East of the Azores, we had another rendezvous with a outgoing U-boat, this time U-214. This was strictly a social visit between two lone wolves, one returning from the war zone, the other heading toward it. Kapitänleutnant Günther Reeder, the skipper of U-214, asked in his heavy Frisian accent if we had any tea to spare. We still had plenty because, despite the skipper’s best attempts to instill in us a taste for tea, we all much preferred coffee. We transferred two tins of the stuff to Reeder while the officers shouted gossip back and forth. We wished each other good luck and continued on our way. As they disappeared into the distance, we wondered whether our little mid-ocean “tea party” with the crew of U-214 would be the last time we would ever see them.
As we approached the Bay of Biscay, we began getting more and more attention from British air patrols. Air-dropped depth charge attacks became so frequent that we were forced to run the entire length of the Bay underwater, surfacing only long enough to recharge our air and batteries. It was during this leg of our journey that we began having severe navigational difficulties. Our gyrocompass began giving us trouble again, and to make matters even worse, magnetic anomalies were simultaneously interfering with our magnetic compass. Meanwhile, the air threat prevented us from getting proper fixes on the stars with the sextant. As a result, we could only estimate our course within a margin of error of five degrees.
On the night of August 24, we were finally close enough to Lorient to surface and ask for a radio-directional beam to guide us in the rest of the way. To our immense relief, the beam came in loud and clear on our direction finder and we were able to adjust our course. Early the next morning, we encountered a small fleet of French fishing boats. The vessels immediately lit their navigation lights. A friendly greeting or a betrayal of our position to the British? To be on the safe side, we ducked below the waves until we were well out of sight.
That afternoon, we met our escort boats at Rendezvous Point Luci-2. Within a few hours we were safely tied to our pier in Lorient harbor. Once again we were greeted by the military band and our Flotilla Commander Schütze. There was also a large, noisy crowd of admirers, this time including quite a number of French girls waiting to reunite with their Beaus. My heart began to race when I spotted Jeanette’s beaming face in the crowd. She looked more beautiful than ever.
Of course, we were very happy to be back in port. But somehow, as we stood assembled in formation on the upper deck, the cheers and hurrahs seemed a little hollow. After all, we had managed to make only two good kills this mission and there was a dark cloud of uncertainty hanging over our skipper. This patrol, which had begun so auspiciously, ended in frustration.
After the ceremonies concluded, we hurried to complete the necessary duties on board before walking with stiff, unsteady legs onto dry land. As before, we received our mail and enjoyed a luxurious banquet. After the feast we stumbled to our barracks, without the energy to even remove our uniforms before falling into our bunks. We were so physically and emotionally drained we slept like mummies until late the next day.
A smiling Hans Goebeler, happy to be once more ashore.
Author’s Collection
Chapter 5
A New Skipper
We spent the next few days unloading U-505 and preparing her for the move to a berth in the armored bunkers. Once the boat and our personal possessions had been safely stowed, we were finally granted liberty to leave the barracks. Naturally, we spent most of our free time paying visits to our favorite haunts in Lorient’s entertainment district. Upon leaving our barracks, however, we were shocked to see how much things had changed during our absence. The British had been hitting the city with heavier and heavier bombing raids. Luckily for us, most of the damage was confined to the port area; our favorite streets were still relatively intact. Many other parts of the city, however, were scenes of utter devastation.
The ladies of Lorient were very happy to see us again, especially since we had everything they longed for: cigarettes, chocolate, and even a little spending money. Of course, in the back of my mind I tried to believe that Jeanette loved me because she considered me handsome and charming…but a couple of nice presents never hurt! At any rate, it was wonderful to be back on land again. Even the military police were good to us, looking the other way as we staggered from pub to pub in search of “just one more drink.” In time, we discovered a way through the perimeter wire that allowed us to sneak back into the barracks after hours. After that, our opportunities for recreation were only limited by our capacity to perform duties the next day.
Despite our fun, however, the fate of our skipper hung like a dark cloud over our heads. It turned out that Kapitänleutnant Löwe had been suffering from a severe case of appendicitis. Prompt medical attention alleviated the threat to his life, but the physical pain he had endured was nothing compared to the emotional anguish he was to experience over the sinking of the damned three-masted schooner. Löwe’s instincts were correct, for the sinking was a colossal mistake.
We soon learned the 400-ton Roamar was the property of a Colombian diplomat. Its sinking, though technically-speaking perfectly legal, provided the political grounds for Colombia to declare war against Germany! Of course, at that point in the war, Colombia’s declaration of war had about as much effect on us as the howling of a dog has on the moon. But the effect on Löwe’s career was catastrophic: he was relieved of command of U-505 and assigned to shore duty. Admiral Dönitz, however, recognized our skipper’s talents and arranged to have Löwe put on his staff. Löwe’s assignment to the Great Lion’s staff would have been the envy of most naval officers, but it broke our skipper’s heart to have to give up frontline sea duty.
