Steel Boat, Iron Hearts

by Hans Goebeler

  For four long hours we searched in vain for our sister boat. We finally received word the Luftwaffe boys had spotted U-123 and taken over the situation. With that mission out of the way, we proceeded back toward Lorient.

  As we entered the harbor, everyone busied themselves with emptying their moldy lockers and throwing their possessions into sea bags for the trip to the barracks. When the red buoy came into view, we fell out to assemble on bent knee on the upper deck and the Wintergarten anti-aircraft platform. It was quite an experience to rumble into the inner harbor in broad daylight, passing the old fortress on the right and the French cruiser Strasbourg, positioned as a permanent barrier on the left.

  We made it home, all of us safe and sound. All, that is, except one.

  Chapter 12

  Rescue at Sea

  There wasn’t much of a crowd waiting for us in Bunker Skorff, though our Flotilla Commander, Kapitän zur See Ernst Kals, was there to personally welcome us home. Kals came aboard and complimented us profusely for getting back safely. We learned that, at the moment, we were the only boat in harbor. He told us the Second and Tenth U-boat Flotillas had suffered catastrophic losses in the past few weeks and that he was very glad to see the reports of us having been lost were incorrect. Before he departed, Kals warned us not to say anything about Zschech’s death. In the interest of security, he said, we would also be sleeping on board.

  It therefore struck us like a hammer blow when, later that night, the Allied propaganda radio station Soldaten-sender-Calais broadcast the following announcement: “Hello officers in the ‘Red Mill’ (a small casino near our barracks popular with many Navy officers). It must be quite a surprise to you that your friend Peter Zschech did not return with his U-505.”

  It chilled us to the bone that the enemy knew so many of our military secrets, sometimes even before we knew them. Of course, we assumed the French Underground was reporting details of our local, private activities. That was the obvious explanation for the mention of the “Red Mill.” But it perplexed and deeply worried us that they knew of Zschech’s death. In hindsight, of course, we now know it was the Allies’ ability to decipher our Enigma secret code system that allowed them to do it.

  On November 9 I celebrated another birthday. It seemed like a thousand lifetimes ago since I had celebrated my last birthday, just before Sillcock bombed us off Trinidad. I must admit though, at the time, my mind was firmly fixed on the present rather than the past. Still a bit in shock over how many of our sister boats had gone down, I wanted to have some fun before the odds finally caught up with us, too.

  During the day, we were visited by Konteradmiral (Rear Admiral) Hans-Georg von Friedeburg, second-in-command of all U-boat forces. The few crews available in port assembled in formation and were given a pep talk by the Admiral. Later, he addressed our crew personally and told us, “I know that you are a brave crew. Good luck and may there always be a hand’s breadth of water under your keel!”

  It was comforting to hear von Friedeburg’s words, but the news we heard from the war fronts was not good. We were stunned to learn the full scale of the slaughter our boats had suffered. The thought of so many of our friends lying at the bottom of that giant unmarked graveyard (the Atlantic) was just too much to bear. Developments on the ground were equally bad. Reverses on the Eastern Front and the Allied invasion of Italy were especially worrisome. Worst of all, Allied air raids on our cities were becoming heavier and more deadly by the day.

  Here in Lorient, the air raids had become less frequent, but only because there was little left to destroy. There was almost nothing left of the city itself, although for some miraculous reason, the entertainment area next to our old barracks was still only slightly damaged. The U-boat bunkers and the other fortress-like military installations in the harbor area were still intact, but when we arrived at the storage barracks to retrieve our belongings, we found that the entire building had been burned to the ground. Allied bombers had attacked the place with phosphorous bombs only a couple of days before. Our dress uniforms and other personal possessions had been stored in the building’s basement, and were severely damaged by the fire. We picked through the charred remains for the precious little bits we could salvage. Today, I still have some photographs with burned edges I rescued from the ashes.

  Luckily, the Navy was quick to equip us with crisp new uniforms. We were not slow in showing them off to the few remaining ladies of leisure in Lorient. Naturally, they got their fair share of our pay, but for many of us, cavorting with whores had lost much of its charm. This time, I spent my money buying silk scarves, cigarettes, and liqueurs for my furlough home. By the time I was ready to depart for home, I had a large trunk overflowing with precious commodities no longer available in Germany.

  The night before I left, we had a proper celebration for my birthday. The party involved quite a bit of drinking since none of us knew if we would be around to celebrate next year. Paul Meyer showed up and drank with us until dawn. As he left our barracks he turned around and told me, “Hans, I was forced to deduct two days from your leave as punishment for your incident with the doctor. But don’t worry, you’ll get those two days back when you return.” I didn’t know what he was talking about until I returned from my furlough.

  The next morning, I found out part of what the Exec was talking about. Two days had indeed been deducted from my leave because of my run-in with that bastard, our ship’s quack doctor. I didn’t let it dampen my spirits, though. A group of fifteen of my fellow crewmates and I made our way to the Lorient train station. I was heavily burdened with my trunk and sea bag, but determined to make it home with all my booty. The railway station building didn’t exist any more, though most of the tracks were still functioning. We spent the first leg of our trip trying to sleep off the effects of the previous night’s celebration.

  In Paris, we had a six-hour layover until the departure of our connecting train to Metz. We didn’t dare leave our belongings unattended in the Paris train station, so we divided ourselves into impromptu two-hour watches and took turns sightseeing the beautiful and still-undamaged “City of Light.”

  Our group split up into different directions once we got to Metz. Six hours later, I arrived in Kassel. The town had been devastated by a heavy air raid just the previous night. Smoke and burning houses were everywhere. Nowhere is safe, I thought, from the long reach of the enemy terror-bombers.

