Grey Wolf, Grey Sea

by E. B. Gasaway

  On Christmas Eve, the hydrophone operator heard the sound of screws approaching, then receding. They hunted desperately, fighting their way through the heavy waves, searching for the ship they had heard. They found nothing.

  It was a dismal Christmas for the men of the U-124. The pathetic little Christmas tree they had made and lovingly decorated with home-made ornaments did little to dispel the gloom, and in fact only served to remind the men of happier Christmases at home with their loved ones in a world that was not always wet and cold.

  At this particular time, there were only three German U-boats at sea. Admiral Dönitz would later bitterly complain that the "war against England, the mighty sea power and our principal adversary, was being waged by from 120 to 240 men of the German U-boat arm."2

  On January 6, Schulz's pious prayer was answered when he sighted the British freighter Empire Thunder. The 6,000-ton ship was perplexingly difficult target as she pounded through waves as high as a house. Schulz made his calculations quickly and precisely. He knew that in the storm he might get only one shot and it had to be good.

  The torpedoes were set, and he chose the exact instant to fire. The first shot missed, and Schulz quickly fired another. It also missed, and the U-boat clung fiercely to the freighter, determined not to lose contact.

  Schulz brought her back into firing position and squinting through the periscope, fired again. The torpedo hit the freighter's bow and she stopped. Schulz took aim and fired again, but the torpedo proved faulty, and to his horror, turned in a circle to head back to the U-boat. It sped within a few meters of the boat, then vanished. Unnerved by this maverick fish, the commander fired a last shot.

  "By God, hit!" he whispered as the torpedo left the tube.

  It hit aft, and the plucky freighter went down by the stern. Schulz watched, his face impassive. Whatever happened now, at least he would not bring his crew home scoreless.

  A few days later he was sure he was close upon a convoy, but was unable to track it down in the storm. He had found himself within a couple of thousand meters of a British destroyer, but the mountainous waves made it impossible to attack. The destroyer was tossing as wildly as the U-boat and could not bring her guns to bear. And so the two enemies could only stare curiously at each other while they fought their common foe, the wintry North Atlantic. The seas that battered them so mercilessly had, for the moment, made them safe from each other.

  U-124 returned to Lorient along with U-38 and U-96 on January 22, 1941, after the most exhausting and frustrating six weeks her crew had ever known.

  Admiral Dönitz met them at the pier, shocked by the transformation in the fresh and confident crew he had seen off only six weeks earlier. His heart went out to these thin, tired sailors, standing at stiff attention to greet him. Their faces, etched with deep lines of fatigue, and the alarming loss of weight they had all suffered—as much as 20 and 30 pounds per man—spoke only too eloquently of the strain and weariness and disappointment they had endured.

  These men were his own—these, and the others who manned the handful of U-boats under his command. He had personally trained them, and he knew all of the officers and most of the men.

  This coldly formal genius, whose men called him the "Big Lion," regarded his grey wolves with warm affection, and was constantly concerned for their welfare. When at all possible, he was on the quay waiting when a boat returned from the front. He would greet the whole crew, and then have a short visit in the wardroom with the commander and his officers, at which time he would get a quick résumé of the cruise and any problems which might require prompt attention.

  Later, after the commander had a chance to rest, he would bring his war diary to the admiral's office for a line-by-line examination. And woe to the unlucky commander who did not have a good explanation for any entry that hinted at a lack of aggressiveness.

  It was generally agreed among U-boat skippers that it was better to tangle with a British destroyer than an angry Dönitz, and a dressing down from the admiral would leave a bold and clever U-boat commander feeling like a spanked puppy. More than one skipper, head held high and cheeks aflame, his decorations for gallantry gleaming against his freshly pressed uniform, would march from this office wondering dully how such a witless spineless dummkopf as himself could ever have been entrusted with command of a German U-boat in the first place. It would be hours later, over beer or wine with his fellow commanders before his confidence would return.

