As dusk came 123 moved twelve miles offshore and patrolled south as far as Marine Studios (Marineland) below Anastasia Island, then back north as far as Vilano Beach above St. Augustine, always keeping within sight of the lighthouse while searching for targets. At 1945 local time the boat was on a northbound leg when the port-ahead lookout picked up what appeared to be two separate shadows proceeding north between them and the shore. Hardegen followed the lookout’s point and established that the superstructures and masts belonged to a single vessel. It appeared to be two because of its indistinct contrast with the coast at dusk. “A tanker, northbound,” he said to von Schroeter, whom he called to the bridge. “It’s huge, heavily loaded, must be 12,500 GRT. And fast—maybe twelve knots. It’s hugging the coast. We’ll have to turn screws to catch it.”
To the helmsman he shouted: “Come to three four zero, both ahead full!” The dieseis responded to the telegraph and soon high bow waves scalloped back as 123 noisily raced after her prey. An hour passed, and they had not caught up, but Hardegen reduced speed because of the great amount of marine phosphorescence they were generating in their wake. Not only the target could sight them in that condition, but any passing aircraft would be able to make them out easily. He began to realize that catching up completely might not be possible and that they might have to make a launch from astern on an obtuse angle. Von Schroeter at the UZO checked and rechecked his numbers as the tanker passed Ponte Vedra and came up on Jacksonville Beach. “From the second bow wave I measure it at twelve point five knots, Herr Kaleu,” he told the Old Man. “Track angle one-two-one, range twenty-seven hundred.”
“The range is too great as yet,” Hardegen answered. “Wait until you reach two thousand.” Hardegen worried about the eel not covering the distance accurately. An attack from astern meant that in addition to the range at the time of launch, one had to add the meters the target would have traveled ahead by the time of expected impact. It was axiomatic that the accuracy of the run diminished as the range increased. It had been a long while since he had considered a launch at such a range. But the G7e had a range of five thousand meters and a thirty-knot speed. It had the capability. Hardegen had only this and one other eel left, plus ninety rounds of artillery.
“Coming up on two thousand, Herr Kaleu,” von Schroeter reported.
“All right, Number One, reduce speed, open bow cap. Permission to launch at two thousand.” Hardegen saw that the target was now directly off Jacksonville Beach, perhaps four nautical miles from shore.
“Open Number One!” von Schroeter called.
“Number One bow cap open!”
“Folgen?”
“Folgen!”
Two porpoises surfaced and snorkeled through their blowholes on the port side.
“Rohr eins—los!”
Von Schroeter clicked his stopwatch and stood up straight to check the second hand while Hardegen found that, because of the phosphorescence and the perfectly calm sea, he could follow the wakeless eel through the first part of its run. While he waited von Schroeter entered launch data onto the Schussmeldung form: torpedo depth three meters; U-boat’s speed at time of launch nine knots; own course 307 degrees; target’s course 350.5 degrees; torpedo’s course 318 degrees; water depth fourteen meters; time of launch 0422 [11 April CET].71
“How big do you think the tanker is, Number One?” Hardegen asked.
“I’m guessing a hundred sixty meters in length, Herr Kaleu, since it filled three-quarters of the UZO.” Both men stared at the large fast-moving shadow now sharply outlined against the brilliant Jacksonville Beach lights. They said nothing more to each other until two and a half minutes had passed since launch, when von Schroeter noted quietly, “One hundred fifty seconds.” Twenty-five seconds later he added, “Two … one … impact!”
But there was no impact.
Damn! Hardegen reproached himself for having wasted his second to last eel on such a desperate attempt. Now he would have to go all the way around the St. Johns River Lightship and make another attack north of it, that is, if he could ever catch up with the tanker without betraying himself. But just as he bent to give a new course to the pipe the western sky suddenly erupted in a blinding red-and-yellow explosion! A hit! What had happened? Was it a timing mistake, or a fortunate aiming error? Who cared? Hardegen thought, as he watched the tanker torch break apart in the middle and its photoflash illumine the beach as brightly as though it were noon. In the incandescence he saw people on shore pour out of their hotels, homes, and places of entertainment. “A rare show for the tourists,” he wrote in the KTB, “who probably were having supper now.” It was 10:20 P.M. local time, which was a little late for American supper, but the bars, dance halls, drive-ins, and amusements were still going strong, since it was the end of the week and the beaches were crowded with sailors from the training base, Jacksonville NAS, twenty miles inland from May-port on the St. Johns; soldiers in basic training from Camp Blanding in the interior; and high-spirited youths and civilians of all walks and ages to whom Friday night in Florida was party time.
