Christmas Day, for the second time, found U-124 still at sea, and her crew and their guests celebrated as best they could. Matrosen Obergefreiter Laubisch, a very big and calm man, put his talented hands to work and made a tree out of wire and green paper. Cigarette papers and tin foil were fashioned into ornaments for it, and the little boat rang with familiar Christmas carols.
A signal arrived from Dönitz to all U-boats at sea: "On German Christmas, I am with heart and thoughts with you, my proud, hard-fighting U-boat crews."
U-124 arrived at St. Nazaire on December 29, the last of the rescue boats. She flew the pennants, also made by Laubisch, which told the ships she had sunk, and a tire from the luckless Sagadahoc was hung on her cannon barrel.
Four hundred fourteen survivors of the combined Atlantis and Python crews had been brought back to the Biscay bases by 8 submarines from a distance of 5,000 miles of enemy-held waters. The most far-reaching rescue operation of the war had succeeded without the loss of a single man.
When U-124 tied up at her pier, there was a special little delegation to greet Brinker. Having held onto her lubricating oil and thus having the use of two diesels instead of one, the Calvi had reached port well ahead of U-124. Now her officers came aboard, and ceremoniously presented Brinker with a drink.
Brinker took the glass and raised it in a salute to the smiling Italian officers. As he looked into the clear white liquid, it seemed to have a peculiarly familiar consistency, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He nodded to his guests, smiled with his lips and cursed them in his heart, then he raised the glass and slowly, with feigned enjoyment, he drained it.
His suspicions had been well-founded. The Italians, in deference to his ruffled feathers over the lubricating oil, had given him a glass of pure castor oil.
They stared astonished at this display of German guts as Brinker emptied the glass, and handed it back to them.
"That was delicious," he informed them, smiling. "May I please have another glass?"
The Italians burst out laughing and hugged Brinker delightedly. "Try this," they said, bringing out a bottle of cognac. "It's even better!"
Chapter Ten
With the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the United States had now entered the fray officially. The "threat from the west" so dreaded by the German Military was no longer threat, but reality. The limitless potential of industry and agriculture, as well as manpower, that was the United States was now wholly committed on the side of the Allies. There remained only the problem of transporting this vast complex of war matériel across the Atlantic Ocean. And preventing it was Dönitz's department.
But once again, the outbreak of war caught him short and unawares. The Japanese attack was as much a surprise to the Germans as it was to the Americans, and boats which Dönitz could have stationed in strategic positions were scattered far and wide, in dry docks, en route to and from operational areas. He was prevented by higher authority from taking any of the 23 boats from the Mediterranean or the 4 each in the Gibraltar and Norwegian areas, so only 5 boats could be made ready to depart from the Biscay bases between December 16 and 25. It was with this modest number that he launched his overwhelmingly successful offensive, Operation Paukenschlag.
For the U-boat men themselves, the declaration of war on December 11, was in a way a relief. At least the shadow war in the Atlantic was over. Dönitz's orders to his commanders had been simple and to the point. Incidents with the United States were to be avoided at all costs. Under no circumstances were they to attack American ships, merchant or warships, not even in self-defense.
Commanders and crews who had sweated out depth charge attacks by teams of British and American destroyers now itched to get an "Ami" in their sights. Revenge would be sweet.
Reports of success by the Paukenschlag boats soon came back to headquarters. Reinhard Hardegen in U-123 reported 8 ships sunk with a tonnage of 53,360 tons: Korvettenkapitän Zapp (U-66) sank 5 with 50,000 tons; and Korvettenkapitän Kals (U-130) sank 4 with 30,748 tons. The other boats reported similarly high success, and a large percentage of this tonnage was tankers, a particularly valuable prize.
The American coast was the plum assignment now for a U-boat, so Mohr was of course delighted to find that his next operational area would he what had quickly become known as the "Golden West." Furthermore, he was given "free hunting" and not restricted to any one area.
Eager to learn all he could about conditions in the new combat zone, he talked by the hour to commanders who had just returned, storing up every scrap of information that might be useful to him.