News of Löwe’s transfer was an occasion of great sadness for us all. We had tremendous affection for him, and unbounded respect for the way that he had handled our boat. Even in the most dangerous moments, our Kapitänleutnant had never lost his head. How many times the mere sound of his deep, steady voice had calmed us young crew members during emergencies! A green crew is sensitive to little things like that, and is reassured by them. Löwe also had a sort of intuitive ability to sense danger. The survival lessons he taught us would be ignored in the future only at great cost. Most importantly, Löwe was a natural leader with a keen understanding of how to deal with men in the pressure cooker environment of a submarine at war. He always treated us with respect, was never demeaning and never abused his authority. Rather, he led us by personal example. It’s not an exaggeration to say that Axel Olaf Löwe was like a father to us. Quite a few of us were moved to tears during his farewell speech.
After the first group of crew members had departed for furlough, we met our new skipper, Kapitänleutnant Peter Zschech. Young, handsome, and cultured, he appeared to be a perfect example of the new breed of U-boat commander that the Propaganda Ministry liked to portray in magazines and films. Rumored to be the son of an Admiral, Zschech came to our boat with the very highest of reputations. His previous assignment was as Executive Officer on U-124, U-boat ace Jochen Mohr’s famous “Edelweiss Boat.” Our first personal impression of him was that he was intelligent, self-confident, but a little aloof…like an aristocrat. Almost immediately, however, we found out that his aloofness hid an explosive temper. His sudden fits of anger and general moodiness contrasted sharply with Löwe’s calm approach to command.
Peter Zschech, U-505’s second commander. NA
Zschech also seemed very eager, perhaps a bit too eager, to get at the enemy. He actually had the cheek to criticize his mentor Jochen Mohr for being too timid! This we took with a grain of salt since Mohr was universally regarded as one of our greatest U-boat commanders. We suspected Zschech had a bad case of Halsschmerzen, or the “sore throat,” a condition common to many young officers and one that could only be cured by wearing a Knight’s Cross around the neck.
Because Zschech was a newly-promoted skipper, we passed his braggadocio off as youthful exuberance. Despite a few misgivings about his inexperience, Zschech had an ex
cellent recommendation and we were hoping some of U-124 ‘s great success (more than 100,000 tons sunk) would rub off on our boat.
To replace our departing Executive Officer Nollau, who was being transferred to take command of his own boat, came Oberleutnant Thilo Bode. Bode was Zschech’s close personal friend and had graduated with him in the naval officer class of 1936. Right from the beginning he seemed very arrogant. His attitude was one of utter contempt toward us, and he even refused to introduce himself to his new crew! The nature of his “friendship” with Zschech also began to make us a bit uncomfortable. Bode and Zschech would spend long hours alone together and would sometimes even hold hands in the presence of the crew. I had deep misgivings regarding our new Exec right from the beginning, but most of the crew remained optimistic that any problems would be worked-out during our next war patrol.
The one new officer about whom we had absolutely no doubts was Oberleutnant Josef Hauser. This swaggering, baby-faced engineering officer acted as though he knew everything about a U-boat, but it was immediately apparent that he knew almost nothing. Our Chief Engineering Officer Fritz Förster had to teach Hauser virtually everything about his job. On one of the first crash dives Hauser supervised, he came close to killing us all by diving U-505 ‘s nose into the sea floor. Only quick action by Förster saved us from certain doom.
I witnessed Förster lecturing the new engineering officer in no uncertain terms: “This submarine is not your toy! Always keep in mind that there are 49 other human beings on this boat and that they want to return to their homes after this patrol.”
I remember muttering to myself, “Amen to that!”
As a matter of fact, this new crop of officers soon had quite a few of us crewmen muttering to ourselves. The officers acted as though fear was a better motivator than respect. How different this was from Löwe, who always said that on a submarine, rank mattered nothing compared to how well a person did his job!
Of course, anyone who has served in the military knows that a new commander always tries to “shake things up” in his unit in order to establish his authority over his men. In the case of these three new officers, however, we thought they were going way too far. Even our veteran officers Förster and Stolzenburg agreed. Our new skipper and his friends seemed to resent any advice from our old officers, even when presented in the most friendly and deferential manner. They seemed especially hostile towards Förster, who, although functioning as Chief Engineering Officer, was actually more senior in rank than Kapitänleutnant Zschech. In the end, they had to leave Förster pretty much alone in engineering matters because of his great wealth of experience.
The discomfort of our old officers was nothing compared to what we crewmen experienced. Zschech’s first order was that we would undergo, of all things, infantry training! We were issued brand new Mauser 98k rifles and immediately began a course of tactical ground combat training. We got used to the actual training fairly quickly, though the chore of keeping our weapons and uniforms clean was a constant annoyance. We all wondered what the hell any of this had to do with serving on a submarine. More and more of us began to grumble about our new skipper, but the majority of the crew still withheld judgment, optimistic that Zschech would prove his worth at sea.
While we played soldiers in the mud, U-505 was undergoing repairs and modifications. To reduce the need for at-sea replenishment by the “Milk Cows,” our diesel fuel capacity was increased. This alteration was actually designed by our old skipper Kapitänleutnant Löwe. More importantly, we were equipped with one of the first versions of the new Metox radar early warning devices. This crude-looking contraption, consisting of a cross-shaped wooden frame wrapped with wires, operated much like the modern radar detectors now mounted on many automobiles. It was hoped this apparatus would eliminate any nasty surprises, especially from the increasingly deadly air attacks. In time, the Metox device was nicknamed the “Biscay Cross” because of its antenna’s cruciform shape and its critical importance in helping us survive the dangerous trip across the Bay of Biscay.