Not satisfied that the tanker with its compartmentation would sink when its cargo burned out, Hardegen ordered the deck guns manned and approached the broken vessel with the intent of holing her fatally with artillery. When he saw the large number of spectators on shore, however, and noted the proximity of the beach homes to the point of attack, he worried that the shells he fired from seaward might overshoot and hurt innocent people and their property.72 He therefore made a turn around the victim’s stern and came up on its shoreward, or port, side, where any errant shells would pass harmlessly out to sea. The tactic created four problems for him: One, 123 was silhouetted against the fire’s glare and thereby became vulnerable to any onshore weapons. Two, the shallow depths in which he now swam forced Hardegen to take a position only 250 meters from the fiercely blazing target. Three, as he closed the target he saw that it was equipped with a four-inch gun on a platform aft, though for some reason it was not yet manned. And, four, when 123′s forward gun crew pulled the lanyard on the first shot the muzzle flash ignited the sea of spilled oil around them! Only the fortunate circumstance of a wind blowing away from the boat prevented the gun crew and bridge watch from being roasted alive. At point-blank range every shot was a hit, and soon the target hull was aground. There was no return fire. Two large concentrations of oil now burned independently, giving the appearance of two ships ablaze. Hardegen began a fast withdrawal south on a course of 165 degrees. He wrote: “All the vacationers had seen an impressive special performance at Roosevelt’s expense. A burning tanker, artillery fire, the silhouette of a U-boat—how often had all of that been seen in America?”73
On shore, it was true, frivolity quickly turned to horror as the shocked revelers beheld the funeral pyre at sea and the U-boat itself bombarding the fiery corpse. Their faces red from the glare, the witnesses stood in stupefaction, endeavoring to comprehend how a war they considered so officially remote from their daily lives could suddenly appear in front of them. By telephone they spread word of the experience to family and friends in nearby communities, including Jacksonville, Florida’s most populous city at the time; and soon the highways to the beach were clogged with the automobiles of the curious. Most were stopped and turned back by military police. At St. Augustine, thirty miles distant, a man who had heard the report walked into the lobby of the Alhambra Hotel and related it to the night manager, Miles “Zig” Zeigler, and seventeen-year-old Edward Mus-sallem, son of the hotel owner. Zig and Eddie looked at each other and said, “Let’s go!” Driving across the Vilano Bridge to the ocean highway A1A, they were stopped by military police who informed them that A1A was closed to traffic. Instead, the two drove up U.S. 1 and took a narrow road through Palm Valley that came out at a point on the ocean highway where there was no barrier. Almost directly in front of them as they drove north was the tanker spitting twisted red columns like a volcano. Other, smaller, oil-fed conflagrations rode the waves. A pall of black smoke r
ubbed out the stars. It was the most frightening thing that Eddie had ever seen. Even Zig, who had flown rum into the Everglades during Prohibition and had seen it all, was impressed.74
The curious were not alone in racing to the scene. No more than five minutes after the torpedo struck PBY-3s from NAS Jacksonville were over the area dropping magnesium flares in an attempt to sight the U-boat. They were quickly joined by North American B-25 Mitchell bombers armed with MKXVII depth bombs from the Army 106th Observation Squadron, based at the Jacksonville Municipal Airport. No attacks were made using bombs, but the constant use of parachute flares and star shells enabled rescue craft to locate survivors. These vessels came from Mayport. Too small to have been spotted by Hardegen when he passed by the St. Johns, they were Mayport’s total fleet of two converted yachts, one the 125-foot Tyrer, which had rescued survivors from Esparta two nights before, one minesweeper, and two Yippies. The vessels made trip after trip to bring in survivors and bodies. Emergency medical care was given in the base Administration Building, which was transformed into an emergency sick bay.75 The dead were placed on the lawn outside. Many were charred beyond recognition. George W. Jackson, a reserve ensign commanding Yippie YP-32 (which had been a World War I subchaser), remembers reaching into the burning water to rescue a seaman only to have the man’s flesh come off the arm as he seized it. For him and his twelve-man crew it was the grisliest experience of their young lives.76
