“At least we have sunlight on the port.” The first officer observed.
“Not good news, the subs like to attack from the beam, so being at the end of a row is not the best.”
The captain replied, “Less than a dozen of us got that singular honor.”
The first officer flipped open the thick black binder with the convoy’s sailing instructions.
“Eighty-something ships in three and a half rows twenty-five ships abreast. Hell of a crowd. Like a herd of cattle.”
“Moo,” the skipper lit his pipe, “I want you to inspect the station-keeping lights. keep the port ones in place, but I want you make sure there are no bulbs in the ones to starboard.”
“Aye.”
“Also the Commodore is from White Star, he has been through this more than a few times, he says he wants everyone in a life jacket at all times. Makes sure your deck crew has them on.”
“Aye.”
“He says if he sees a crewman on deck with no vest he’ll dock our danger money fifty dollars.”
“The crew’ll not like that one little bit.”
“Our money, not the crew’s money, the officer’s money. See to it.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The first officer walked outside. He came back through the hatch, grabbed a yellow life vest and tied it around his waist. “Fifty dollars?”
The captain nodded gravely.
U-264 sat quietly on the bottom, a passive microphone on a long cable threaded through the rear torpedo tube trailed upward where conditions were ideal. The port of New York was alive with activity, making sense of it required patience and experience. The U-264 had both.
“Convoy passing,” the lead sonarman reported.
“How many?”
“More than fifty, perhaps a hundred including escorts, a Jumbo.”
“What time is it upstairs?” The submarine kept Berlin time.
“Dusk in four hours, sir.”
“Prepare a sighting report. Bring her up to thirty meters and make a course to deep water.”
More than five hours later the u-boat raised its snorkel and started its powerful diesels to recharge its batteries. That done, a battery-powered signal buoy was released, set to transmit after thirty minutes.
Then the skipper began to quietly crawl his boat back into position outside the harbor.
“What is it?” the Coast Guard lieutenant asked.
“A burst transmission somewhere on this bearing,” the seaman indicated his chart.
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago, six hours after they left.”
“Okay, call the officer of the watch, the convoy has been spotted.”
Sailors will tell you that a life at sea is full of camaraderie and solitude. Keeping watch in the small hours of the morning, enjoying the stars, the sea, the air is a pleasure no landsman can understand. Being in a convoy is different. The ungainly ships have difficulty in keeping their proper place relative to one another in the best of times. Turning as one to make the zigzags safety required is nearly impossible.
Doing it at night is a prescription for disaster. Instead of divine isolation and freedom, the watch crew found themselves in the middle of a traffic jam.
“Mind the tanker!” the skipper said quietly.
“She turns like a scow,” the first officer had taken the wheel himself. The quartermaster had retreated to the starboard wing as an additional lookout.
“Who has the watch?”
“I’m on duty for another twenty minutes then you come on.”
“I’m too old for this nonsense. I have got to get some sleep.” A loud noise came from somewhere in the mass of ships. Both men turned. “Now what?” the captain asked wearily. A siren sounded.
“Must have been a collision, no fire, no flare from the escorts. How can you hit another ship in the middle of the Atlantic?”
“Mind that tanker or you’ll find out.”
The German navy had set up its u-boat headquarters in a chalet in Brittany. Earlier in the war it had been elegant, but the treat of British air attacks required a huge concrete bunker to be built in the garden.
It was a place of endless activity, cigarette smoke and static.
“The watch boat at New York reported them sailing two days ago. Presuming an average speed and course, we expect them to come into range shortly after daylight tomorrow,” the navy captain briefed the admiral with great formality.
“What can you give us tomorrow?”
An officer in a grey uniform answered, “The Luftwaffe would prefer better targeting information, sir, but we will have fourteen Condors available for an attack if we cut back on patrols.”
The admiral made his decision, “Launch your Condors for a mid-morning attack, that will shorten the range a bit and give your pilots more light to find the ships themselves. If you can’t find them, then we will have risked little.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want to hit the Americans hard, they finally admit to being in this war, we ought to welcome them to it. Simple courtesy really.”
“Of course Herr Admiral,” both men replied as one.
A dozen four-engine Condors took off from three French airfields and formed a long line abreast. The crews settled in for a long flight with hot tea and coffee from thermos bottles and waited for the sunlight to reach the sea below. The bomb aimers in the glazed nose then settled into endless scanning the blue for any enemy activity. The planes were able to sweep a bolt of ocean over a hundred miles wide at more than 300 miles per hour.
Well before their planned intercept, a plane on the far right reported a small group of warships steaming south. The raid commander deemed it a hunter-killer group not worthy of his attention. The English escort carrier was operating without her radar and was too late sending up a pair of fighters. The fast Condors had too much of a head start.
“So much for sneaking up on them.” The squadron commander thought.
“Signal from the escorts,” the first officer knocked on the captain’s door.
“What do they want?”