We also had several additions to our boat, including two crewmen from U-124, Zschech’s old boat. The two boatswain mates were tight-lipped regarding our new skipper, but it was clear to us that, despite the excellent reputation of their former boat, these men were not up to our standards in the performance of their duties. One of them made the adjustment and happily served aboard U-505 until our capture in 1944. The other one, however, requested transfer back to his former boat at the end of the next war patrol. Later, we heard he went down with the rest of the crew of U-124 when she was sunk in the Atlantic in 1943.
Two new Petty Officers also came aboard. One was a diesel specialist and the other was an electric engine specialist, both fresh out of submarine school. These two fellows had a lot to learn about life on board a frontline U-boat. For instance, on their very first day, they began chewing out us crewmen for failing to salute them in the corridor of our boat! They learned very quickly they were no longer in basic training. Their biggest mistake was trying to curry favor with Zschech by ordering us to do infantry drills and calisthenics at sea during our next war patrol. This crazy idea caused a lot of hard feelings among the men, but we eventually got our revenge when we returned to port. Luckily for everyone concerned, once we got our revenge, they fit in perfectly with the rest of the crew.
Work on our boat was completed by the end of September. The change in skippers brought with it a brand new emblem. Kapitänleutnant Löwe’s ax-wielding lion was removed and a new emblem—a large set of Olympic rings—was painted on the front of the conning tower. The rings symbolized Zschech’s friendship with several other U-boat commanders who were fellow classmates of his from the Naval Academy class of 1936 (the year of the Olympics). There were five or six skippers in this little clique who chose the Olympic rings as their vessel’s symbol. But in a concession to the great affection we still felt toward our former skipper, Zschech allowed us to retain the ax from Löwe’s emblem on the sides of the conning tower as a token of continuity between the two captains.
U-505 leaves Lorient under the command of Peter Zschech. The boat’s former emblem—the battle ax—is visible on the port side of the conning tower. Zschech left it there as a token of continuity between the two commanders. Author’s Collection
The arduous chore of loading the boat with supplies and munitions began in early October. Our mood during this time was a complicated one. On the one hand, we had very mixed feelings about Löwe’s replacement by Zschech. Opinions were sharply divided as to whether our new skipper was a move in the right direction. On the other hand, we were all committed to erasing from our record the stigma of the schooner incident. Chief of Western U-boat Operations Eberhard Godt, on behalf of Admiral Dönitz, had entered a stinging entry into our boat’s log: “Because of sickness, commanding officer interrupted war patrol before the proper time. Few chances for attack existed because of stopped traffic in the area. The sinking of the Colombian sailing ship would have been better left undone. No further remarks.” New skipper or not, we were determined to redeem ourselves on this next war patrol.
We departed for our third war patrol at exactly 1800 hours on the 4th of October 1942. Our transit out of Lorient harbor had a new wrinkle: all non-essential personnel had to assemble on the upper deck until we cleared the breakwaters. A red buoy in the channel marked the spot where, just a few weeks before, a returning U-boat had struck a mine laid by enemy aircraft the previous night. The boat sank in full view of the horrified spectators. Only two members of the crew survived, even though the water was only about ten meters (33 feet) deep. Apparently, the concussion of the mine had broken the backs of many of the men. As a result, all departing and returning boats were now under orders to assemble non-essential crewmen on the upper deck wearing life jackets. Furthermore, we were required to kneel, because it was believed this precaution would prevent our legs from being driven into our spines by the concussion.
As a control room operator, it
was my duty to stay inside the sub during almost all of these harbor transits. I didn’t worry much because my attitude was one of complete fatalism. I think my point of view was common among young sailors—especially in a dangerous business like the U-boat service. We didn’t spend too much time thinking about what would happen tomorrow; we just tried to live life day-to-day. Death might come today, or tomorrow, or it might never come. I just wanted to get my share of the good things in life and would meet my fate when it came. As the French say, C’est la vie!
Less than an hour out of Lorient harbor, we got a taste of what life at sea with Kapitänleutnant Zschech would be like. As usual, our conning tower and bridge were festooned with flowers for our departure ceremony. In our customary precaution against bad luck, the bridge watch began throwing the flowers overboard before we lost sight of Brittany’s rocky shore. Zschech saw what was happening and literally screamed at them to stop. Second Watch Officer Stolzenburg tried to cover the crewmen by explaining to the skipper it was our custom to do so, but he was cut-off in mid-sentence by an angry, red-faced Zschech.
“Kapitänleutnant Löwe is no longer in command of this boat!” He yelled. “This is my boat and I am the only one giving orders from now on. I want everybody to understand that!”
Stolzenburg and the men were perplexed and embarrassed by the outburst. None of them ever dreamed of questioning Zschech’s authority. Why had he reacted in such a manner?
Steel Boat, Iron Hearts Page 8