Early on the morning of September 20, the eager shout came down from the lookouts on watch: "Commander to the bridge!"
Mohr silently observed the tell-tale wisp of smoke astern, his eyes pressed to heavy binoculars. In a few minutes he could tell that the ships, still invisible except for the smoke, were heading eastward. He signaled his sighting report to the BdU, and was ordered to attack and keep reporting.
Toward midday, visibility began to diminish as a light haze hung over the sun. Through the long afternoon, U-124 stuck doggedly to the small convoy, at times losing contact, then regaining it, as the fast escorts swung out in long sweeps around their charges.
As twilight added a purplish cast to the deceptive haze that had already ruined visibility, Mohr moved still closer to the convoy. It was difficult to maintain contact without being seen at this most critical time of day, and the escorts, knowing this, and also knowing that a lurking U-boat would attack with the darkness, increased their unpredictable sweeps around the convoy to drive away any waiting boats. Once contact was lost in the gathering dusk, it might be lost for good.
At last it was dark enough to attack, and Mohr, seizing his first chance, slipped his boat into the convoy on the surface, about 600 meters behind the corvette that guarded the starboard side. Within minutes, three torpedoes were launched. Watching anxiously on the U-boat's bridge, the lookouts observed all three hits, and were able to see two of the ships sink. By this time, the escorts had lit up the battlefield with star shells, but U-124 remained undetected while Mohr brought her outside the convoy on the western side.
From the east came the distant rumbling of exploding depth charges. Was Schnee's boat catching it? U-124 steamed along in the darkness, easily holding contact with the starboard escort silhouetted against the light. As soon as things quieted down in the convoy, they would attack again.
Suddenly the escort turned, heading toward the U-boat, and Mohr fell back. The star shells went out, and the convoy altered course in the sudden darkness. Contact was lost.
Peter Zschech called to Mohr across the bridge. "Herr Kaleu, signal flare at 190 degrees!"
With a couple of steps Mohr was beside the I.WO. He studied the distant lights silently for a moment. "Decoys," he said finally. "They're trying to lure us away from the convoy."
He took one last sweep around the black horizon with his binoculars and ordered, "Clear the bridge! Make ready to dive!"
Submerged, they listened for the sounds of screws to betray the convoy which had long since slipped out of sight. But there was only silence around them, and the boat surfaced to take up the hunt again.
Throughout the rest of the night and the following day, U-124 searched in vain, occasionally diving to listen for the sound of screws. Nothing. Mohr called up headquarters to ask for air reconnaissance, and the radio man intercepted a message from Schnee reporting contact with the convoy, which was now steering southwards.
"Shadow on the port bow!"
"At last," muttered Mohr, studying the dim shapes gradually coming into sight.
As the boat closed, he could make out three freighters and one protecting corvette. Dodging the corvette, he wheeled his boat into position to attack.
"Couldn't be better, Zschech," he said breezily. "We'll fire at all three at once."
Zschech set up firing plots for the freighters as the distance narrowed between them. The first shadow moved into the crosshair and Zschech waited until it intersected her bridge. "Torpedo . . ."
Before he could say the "los!" that would send six fish on their way, he was interrupted by the dull roar of three torpedo detonations rumbling across the black water. He looked at Mohr in confusion.
"Schnee!" Mohr growled through his teeth.
It was infuriating that the two boats had chosen the same targets at the same time and even more infuriating that it was Schnee's boat that claimed the prize.
Within minutes the freighters had disappeared, and the radio room intercepted a signal from Schnee to the BdU reporting his sinking of the three ships.
Dönitz then signaled the two prowling boats, telling Mohr to close in.
Mohr signaled back to say that he was already in contact with the convoy, adding wryly that "Schnee schoss schneller." (Schnee shot faster.)
Three hours later, a message came from Dönitz to Mohr and Schnee telling them to head southward toward a new convoy reported by an Italian submarine, and to be on the lookout for these boats.