  "God," sighed one after relating his conversation with the BdU, "I'd rather have a real lion get hold of me!"

  Constant peak performance was expected by the admiral, and he would tolerate nothing less. His impossibly high standards, and their own ability to meet those standards month after month, in good times and bad, contributed to the intense pride and confidence of the U-boat men.

  Their morale would soar in the months and years when, in spite of their absurdly small numbers, the German U-boat was the dread of the ocean, threatening every Allied ship that put to sea and wiping out whole convoys at a time. And it would remain unbroken in the face of devastating losses, during the last bitter months when only two out of every five U-boats that left on patrol would ever return.

  Always behind them stood the Big Lion, demanding all they had to give in courage, endurance, and fighting skill, but fiercely protective whenever his cubs were threatened by an outsider, be it British warship or German brass.

  1 Gross register tonnage is the measure in hundreds of cubic feet of the enclosed spaces in the ship. Light displacement tonnage is the weight of the ship alone, and loaded displacement tonnage is the weight of the ship plus stores, water, fuel, etc., and capacity cargo.

  2 Dönitz, Adm. Karl. Ten Years & Twenty Days, World Publishing Co., Cleveland and New York.

  Chapter Six

  Before leaving on his fourth war patrol in U-124, Schulz was called in for the usual briefing by Admiral Dönitz. The admiral informed him that in view of the short but successful cruise by U-65 around Freetown, during which she sank eight ships and damaged another, three other boats would be sent to this area. U-105 (Shewe), U-106 (Hermann Rasch), and U-124 (Schulz) would leave at two-day intervals. Since lack of fuel had cut short U-65's cruise, arrangements would be made to refuel and resupply these three boats at sea.

  "Schulz, do you think you could get in and out of the harbor at Las Palmas at night without being seen?" the admiral asked suddenly.

  Schulz considered for a moment, then replied that he was reasonably sure he could because he knew the harbor from his days on merchant ships.

  "Good," the admiral said. "You will go in and refuel from a German tanker that is anchored in the harbor. She is the Corrientes, lying approximately here." He indicated the position on a chart of the harbor. "But I must impress upon you, Schulz, that secrecy is of the utmost importance. You must not be seen."

  If it became known that the tanker was supplying German U-boats, she would be forced to leave the neutral port. But if the refueling were successful, it would be a tremendous advantage to the Freetown boats to be able to top off their fuel tanks in the Canary Islands, well over halfway to their operational area.

  Just before Schulz left, the admiral handed him a small package, about the size and shape of a cigar box. "You are to give this to Kapitän Krancke, commander of the Admiral Scheer," he said. "A rendezvous will be arranged at sea. It is of vital importance to the Scheer—and top secret."

  Schulz took the package, wondering to himself what it could possibly contain that was so important to a pocket battleship.

  "Goodbye," the admiral said, shaking hands with him warmly. "Good hunting."

  U-124 arrived at Las Palmas about dark on March 4, and crept in close on the surface to observe. She spent the night lying just outside the harbor entrance while her commander watched the traffic that came and went, and timed the trips of the sentry pacing back and forth on the mole.

  Just before daylight, Schulz brought his boat back out from the harbor and took h
er down to 50 meters. He then worked out his plans for the following night.

  The men spent the day sleeping and resting, with only a skeleton crew on watch. There would be no sleep for anyone the next night.

  It was quite dark when the boat came back to Las Palmas and waited while the sentry walked toward them on the mole. Then he started back in the opposite direction. As soon as his back was turned, U-124 crept stealthily into the narrow harbor entrance. She was flooded down so that the decks were awash and only the small conning tower was above the water, There were only three men on the bridge. Schulz and Mohr were observing forward while a petty officer watched aft.

  They headed cautiously toward where Schulz had been told he would find the tanker. She would be lying at anchor inside the harbor but not at a pier, and Dönitz had given Schulz a silhouette of her for identification. They found her almost immediately and with no difficulties, picking her out from several other ships lying at anchor in the vicinity.