SS Gulfamerica at 8,081 GRT was not quite the monster that Hardegen supposed, but was still a good-sized, spanking-new vessel. Owned by the Gulf Oil Co., she was steaming toward New York on her maiden voyage from Port Arthur with ninety thousand barrels of fuel oil when she had the misfortune to encounter Reinhard Hardegen. Forty-one merchant crew and seven naval Armed Guard formed her complement. Oscar Anderson, the master, had her on course 352 degrees true, speed fourteen knots (higher than von Schroeter’s estimate), all lights out, radio silent, two lookouts on top of the pilothouse and two more, from the gun crew, on the poop deck. At 2022 EWT a torpedo approaching at 35 degrees from stern to starboard exploded in the after-bunker Number 7 tank, which blew oil skyward and caused an immediate fire. Anderson, like all the other survivors, would report that a second torpedo, quickly following the first, struck in the engine room at after mast about ten feet below the waterline. This must have been a secondary explosion, perhaps of the boilers, since only one torpedo was launched. Anderson ordered engines stopped and Abandon Ship. Radio Operator William M. Meloney, who had been torpedoed on another ship 30 days before, put out distress calls on 500 KC while Anderson threw confidential codes overboard in a weighted bag and those members of the crew who were capable lowered the lifeboats. Abandonment was orderly until the U-boat began shelling from the port side and elongated red trails of machine-gun tracer fire curved overhead seeking the mainmast and radio antenna. In the confusion that followed twenty-five men threw themselves overboard, many of whom were lost, and Number 4 lifeboat capsized. Two other boats made it safely down the falls. One of the last men to leave was fifty-seven-year-old Chief Engineer Vasco R. Geer, a native of nearby Jacksonville, who with Second Pumpman Glen W. Smith and Third Mate Oliver H. Gould lowered the Number 2 boat on the starboard side. The three circled to the port side looking for men in the loathsome-smelling water but had to withdraw when oil flames threatened to engulf them. Geer saw the men from one boat go overboard while the U-boat was firing in the apparent belief that the Germans would shoot at the lifeboats. But, he reported, “there was no attempt to shell or molest survivors in the boats.”77 Rescue craft picked up twenty-four (including the master, with a shell splinter in his arm, and the radio operator) of the forty-one merchant crew, five of the seven-man Armed Guard, and twelve bodies. Geer told USN interrogators, “I only wish we had a chance to use the gun against them [the Germans].”78 No explanation is given in the records for the failure of the Armed Guard to use either the four-inch or the two .50-caliber machine guns with which Gulfamerica was one of the first U.S. tankers to be equipped. The U-boat’s position was clearly revealed by muzzle flashes and tracer fire when it began its surface attack. The official USN Armed Guard report reads: “The 4” after gun was manned and loaded but no defensive fire was offered.”79 Perhaps the four-inch could not be trained because of list. Perhaps the gun crew obeyed the Abandon Ship order before it had a chance to sight the U-boat on the surface. Or perhaps the gun crew panicked. The Navy’s public announcement stated simply, “The crew had no opportunity to fire at the attacking submarine.”80
Of those who were rescued alive the longest time in the water was spent by a man named McCollum, described as a “winter visitor,” who, more gallant than wise, put out in a small row boat from Jacksonville Beach to aid in the rescue work. Assisted by the offshore wind he quickly reached and then passed the flaming tanker. When found the next day at noon he was twenty miles out to sea.81
Realizing that backlighting from the Jacksonville Beach shore had enabled the U-boat to sight its target Florida Governor Spessard Holland on 11 April declared a “screenout” of all lights showing to seaward in coastal and beach communities. The regulations and their enforcement would never be adequate, however, to prevent silhouettes at sea.82
Four days after the Gulfamerica attack a Requiem Mass was sung at the Cathedral of St. Augustine for several of the dead crewmen who were Roman Catholic. Young Eddie Mussallem sang in the choir.