Late in the evening, another signal came from Dönitz: "To Mohr, Schnee: Gibraltar convoy mopped up. Cruise northward."
The Italian submarine Torelli sighted a large convoy, the outgoing HG 73, west of Gibraltar. U-371, on her way into the Mediterranean, also reported seeing it, and held contact briefly. Then she continued on her way southward, and left the Italian boat shadowing.
Torelli lost contact, but regained it on the 21st Soon afterwards, she was spotted by the destroyer Vimy and forced under to be severely damaged by the destroyer's depth charges. On September 22, the BdU ordered U-Mohr and U-Schnee into the hunt.
On September 23, the Italian boat Da Vinci found the convoy, shadowing and sending back accurate position reports until the merchant ships changed course during the night. Using Da Vinci's reports, German air reconnaissance found the convoy the following morning in the vicinity of Cape Finisterre.
The aircraft observed that two ships were sinking and another one burning. They had apparently fallen victim to the Italian boat Malaspina, since she was the only boat known to be in the immediate vicinity. The Malaspina then must have been destroyed by the convoy's escorts, for she was missing since that time.
Meantime, U-124 and U-201 were closing in, setting their courses from the various reports on the convoy's position that had been filling the air.
On the morning of September 25, Schnee gained contact and gave his position. Following his reports, Mohr came in sight of the convoy that same day near the entrance to St. George's Channel.
Weather conditions had worsened considerably, bringing little rain squalls which were convenient for dodging into when escorts came out, but which also served to conceal the convoy at times. It was necessary to exercise the utmost care since such rapidly shifting visibility conditions could cause them to run headlong into an escort before seeing her. A heavy following sea had forced the lookouts on the bridge to buckle themselves securely with their safety belts.
Lacking the speed to keep up with the huge swells, or the size and weight to cut through them, the U-boat labored doggedly as the seas shook her and shoved her along, now in a trough, now on the crest of a wave, trembling with a violent and different vibration as her screws came momentarily out of the water.
Occasionally a big wave would overtake the boat, sweeping relentlessly up over the after ship to completely cover the bridge and the men on watch. They could feel the gigantic force of the sea as it tore at their bodies, and they held their breath as the wave rolled over their heads. They would wonder frantically if their heavy leather safety belts would hold them safe against the terrifying strength of Rasmus, the sea god as he fought to claim them for his own.
Then it would be past, and they would emerge, spluttering and choking, and gasping with relief at being again above the water.
Mohr, caught up in the tingling excitement of the chase, laughed at them and at himself, all soaking wet. The primitive thrill of the hunt, intensified by the danger they all knew was waiting for them, swept through the whole boat, sharpening their senses to a peak of quick alertness. Visibility was no more than one mile.
The boat now sped through the convoy as Mohr brought her into attacking position. The bridge watch searched the seas around them, nerves straining. At this speed, inside a convoy, the danger of collision was far from merely theoretical, and each man knew his life might depend on how well he used his eyes.
"Destroyer on the port bow," Bootsmann Henning reported.
"Hard starboard!" Mohr called, turning away and back out o
f the convoy. By the time they had shaken off the destroyer, which had turned to follow, the convoy was lost again.
Turning back, Mohr tried to re-establish contact.
"Ship bearing 265 degrees," a lookout reported.
"Cruiser!" Mohr said, watching as the big ship wheeled and sped out of sight.
Mohr dived to pick up the sounds of the convoy, and was able to identify the cruiser's position on the boat's port bow, while the main body of the convoy was slightly abaft the port beam.
Back on the surface, Mohr again sighted the cruiser, some 2,000 meters ahead of the leading destroyer escort. He got off a spread of two torpedoes at the cruiser; both missed the sharply zig-zagging ship.
By now he was able to bring his boat into the convoy on a reciprocal course.
"Tanker, Zschech," Mohr pointed. The big tanker was well guarded by a destroyer and two smaller escorts close by. The destroyer, a little ahead of the tanker, was approaching fast.