“Air action stations, contact in one hour.”
“I’ll be up in a minute. Wake the crew who are not on watch. Make sure everyone gets some coffee and breakfast.”
“Lunch.”
“Lunch. I’ll be right up.”
The trip had taken a toll on the captain’s face, he was weary and unshaven. He ran a hand over his stubble. “Well?”
“The crew is awake, the galley is making sandwiches to take to the duty stations. The escorts are taking up positions to the south, the carrier has been launching fighters for the last few minutes.”
The Talk Between Ships radio was attacked to an overhead speaker, “Inbound bombers spotted, contact in fifteen minutes, make smoke.”
The captain nodded to the quartermaster, “You heard the man, make smoke.” The tanker ahead began to trail an inadequate black plume against the bright blue sky. In a few minutes, a solitary crewman pulled a cord to ignite the smoke generator strapped to the fantail. The attackers came into view, then their droning engines could be heard. Little knots of crewmen began to gather on the foredeck with nothing to do but watch.
“Muster everyone but the engine gang and the bridge watch to the stern, make the lifeboats ready.
Have someone make sure again all the watertights are secured.”
The big guns of the escorts began to fire, each sharp bark something felt in the chest as well as heard.
The shells left long red traces reaching high into the sky.
“Carl, get yourself to the stern. Take charge if we get hit.”
“Skip, I’d rather stay up here,” the first officer’s eyes were focused out the windows.
“Get yourself back there. We’ll talk later,” the captain’s voice was firm.
“Anything last night?” Winston asked when he entered the group’s office in Campabello.
“The Germans hit our first New York convoy this morning as soon as they crossed int
o air range.”
Admiral Hereford reported.
“How did it go?”
“Guided bombs, they hit six merchies, a near miss on the escort carrier, she’ll need some time in dry dock.”
Winston ruffled through the previous night’s messages, “Six out of eighty something? That’s bad.”
“Can’t keep that up for long.” the navy man agreed. “Still we knocked down at least three condors, one more was trailing smoke, might not make it back.”
“Maybe the worst is over for this convoy?” Winston hoped.
“Fat chance.”
There was no night or day in the German bunker. The admiral read the report with weary red eyes.
“Show me the plot for this raid.” A staff officer silently indicated a red marker on the blue chart. A string of black chips ran north south to the east of the convoy. “Make a transmission, the wolf pack is to assemble,” he gauged distances and speeds with a practiced eye, “here.”
The orders went out less than twenty minutes later and were picked up by the four nearest electroboats.
After the attack, the tension level on the Liberty California collapsed. By mutual agreement, everyone who was not on duty fell into their bunks and a peaceful sleep. Nightmares would come for some, but not until later. The captain looked better too. He had shaved and put on a clean uniform.
“Glass is dropping,” he referred to the barometer’s face.
“They told us a couple of hours ago to expect more clouds tonight. It might snow.”
“That’ll be trouble. The subs don’t need to see to hunt, and we’ll be sailing blind. How are the guys holding up?”
The first officer rubbed his neck, “Tense, tired, about what you’d expect I guess.”
“You too. Let me go take a look at the engine room and grab something to eat. I’ll relieve you in thirty minutes. You need a shower and a shave.” The captain paused.
The first officer looked at him, “You expect me to argue? I smell like a goat and know it.”
“You have been in that uniform for four days, some sort of good-luck charm?”
The first officer stepped outside to the port wing, he waved his friend beside him. Away from prying eyes he explained. “I’ve tried, but I can’t bring myself to take off my clothes. I guess I’m scared we’ll get sunk while I’m in the shower.”
“Being scared is normal, but we have to look calm, even if we’re shitless. I’ll make it easy for you. I want you to report to me in a clean uniform at,” he looked at his watch, “say an hour from now. I don’t care if you sleep in it tonight, but fresh duds and clean behind the ears in an hour, got it?”
“Aye.”
The submarines traveled by different routes to a box on their maps of a hundred miles on a side.
100,000 square kilometers for a convoy to hide in. They cruised quietly on electric power to allow their sonars to find their prey. Two got lucky and heard the sounds of the convoy almost at once. They switched to their high-speed diesels and raced to the interception points they had independently plotted thirty kilometers apart.
The first reached its ambush as the last light of the day ended on the surface. The captain was on his first cruise as a commander and was eager to make a big score. He ordered his periscope up and scanned the sky. Reassured by the gathering darkness and the lack of English aircraft he also brought up his antenna and snorkel to bring the boat’s air supply back up to maximum. Judging his vessel to be safer with a sharp lookout than without, he kept the scope up and settled to wait. He took the time to walk through the boat to inspect and offer his presence to his crew. The radio operator tuned to the fleet’s official channel and began the recorder used to catch burst transmissions from nearby friendly boats and aircraft.
A British Sutherland flying boat was returning to its Irish base after the end of a long patrol. A stiff wind was coming from the northeast, the sea was a froth of black accented with whitecaps.