First of all, he was told, the American coast was lit up with cities, beacons, lighthouses, and such, making it easy to see ships silhouetted against the coast line. Not only that, but the ships carried their normal running lights. In case he would like to plan his attacks systematically, all he had to do was tune in the American radio, since departures and arrivals were broadcast and merchant ships also regularly reported their own positions. In addition to this, the schedules of anti-submarine patrols by aircraft and destroyers were broadcast and followed most accurately. Zapp assured him that he would be able to set his watch by their punctuality.
The inexperienced American ASW crews were no match for the wily Germans who were used to the tenacious British escorts. For a year and a half these two old adversaries had matched skill for skill in a battle that was as harsh and unrelenting as the North Atlantic itself. The Americans were new to the game. But they would learn.
While this bonanza lasted, the Germans were determined to make the most of it. U-124 was a Type IX B, and the western Atlantic was well within her cruising range, allowing for a stay of several weeks. The Type VII Cs, smaller and with correspondingly less cruising radius, were also thrown into the attack, their enterprising commanders and crews having taken matters into their own hands concerning their capacity for fuel and stores. Normally crowded beyond all reasonable bounds at the beginning of a cruise, they now took on tons of extra stores, even stacking them in bunks, and sacrificing some of their meager fresh water bunkers for diesel oil.
U-373, one of the VII Cs so determined not to miss out where targets were plentiful and destroyers few, had thus clandestinely equipped herself for an extended cruise. Upon reaching her assigned battle area off the Newfoundland Banks, her Commander Loeser signaled headquarters the amount of fuel and provisions he had left, and asked permission to go on to the U.S. coast. A week later this boat rounded Cape May and brazenly entered Delaware Bay to lay mines under the very nose of an American destroyer.
Korvettenkapitän Victor Schütze, chief of the 2nd U-Flotilla, told his commanders to load up with everything they had, including gear for all seasons and climates. These boats quickly earned the nicknames of "Woolworth's at Sea" and the "Great German Underwater Warehouse."
And in spite of the long distances involved, targets so abounded and attacking conditions were so favorable that torpedoes were expended long before the fuel situation would have forced them to start for home. Small wonder the U-boat men called it the "American Shooting Season!"
Commander Zapp had suggested to Mohr that he try the waters around Cape Hatteras, traditional graveyard of ships with its shallow waters and bad weather. Merchant ships followed the peacetime shipping routes, and it should be an ideal spot for a prowling U-boat. These treacherous waters that had already claimed so many ships through the years would find 400 more victims during the war, mostly from German U-boats.
Brinker was gone from the boat. Having been with her since before her launching in Bremen, he had been aboard longer and known her better than any other man, and he could not leave without regrets. But few chief engineers had made as many as 11 war cruises, as had Brinker, and his knowledge and experience were invaluable. Now he would serve as flotilla chief engineering officer. With Mohr as commander, and Subklew as L.I, U-124 was in good and capable hands.
Hans Köster had been promoted from second to first watch officer, and Peter Zschech had been tran
sferred off. He would shortly receive his own command, U-505, and would die by his own hand before the war was over.
U-124 left Lorient on February 21, heading west on her most economical cruising speed. It would take some three weeks to reach her destination, for Mohr had followed Zapp's advice and chosen Cape Hatteras.
Mohr and his crew were in a holiday mood, and the U-124 rang with laughter, songs, and the ever-present "Alexander's Ragtime Band." Mohr had carefully selected a library for his boat, and during the long trip, the men read and talked about the books together. These discussions, planned by the commander to help fight boredom in the crew, soon grew into lively and witty affairs.
He had also brought books for himself, leaving another copy of them at home for his wife. Thus they would read the same books while he was on patrol, and it somehow shortened the thousands of miles between them until his next leave when they could be together again.