"Try one fish for the destroyer," Mohr told the I.WO.
"Angle on the bow, 90 degrees," Zschech called out. "Distance 300 meters . . ." The destroyer was at the minimum distance for a torpedo shot.
"Los!"
The destroyer altered her course, and the torpedo missed.
Zschech was already calling out figures for the attack on the tanker: "Angle 90 degrees . . . distance 400 meters . . . Tubes one and two . . . Fire!"
The two torpedoes hit almost simultaneously—one forward, the other amidships. The tanker sank by the bow.
A few minutes later, the U-boat was out of the column of merchantmen, which vanished from sight in the rain.
Mohr signaled the BdU that he had just sunk a 12000-ton tanker, and minutes later received a reply from Dönitz containing one word: "Bravo!"
By the next night, the boat had regained contact, and soon after dark had slipped past the escorts.
"Destroyer, Herr Kaleu!" a lookout yelled. "On the port bow—close!"
Mohr turned, binoculars pressed to his eyes. The long sleek shape racing through the night was precisely on a collision course, and she was close. Close enough for them to see the white bone in her teeth that showed she was moving fast.
"Clear the bridge!" Mohr shouted. "Hard port!"
The bridge watch tumbled into the control room as though a trap door had been sprung under them.
"Destroyer! Collision course—she's almost on top of us!" they told Brinker.
"Come on, you idiot," Brinker whispered under his breath, looking up and waiting for Mohr to appear in the hatch above him.
No one knew better than Brinker the value of even a split second in an emergency dive. The longer he waited to pull the plug, the closer it put them to that destroyer. A U-boat's safety, and their life or death, could be measured in meters at such a moment.
"Hard port," the helmsman's disciplined voice repeated, as unexcited as though they were pulling into their berth at Lorient.
Mohr now stood alone on the bridge, hands gripping the hatch cover, watching the destroyer as though bewitched. She had not changed her course. That meant she had not seen him. Yet.
Mohr had made his decision to stay on the surface and run the risk of being sighted. And by turning toward the destroyer instead of away, he had chosen the more dangerous course. They would pass each other at appallingly close range, but being on a reciprocal course, they would be past each other much more quickly. Mohr was gambling his life that the Britishers would not see him for that short time.
Now it was too late to dive. And if the destroyer should spot him now, she would ram him before he could turn away.
Mohr could see the white foam arching back from both sides of the knife-sharp prow as the destroyer lay bows-on to the U-boat. She looked enormous to him as she bore down as fast as a freight train. And she was close. Too close!
"Dear God," he prayed frantically, "don't let them see us! Just this moment please, please!"
He felt he could reach out and touch the destroyer as she swept past on the starboard side, no more than 30 meters from him. He could make out every detail on her upper decks and bridge, the men looking in every direction but down. The moment was eternity!
Then she was past. The spell was broken, and Mohr called the bridge watch back up. They stared astonished at the destroyer still straight on her course, and the two walces, side by side, so close together.
Mohr caught sight of Brinker's upturned face in the control room below him.
"They can't see us!" he yelled exultantly. "They're all blind!"
But Brinker knew the risk Mohr had taken, and regardless of the commander's jubilant boast, Brinker was horrified.
He shook his head. "God in Heaven," he muttered, half as an oath, half as a prayer.
The desperate risk Mohr had taken to stay on the surface paid off. By daylight of the next day, he had sent three ships to the bottom.
Shortly before dawn they sighted the U-203. Mützelburg had followed their position reports to the convoy. With daylight, the boats pulled out to shadow the convoy and hold contact until darkness fell again. The task was difficult and nerve-wracking. Storms and high seas hampered visibility and left the boat in plain view one minute, only to have every trace of the convoy disappear in the next.
Mohr flopped down on his bunk. Dog-tired, he was asleep by the time his eyes closed. He knew he would need all the rest he could get, for the battle was not over. When dark came again, he would attack, and he would need to be as alert and fresh as possible.
