous turning points in any conflict, the capture of the U-505 in June of 1944 was certainly a major one in World War II. Also, the skill and bravery of the men who risked their lives in commandeering the submarine were part of an inspirational story that could not be told in its entirety until well after the war had ended.
The U-505 was the first man-of-war captured on the high seas by the U.S. Navy since the War of 1812, over 130 years previously. For his death-defying actions that day leading the initial boarding party, Lieutenant Albert David was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. The other members of the party received the Navy Cross.
In awarding the task group the Presidential Unit Citation, Admiral Royal Ingersoll, Commander in Chief, U.S. Atlantic Fleet, said, “Undeterred by the apparent sinking condition of the U-boat, the danger of explosions of demolition and scuttling charges, and the probability of enemy gunfire, the small boarding party plunged through the conning tower hatch, did everything in its power to keep the submarine afloat and removed valuable papers and documents. Succeeding, and more fully equipped, salvage parties, faced with dangers similar to those which confronted the first group to enter the submarine, performed seemingly impossible tasks in keeping the U-boat afloat until it could be taken in tow. After three days of ceaseless labor the captured U-boat was able to withstand, with constant care, the rigors of a twenty-four-hundred-mile tow to its destination.”
Ingersoll did not stop there. He concluded by adding, “The Task Group’s brilliant achievement in disabling, capturing, and towing to a United States base a modern enemy man-of-war taken in combat on the high seas is a feat unprecedented in individual and group bravery, execution, and accomplishment in the Naval History of the United States.”
Those awards came after the war was over and the capture of the U-505 no longer had to be kept secret.
The German high command never found out that one of their U-boats had been captured or that their codebooks had fallen into Allied hands. They must have wondered why, though, from that point on, the enemy seemed to be one step ahead of their submarine operations. The effectiveness of the legendary German U-boats would not be the same the rest of the war.
Captain Daniel Gallery escaped any consequences from Admiral King’s displeasure. By getting the captured vessel back to Bermuda, and by keeping the secret of its capture, he saved his career. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal for his efforts.
Of course, the attempt to take a U-boat had been approved by his superiors and sanctioned and supported by the commanders at Tenth Fleet and F-21, so he was completely in the right in what he did. He had accomplished exactly what he had conceived, what he set out to do. He had captured a German U-boat and all the intelligence treasures she held, and he had done it with no casualties among his crew. Then he succeeded in bringing the U-boat back so she could be dissected. That contributed to his country’s victory over a crafty enemy.
Now, his quarry safely delivered, Captain Gallery could get back to work. He would not be trying to capture any other boat, though. Instead he and his task group were trying to find other German boats and send them to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. After the war, he eventually made the rank of rear admiral and commanded Carrier Group Six during the Korean War. He retired from the navy in 1960 and became a prolific writer on naval subjects. Gallery also kept up a continuing and spirited correspondence with many of his old adversaries who patrolled in the German U-boats.
But Dan Gallery was not quite finished with his prize.
The day would come when he would help commandeer the U-505 one more time.
When the European portion of World War II ended, there was no point in keeping the secret of the U-505 any longer. The navy issued a short press release in May of 1945. That was the first news the German crew members’ families had that their men might still be alive.
Shortly afterward, the Nazi submarine went out on a tour of sorts. The object was to raise money for war bonds to help finance the continuing conflict against the Japanese in the Pacific. In exchange for purchasing a set amount of war bonds, visitors could climb aboard a real, live German U-boat and ramble around inside her. There they could see the very location where the Pillsbury’s crew members disarmed the scuttle charge. Visitors could touch the valves the boarding party had managed to close only minutes before the vessel would have sunk forever.
The U-505 visited several cities along the eastern seaboard. It is no surprise that she proved to be a very popular attraction wherever she went.
After the navy learned all they could from the captured submarine, she went to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, for temporary storage. The plan was to even
tually use her for target practice, allowing future submarine torpedomen to get a chance to launch their fish at a real German U-boat.
That’s when Daniel Gallery once again steamed across the U-505’s path.
He got wind that his trophy was about to meet an ignoble end so he went to work, trying to find her a permanent home. He had captured her once upon a time. He could darn well do it again.
That’s when the Chicago native hatched a plan. He mentioned to his brother the possibility that the U-boat would be destroyed, and what a shame it was. Father John Gallery, who lived back in the Windy City, contacted the folks at the Museum of Science and Industry over near the lake. As it happened, the museum had been considering adding a submarine to its collection. They had had little luck so far in the more than ten years since they began contemplating the addition of a plunging boat to their collection. They were immediately excited about the possibilities of acquiring such a historic and noteworthy vessel as the U-505.
Gallery led a contingent to the office of Under Secretary of the Navy Charles S. Thomas in Washington, D.C. He convinced the undersecretary that the U-505 belonged on the banks of Lake Michigan, not at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. There was a catch, though. The navy had no interest in paying a single cent of taxpayer money to assist the museum in the move, and they would not continue to pay for her storage in Portsmouth any longer. Either she went to Chicago or to the bottom of the sea. One or the other had to happen soon.
The City of Chicago and private donors ponied up the quarter million dollars needed to pay for the move and to get the submarine prepared to receive visitors. Soon, the U-boat was making another monumental journey while under tow. This time, she was pulled out the Piscataqua River and into the Atlantic. Then she was headed northeast, around New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island, and ultimately into the St. Lawrence River. She negotiated two dozen locks in the St. Lawrence Seaway. Then she passed through four of the five Great Lakes before arriving in Chicago in June 1954.