His leaves were somewhat quieter affairs for Mohr since his marriage, each day spent with his wife and friends immeasurably precious to him. The luxury of sleeping the mornings away uninterrupted and then spending the rest of the day and far into the night doing anything he pleased, as he pleased, was a blissful contrast to the heavy responsibilities of command.
Once before the war, while he was Admiral Marschall's flag lieutenant, he had spent a considerably wilder leave, notable for two brushes with the law. First, he and some friends, in the middle of a party at the beach, spied a piano on a nearby porch and proceeded to requisition it. Mohr, an excellent pianist, played while the others danced and sang—that is, until the police appeared.
They were all carted off to the local police station, where their names were duly registered, and the policeman in charge, remarking that Mohr was the ringleader and the worst of all, asked his occupation. When Mohr told him he was an Oberleutnant in the navy, the indignant policeman said, "But you're behaving like a little boy! You should be ashamed of yourself!"
Called on the carpet before Admiral Marschall when he returned, he was sternly told, "I have two letters from the police regarding you. One about the piano escapade, and the other one tells me that you and seven other boys piled into a four-passenger car and drove down the sidewalks chasing pedestrians! Now what have you to say for yourself?"
"Yes, it's true. I did it," Mohr freely admitted.
Admiral Marschall shook his head. "Ah, you are a devil!" he muttered. Then he smiled. "But you are young, and I like you, so, I tear up the letter."
But before the young flag lieutenant was dismissed, he was given to understand that it would be well to see to it that such "Affentheater" was never again brought to the admiral's attention.
Since that narrow squeak, Mohr had prudently seen to it that all "monkey business" escaped the attention of his commanding officers. But his keen wit and playful disposition remained as irrepressible as ever, to the constant delight of his crew. And long though the voyage from Lorient to the Carolina coast was, it was not dull.
On March 14, U-124 had gotten as far west as Bermuda when she made contact with another ship.
"Ship on the starboard bow!"
The lookout's cry rang through the boat, and with it, the electric excitement of going in to the attack. U-124 was cocked and primed.
"Hard starboard!" Mohr called through the speaking tube. "Full speed on both diesels!"
It was a bright clear afternoon with good visibility, and Mohr began circling around the ship to reach his firing position. Matching his speed to hers for a short time gave him an accurate estimate of her speed for the torpedo settings.
The ship, a medium-sized tanker, was loaded and deep in the water. She was zig-zagging with short regular zags, and the U-boat, now ahead of her, dived to lie in wait on her base course line. It was now twilight.
Mohr had sent the firing data to fire control, where the torpedo settings were calculated and duly passed on to the mixers.
"Torpedo one and two . . . los!"
The first torpedo hit the after part of the forecastle and the second hit under the forward mast. The bow of the ship went suddenly deeper into the water as though she would sink, then she lay quite still in the water.
Mohr watched as a lifeboat was launched from the port side, and he carefully observed details of the tanker. He could see three guns, probably about 5 cm., and what appeared to be a 10.5 cm. or 15 cm. gun on the stern. This one was manned and began firing in the direction of the periscope.
"We'll fire another one," Mohr said. "She's not sinking."
He called out the settings and watched through the sights as the tanker came into the crosshairs.
"Torpedo . . . los!"
The third torpedo hit between the after mast and engine room, and the magazine exploded into a ball of flame that engulfed the ship. Burning oil spread out around her, turning the sea into a carpet of fire.
Mohr brought the boat to the surface, and the men on the bridge watched silently, their faces grim in the horrible glare from the burning ship. Flames shot 200 meters into the air, and smoke billowed up 800 meters high. More ammunition exploded at intervals as the ship burned furiously.
"Both diesels ahead slow," Mohr finally said, breaking the spell they had felt themselves under watching the wild flames leaping into the now dark sky. "We'll try to get close enough to make out her name."
The U-boat moved slowly toward the appalling scene in front of them, but was soon forced to turn away from the searing heat. The tanker floated in a sea of burning oil.