Unfortunately, he would manage to get only a few hours rest, and that was in short snatches. The problems of holding contact with the convoy would frequently require the commander's decision, and he would be waked up either by a hand on his shoulder and an apologetic voice, "Herr Kaleu?", or by the summary shout of "Commander to the bridge!" Either way, there would be no more sleep for awhile.
The day proved to be as demanding as the previous night had been, and twice as exhausting. In spite of all their efforts, they repeatedly lost the convoy. Then they would dive to listen for the sound of screws, or if these were too far away to be heard, Mohr would calculate the possible evasions the convoy might have made, circle them, and set his course on a tangent to this circle.
Wireless signals during the day indicated that U-Reschke had also made contact. Now there were four boats against the embattled convoy. The wolf pack closed in as daylight faded, 24 long gleaming torpedoes ready in their tubes, waiting only their final settings and the shout of "Torpedo, los!" to send them on their deadly mission.
The dark rough night with its cutting wind that sent spray flying over the open bridges and the brief angry rain squalls pelting down on them was suddenly turned into a holocaust as the first torpedo found its victim.
Mohr had just brought his boat past the port escort and found a target directly ahead of him. Peter Zschech was calling out the torpedo settings when another U-boat scored a hit.
The escorts wheeled toward the stricken ship, firing star shells which lit up the stormy sky with a strange and unholy brilliance. Mohr quickly looked around him.
"Nobody's seen us yet," he decided. "Fire a spread, Zschech, and hurry up!"
Their target was still on her course as the three torpedoes left the tubes in quick succession. As they watched, she turned slightly to port and increased her speed. But it was not enough to escape the whole spread, and one torpedo ripped into her stern section. She lost way and they could see her settling in the water as the U-boat turned.
Mohr glanced at the men around him on the bridge, floodlit by the glittering fireworks above them. He swung the boat around to head for the darkness outside the convoy, but, ever the opportunist, managed to get off a shot at one more freighter with his stern tubes as a parting gesture.
"Damn those flares," he muttered, reluctantly turning away from the merchant ships and their treacherous canopy of light. They would steam along parallel to them now and wait for the dark.
"Shadow off the starboard quart
er!"
Mohr picked the destroyer out of the shadows. She was not coming directly for them, but she was close, and he had to give way.
"Port easy," he said. "Both diesels ahead slow."
Mohr fidgeted and waited, frustrated by the destroyer that had unwittingly forced him onto a reciprocal course to the convoy.
"Shadow off the port bow!"
Mohr turned around. There she was. Another damned escort. Did the British have a million of them, he wondered furiously. There was nothing for it, however, except to turn away, and this he did, cursing earnestly and fluently.
The star shells had gone out now, but U-124 was a long way from an attacking position. Mohr set her course to circle back to the front of the convoy, and the boat shuddered through the waves at full speed.
Mohr dropped through the hatch and clattered down the ladder into the control room with a shout of, "Hey, L.I.!"
"Here I am," Brinker answered, at his elbow.
"Listen, Brinker," Mohr told him, "I've got to have more speed."
They're running full speed now," Brinker replied, "but I'll see what I can do. Maybe another knot or two."
Mohr looked pensive. "Wait a minute, Rolf," he said.
As frequently happened with these two old friends, they now chose to ignore the gulf between commander and subordinate, and talked on an equal footing,
"What's the fastest she'll go?" Mohr asked.
Knowing Mohr, Brinker was instantly on his guard, wondering what was going on behind the innocent face in front of him.
"You know as well as I do how fast she'll go," he answered. "She'll make 18 knots, a little more or less, depending on the sea, wind, and a few tricks."
"I must have more speed," Mohr repeated. There's got to be some way you can give it to me."
Brinker hesitated. "There is," he replied slowly and reluctantly, "but I don't recommend it."
Mohr's boyish face lit up. "Well?" he demanded, delighted at the prospect of getting what he wanted and clearly ignoring the warning.
Grey Wolf, Grey Sea Page 14