  U-124 slipped warily alongside the tanker about 1 a.m. Immediately there was a great deal of subdued activity aboard the Corrientes as the U-boat tied up and Schulz and about half his crew went on board.

  He was told the tanker had been notified by the German embassy in Spain to be on the lookout for a German U-boat which would refuel from them. They had been watching for two weeks, and although four men had been looking for the boat as she approached, none had seen her until she was within a few meters of the ship. This further convinced Schulz that a U-boat, riding low in the water at night, was all but invisible to a surface ship.

  All the U-boat's crew went aboard the tanker to be treated to a good hot breakfast and a warm welcome from their countrymen while the boat took on diesel fuel, lubricating oil, drinking water, and other provisions. By 4 a.m., the refueling was finished and the U-boat again slipped through the harbor entrance just before daylight. The operation had been an unqualified success.

  Shortly after clearing the harbor, the U-boat sighted a steamer, probably French or Portuguese, but Schulz let her go without a chase because they were too close to land.

  The next night, March 5, they again made contact with another ship. They were running on the surface, and the balmy tropical night gave the illusion of a peacetime cruise to the men topside. Schulz had stayed on the bridge until nearly midnight, then had gone down to his bunk. He had just dropped off to sleep when the call, "Commander to the bridge!" sent him running topside.

  This peremptory order roused many a weary skipper from a sound sleep, groggy and swearing, and trying desperately to clear his sleep-drugged brain before he reached the bridge. Within seconds be must be able to make decisions for attacking, assess sudden danger that might be present, or cope with whatever situation had been deemed serious enough by the officer on watch to summon the commander. By the time he reached the bridge, he had to be alert enough to use all his skill, training, and experience.

  The new II.WO, Werner Henke, had the bridge watch. Catching a glimpse of white, he turned around as Schulz popped through the hatch. On a U-boat, only the commander wore a white hat, making him easy to recognize on a dark bridge.

  Henke pointed out the two silhouettes some 6,000 meters distant. They were warships. Schulz closed in a little, and in a few minutes, he could tell they were either battleships or heavy cruisers.

  Word had soon flashed through the boat that they were stalking two battleships, and though no orders had been given, the crew had quietly begun to close up to battle stations. Mohr had come onto the bridge.

  While Schulz was maneuvering the boat into attacking position, he was full of doubts about the ships ahead. It seemed highly unlikely that two British heavy units would be in these waters without a destroyer screen. (God knows they had plenty of them, he thought to himself.) At least they should be zig-zagging at high speed, but these two were proceeding on a straight course at about 7 knots.

  "But if they were ours, we should have been told," he remarked perplexedly. "Check again, Mohr. And what would ours be doing cruising along like this in 'Britain's Ocean'?"

  Mohr thumbed rapidly through the radio log and also asked Dr. Hubertus Goder, who in addition to his few duties as physician was part-time communications officer.

  As a doctor, Goder was classified as a non-combatant, and so could not take part in such aggressive duties as standing a watch. Communications, being somehow considered more peaceful, was permissible, and Dr. Goder helped out by decoding messages which could be handled only by an officer. He told Mohr he had positively decoded no such message.

  Within a few minutes Mohr was back on the bridge to report to the commander that no signal had been received regarding German warships in the area.

  Schulz hesitated. He did not believe that British battleships would be out without a strong destroyer escort. Still, the SKL (Seekriegsleitung—Naval High Command) would surely have informed him if German ships were in the vicinity.

  The officers on the bridge stared intently at the dark ships, growing steadily larger as the distance closed. The situation was as puzzling as ever to Schulz. If they were, indeed, British, it was a U-boat commander's dream come true. But if they were German, then he stood to claim the nightmarish distinction of striking a crippling blow against his own navy and slaughtering several thousand of his countrymen.