On 16 April, Gulfamerica, which had settled by the stern with a 40 degree list to starboard, finally rolled over, bubbled, and sank from view, her maiden voyage now completely ruined.
On the same day COMINCH issued an order halting all further oil tanker traffic on the East Coast. Molasses could travel from the Gulf to Port Everglades. But as far as oil was concerned Hardegen’s attack on Gulfamerica had been the last straw. No oil would move in tanker bottoms for the remainder of the month. The Allied war effort would have to live off its capital.83
Early morning on 9 April the C/ewson-class flush-decker destroyer USS Dahlgren (DD 187), Lt. Comdr. R. W. Cavenagh Commanding, slipped her six manila lines at Pier Baker, NOB Key West, and with all four boilers cut into the main steam line, full stores from Busy Bee Bakery, but Fireman Second Class M. Podoll, USN, absent over leave since 0630 (EWT), proceeded through the main ship channel and steamed on a general course north along the Atlantic coast Florida shoreline. The next day and evening Dahlgren proceeded on various base courses, zigzagging on Plan No. 9, and making speeds from fifteen to twenty knots. At 1633 on the tenth, GSF headquarters at Key West ordered her to sweep for a U-boat between St. Augustine and Fernandina.84 By midnight she was off St. Augustine Light bearing 292 degrees, distance twelve miles. At 0215 (11 April) an aircraft came overhead and dropped a flare. At 0235 another plane dropped several flares around the DD, which went to general quarters. The planes and flares were Dahlgren’s only indication that there might be a U-boat nearby, since no notice of Gulfamerica’s plight had been sent by Key West. Another nearby vessel probably did see the U-boat being sought by the aircraft. It was, of all vessels, Atik’s sister Q ship Evelyn (USS Asterion), which at 0133 sighted a U-boat surfaced at 29-40N, 80-56W, or southeast of St. Augustine, and reported it by radio.85 Hardegen read the intercept and was sure the sighting was of 123. In the KTB he wrote: “We have just heard on 600 meters that the steamer Evelyn has transmitted a U-boat sighting at precisely our position [DB 6781 ]. She must have seen us by the last parachute flare. It’s about time to clear out of here and head to sea.”86 Dahlgren also intercepted the report and closed on the position. The destroyer and the U-boat were about to engage, as Hardegen wrote in his diary account for that night:
Suspicious shadow on portside. Doesn’t look like a freighter. Lies almost stopped or at very slow speed, northbound. Now, after three hours, the fire of the burning tanker is out of sight and we can see only the red glow in the sky. A southbound shadow on starboard which I can attack. As I turn to do so an airplane drops a parachute flare astern that ful
ly illuminates us. Then I detect a second airplane sending Morse Code light signals to the ship which we had sighted as a suspicious shadow earlier. Now I can see it much more clearly and it seems to be a destroyer. It transmits a longer response back to the airplane which we cannot decipher. The airplane blinks acknowledgement. The flare is still burning when I see yet another airplane, without lights, on our starboard. I stop and hope that it doesn’t see us. But then it suddenly dives and attacks us! Alarm! We never had such a crash dive. When I fell through the hatch the plane was almost on top of us—a single-engine, low-wing plane like our Heinkel 70. At 20 meters we hit bottom. No bombs dropped, but we definitely had been seen. Now we hear propeller noise from the destroyer. We start creeping underwater toward “deeper” water (30 meters) on a course of 120°. The propeller noise, directly astern, increases. Distinctly destroyer propellers. This fellow runs exactly above us, not very melodious, and drops six Wabos. The boat takes a terrible beating, the crew members fly about, and practically everything breaks down. Machinery hisses or roars everywhere. We break out the escape apparatus. The destroyer turns back for another run. We are now on the bottom at 22 meters. I have turned everything off. We listen with our bare ears.87
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