“Contact, pulse bearing 047 degrees, strong” the electronics officer called out.
“Action stations, anything active?” the pilot asked.
“Just a pulse from a receiver. No active transmission. Bearing now 005 and strengthening.”
“Activate the radar, be ready for a quick shot.”
The radar set was already operating, the officer threw a switch connecting it to the antenna, the screen sprang to life at once.
“Contact 000 range two miles.”
The radio room detected the British radar at once. “Alarm! Search radar!”
The captain slammed his palm on the intercom in the main torpedo room. “Emergency dive, make your depth fifty meters.”
The crew responded with incredible speed. The bridge ordered the electric motors to full speed, the planes full down and flooded the ballast tanks. As water flooded into the tanks, air flowed out and up, making the sea boil.
The British pilot flipped the switch to activate the powerful searchlight about the snout of his plane. The air escaping from the u-boat’s tanks the sea made a perfect target.
“Salvo now!” A dozen contact-fused squid bombs fell from each wing. The weapons fell into darkness giving the aircraft no way to sense their effect.
“Send a position report in the plain, standard long transmission. Warn the convoy.”
The pilot had no way of knowing his enemy was already making a final dive.
“Course change to heading 095 in one minute,” the sudden command from the TBS speaker took the watch crew by surprise.
“Like the man said, make ready to come to 095.” The skipper came to his feet. “Mind that damn tanker.”
The course change brought the convoy to within a mile north of the second attacker. It released six torpedoes at maximum range, all of them missed, but then they turned back into the for a second try, committed by their guidance systems to swim their pattern until they struck a target or ran out of fuel.
One struck the fruit carrier to the right of the Liberty California. The force of the blast came through the water and into the steel plates of the ship with such force that the captain thought his ship had been struck. Only sudden unnatural light of a flare launched from a destroyer convinced him otherwise. He considered dropping a boat for survivors for half a minute that stretched forever. Only the realization that the reefer was well astern brought him back to the moment. He walked to the wing to shout to his crew.
He could make out his first officer leading an effort to pull up a half-deployed lifeboat. “At least that will give them something to occupy themselves.”
The second submarine had time to reload her tubes as the ships approached. The captain aimed for the center of the rapidly-approaching wall of steel and fired. Just as fountain of spray announced one of the pattern-runners had found a mark. “Make your depth seventy meters, silent routine, rig for damage control.”
Taking out his binoculars, the captain began to sweep the open sea to his left looking for …
something. A minute later he heard two more explosions from the starboard edge of the formation.
“A total of eight sunk, two more damaged, give them credit for ten percent of the entire convoy.” The harbormaster in the basement of the Liver Building kept an informal tally of each convoy arriving. Now he had to consider which wharfs were available and where he could assemble the next outbound flotilla.
A gentle tone from a speaker announced another German air raid on the city outside his bunker.
Chapter 19 Mediterranean II
“We simply have their measure,” the British admiral explained in a Washington conference room. “In
’40 we faced the older u-boats and completely outclassed them, in fact they served to train our air-sea team in coordination. The electroboats gave us a tough time starting last year, but with you Yanks in the fight our antisubmarine capacity has practically doubled overnight, their ability to build boats and train crew has not. .”
His RAF college added, “Another factor is they are
getting easier to kill as they are forced to use younger, less experienced crews. Our analysis shows Jerry simply cannot produce them as fast as we sink them. It is a slow process but our losses are trending downward and we can see the end of it.”
The American delegation to the Combined Chiefs of Staff nodded.
“So now what?” the admiral’s question was rhetorical. “In 1942 we begin to hit back. Winston has insisted that we must get help to the Russians this has become impossible now that the northern ports have fallen. We only have the Iran and Siberia routes.”
General Arnold agreed, “Both of those routes require us to go around our elbow to get to our thumb.”
“Exactly,” the admiral approached a covered chart, “Operation Sledgehammer calls for a major landing on the North Cape in May or June. “He pulled back the shroud, showing the stylized map beneath. “This will force the Germans to divert forces from the Central Front and will allow us to open at least an air route to Moscow.”
“Operations so far north are hazardous.” Admiral Leahy objected.
“We have complete air and sea superiority up there, thanks to our bases in Norway. The navigation hazards can be mitigated. We have developed navigation aides based on those used by the Royal Air Force.”
General Marshal interrupted, “We have been briefed on this of course, the advantage from the military point of view is that the Germans will be trying to deliver combat power along a single double-track rail line. That is very open to airpower and other attacks. The British ought to be able to generate much more power more quickly though the ports.”
His Air Corps counterpart nodded, “The President has agreed with Mr. Churchill that we must take pressure off Moscow. Our air contribution will be using the RAF airfields on Crete to strike north into Germany proper as well as throughout the southern and central sectors of the Eastern Front. This is the job the B-29 was designed to do.”
Paul Adkins Page 12