  "Mohr," he said finally, "get a message off to the BdU and ask if any German heavy units could be in our area."

  "In the meantime," he went on as Mohr disappeared down the conning tower hatch, "we'll circle around ahead and be in position to shoot. By the time we get ready to fire, we should have an answer."

  Inside the boat, the impatient men waited at their battle stations. "Why doesn't he shoot? What's he waiting for?" "They're bound to be British. They'd have told us if our own ships were out here." "Keep your shirt on. Willem knows what he's doing. If they're British, he'll sink them."

  And on the bridge, "Willem" stared at the unsuspecting warships moving serenely on their way and hoped desperately that he was not letting a perfect shot at two capital ships slip through his fingers.

  Suddenly the two ships lurched to high speed and began zig-zagging wildly.

  "We've lost them now," the disappointed murmur went across the narrow bridge.

  But Schulz laughed aloud. "They're German all right. And I'll guarantee they just got word a U-boat was after them!"

  "Wait, Herr Kaleu!" Goder yelled, scrambling onto the bridge waving the wireless message Chief Radioman Schroeder had handed him and which he had just decoded: "Es ist mit auftreten eigener schwerer Streitkräfte in ihrem aufmarsch Gebiet zu rechnen." (It is to be reckoned with own heavy units appearing in your operational area.)

  When Schulz's signal arrived at U-boat Headquarters, Dönitz had called up the Naval Commander/West, announced that one of his U-boats was getting ready to torpedo two unescorted battleships, and gave him the position.

  "My God!" shrieked the Commander/West. "That's Scharnhorst and Gneisenau!"

  "Thank you," replied Dönitz, and hung up. He later tartly suggested to the Commander/West that he be kept informed of the whereabouts of German battleships in the future.

  The frantic warning from the Commander/West reached the two battleships only a minute ahead of the BdU's signal to Schulz. And a cold shudder ran over the officers in the Naval Headquarters when they thought of the unspeakable disaster so narrowly averted. Thank God Schulz had been suspicious of the ships and had not been too trigger-happy to call up for verification.

  Next afternoon, U-124's path again crossed that of the Gneisenau. This time it was daylight, and there was no difficulty in recognizing her.

  Schulz closed in until he was near enough for her to see him. Then, having no wish for his own boat to be the victim of mistaken identity, he turned to lie broadside to the battleship. In this position, neither his bow nor stern tubes could be brought to bear. Gneisenau approached cautiously, her guns trained on the U-boat.

  As she came alongside U-124, Admiral L
ütjens hailed the boat and asked it she were the one that had shadowed them the night before.

  Schulz replied that she was. His answer caused a visible stir on board the huge battleship as men crowded the rails to stare curiously at the U-boat, the edelweiss on her conning tower brilliant in the sunlight.

  Tell me," Lütjens asked Schulz, "could you have torpedoed us?"

  A sudden silence fell over them as the men strained forward to hear the answer.

  "Easily!"

  The admiral stared thoughtfully at the confident and self-possessed U-boat commander below him. "Then I thank you for saving my life," he said, a faint smile touching his lips.

  On March 8, U-124 had yet another contact with Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, when the battleships located the British Convoy SL 67, escorted by the battleship Malaya. The German ships were under orders not to attack convoys which contained heavy units, so they had fallen back and called up 17-124 and U-105, both of which were in the vicinity, giving them the position of the convoy.

  Schulz raced toward the convoy at full speed, trying to cover as much distance as possible before dark. He reached his estimated point of interception shortly after dark, but there was no sign of the convoy.

  Frowning, he climbed down into the control room to go over his plots at the chart table. Deciding correctly that he had crossed the convoy's course behind the ships, he set a new course.

  Again they passed the interception point without sighting the convoy, and Schulz wondered anxiously if they had missed it altogether. He rechecked his plots, and decided this time they must have crossed ahead of the convoy. While he was still going over his figures, an excited shout from above electrified everyone in the control room.