As Köster watched the blazing ship, he could see a lifeboat and two rafts close by her, the rescue craft afire like the doomed ship they had tried to escape. There were four small dots in the water a little further out, and he watched them, puzzled for a second. Then with a shock of horror, he realized they were men, swimming in a hopeless attempt to save themselves. The sweat on his face and body was suddenly like ice water, and he felt himself choking with revulsion.
Klein, also watching the nightmare of flames in front of him, saw the swimming men, and turned away shuddering. "Dear God," he thought, "where do they find a man who will go to sea on a tanker?"
"There," Mohr murmured, "I can make it out now. She's the British Resource—London."
The U-boat continued her voyage west, the glow from the burning oil lighting the sky behind them until nearly dawn.
A small freighter crossed the U-boat's path east of Hatteras on March 12. Mohr fired one torpedo in a surfaced attack, and the ship sank within three minutes. She did not wireless.
The U-boat approached the ship's survivors, who had launched two lifeboats and several floats. They told Mohr that she was the Ceiba, bound from Jamaica to New York with a cargo of bananas.
Leaving the survivors, U-124 again turned westward. By dawn, she had passed the 200-meter line and was steering for the 40-meter line off Diamond Shoals when Mohr spotted a ship, directly in front of him, about four sea miles away. He dived, and let the four-masted schooner pass within 600 meters of him. He decided the 300-ton ship was not worth a torpedo, and the rough sea made an attack with the deck guns impossible. So he watched her sail away as he put his boat into position to intercept ships in the regular traffic lanes.
He had not long to wait before the lookouts found a ship in ballast, heading south. Mohr sank the small freighter, attacking on the surface and firing one torpedo from a bow tube.
He dodged the destroyer that came close by, then turned back to attack a second freighter, also moving southward. He fired a bow shot from a distance of 400 meters, which hit amidships, just under her stack, and the ship turned off to port.
A plane forced U-124 under, and dropped a bomb close by. The dull rumble of depth charges could be heard in the distance as the boat moved out to the 100-meter line to reload her tubes.
When she came back to the surface, U-124 sighted another ship, and turned to attack. She was the 6,878-ton tanker Acme, under the command of Captain Sigismund Schulz, en route in ballast from New York to Corpus C
hristi, Texas.
In addition to the U-boat stalking her, which she could not see, she had plenty of visible company. The Greek tanker Kassandra Louloudis and two other ships were astern, the tanker also headed south; and ahead two tankers and two freighters were in sight. The destroyer USS Dickerson and the Coast Guard cutter Dione were also within four miles of her.
At 5:50, local time, a torpedo exploding beneath the engine room rocked the Acme, blasting a hole 30 to 40 feet in diameter in her hull, and killing eleven men who were in the engine room and crew's quarters just abaft. Half an hour later, the survivors abandoned ship, and within 10 minutes were picked up by the Dione.
A speeding destroyer passed within 1.25 miles of the U-124 without seeing the boat. Mohr estimated her to be a Campbell Type, and decided she must be patrolling the 20-meter line. U-124, still undetected, had cautiously pulled back a little toward deeper water. The place was crawling with ships.
So far it had been almost too easy. But Mohr did not let himself be deceived; should he be discovered and attacked in a mere 20 meters of water, he scarcely stood a prayer. He did not have the speed to outrun a destroyer, and in waters too shallow to dive, he could not hope to escape even the most inexperienced submarine hunter.
No one followed, so Mohr turned his boat toward the tanker Kassandra Louloudis, which was astern the Acme. He came in close and fired two torpedoes. Both hit at 7:15, and the tanker sank a short time later.
As the boat turned back away from land, a lookout called out, "Destroyer!"
"Full speed!" Mohr yelled, "Twice full speed!" They had to reach deeper water in order to dive. "Clear the bridge!"
As soon as enough depth registered under her hull, U-124 headed down—and not a moment too soon, for a seaplane had spotted them and dropped a bomb or depth charge. It rocked the whole boat, breaking glass and rattling her crew around like dice in a cup. There was no damage to the hull, but it had been close.
Grey Wolf, Grey Sea Page 17