  Three hours later, the train pulled into my hometown. I was surprised by the bitterly cold weather. It was much warmer in Lorient, where we were bathed in relatively balmy Atlantic breezes. But the warm reception given to me by my family more than made up for the frigid temperature.

  Several neighbors came over to my parent’s house for the reception. Most of them brought food ration stamps as gifts. A gift of 50 grams of sugar (a person’s entire allotment for one month) was an incredibly generous gift indeed, given the terrible shortage of food that had gripped our nation. Such generosity was common among our people during this time. In the same way, we soldiers always tried to bring home some delicacies for our families. In return, they often gave us a cake or liverwurst to share with our comrades when we returned to our units. No one had much to eat, but by sharing what little we had, we made the scarcities a bit more bearable.

  While home, I was saddened to learn that my best friend from school had been killed on the Eastern Front. A cousin and another friend of mine had both been killed in Yugoslavia by Tito’s guerrillas. What was especially disturbing was that they had been murdered after surrendering to the communists. Yet another cousin of mine had fallen in North Africa, near Mersa Matruk. The war was taking a very high toll; virtually every family in little Bottendorf had similar tragic news to report.

  Despite the losses, we still believed in victory and trusted our nation’s leadership. This faith lasted right up to the end. (NOTE: After the war I was disgusted at the way many people in my hometown cravenly denied ever being a Party member or aiding the war effort. Even the pastor
s changed their tunes 180 degrees! It was the same way in France where, suddenly, everyone claimed to be a member of the Resistance. I respect anyone who has the courage to act on their political convictions, even if I believe them to be wrong. But one thing that repels me to this day is a coward’s failure to stand up for what he believes (or believed) in. I have never been, nor will I ever be, a chameleon!)

  My two weeks of furlough sped by. The farewell with my family and friends was even more emotional than the last time. At the last minute, however, a bombing raid on the rail network west of Frankenburg delayed my departure. Once again, my father used his influence as a railroad official to get me out of trouble. By paying the repairmen at a local facility 100 cigarettes to work overtime, he managed to get an old steam locomotive running. That wheezing old engine got me to my connection just in time.

  Unfortunately, my connection was also delayed getting out of the station. By the time I got to Metz, the train for Lorient had already left. I could catch the next train, but I would certainly miss my furlough deadline. I had one chance to avoid a court martial for being late back to base: getting my leave papers stamped by the Bahnhofs Kommandanteur (Train Station Commander) in Metz. My heart sank, however, when I saw hundreds of Army soldiers already waiting in line at the Commander’s office for exactly the same purpose.

  Fortunately, my dark blue Navy uniform stood out from the vast sea of gray-green Army uniforms. Several of the soldiers standing next to me had been admiring my U-boat combat badge, and when I told them I had to be back at base by tomorrow, they made way for me to go to the head of the line. Some of them even helped me carry my luggage. Within a few minutes, I had the Commander’s precious signature.

  My train arrived an hour and a half later. It was literally overflowing with Army soldiers returning to their units on the Russian Front. A huge mob of soldiers had already gathered on the platform, desperately trying to board the crowded coaches. I tried to elbow my way to the doors of the train, but it was impossible for me to even get close. I couldn’t believe I had gotten this far, just to be unable to board the train.

  Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice shout, “Hans! Come over here!” It was a friend of mine from the Second U-boat Flotilla whom I had known since our days together in Submarine School. He lifted the sea bag off my shoulders and pulled it through the open window of the train car.

  An infantry soldier standing next to me saw what was happening and clasped his hands together for me to use as a step up to the window. Once I was safely inside the coach, I handed the soldier a pack of cigarettes as thanks. His tired eyes beamed with gratitude as he gave me a friendly farewell salute. It was only then that I noticed all the medals and decorations on his chest, including the impressive silver badge for hand-to-hand combat. For whatever reason, U-boat sailors and Army soldiers usually got along just fine. It made me feel good inside to provide a bit of pleasure to one of the boys who were sacrificing so much in the bloody fight against communism.

  A few minutes later, our train left the station, leaving behind many hundreds of soldiers who were not able to crowd on board. Many of the soldiers in the train with us stuck their heads out the windows, keeping a sharp lookout for enemy fighter-bombers. It was becoming very common for our trains, even plainly marked hospital trains filled with wounded, to be strafed. These attacks almost always resulted in many casualties. I did see some wagons with anti-aircraft guns positioned at the front and rear of our train, but I knew from my experience at sea that these provided but little protection against a determined attacker.

  On the 24th of November, I reported back from furlough to our new skipper, Oberleutnant Harald Lange. He immediately asked me why my furlough had been shortened by two days. After I told him the story of my encounter with the doctor, our tall and distinguished-looking new skipper just smiled and shook his head.

  Lange was completely different than Zschech. At 43 years old he was almost twice the age of most front boat officers. He was like a father figure to us. During peacetime, he had been captain of one of the so-called “Monsoon Boats,” merchant steamers that plied the tropical waters of West Africa and the Indian Ocean. Once the war started, he served as Executive Officer aboard the famous U-180, one of the few U-boats powered by Mercedes engines. The skipper of U-180 put Lange’s pre-war experience to good use in their long-range patrols in the Indian Ocean.

  Lange started his naval career as a regular sailor on a freighter, so he had a good understanding of what life was like for us crewmen. He knew about the drinking, the girls, the brawls with the boys from the Luftwaffe, and all of the other activities that pass as entertainment for a young sailor. When we lined up for morning formation, he would go down the line checking on each and every one of us. If he saw a black eye, he would make remarks like, “Close your other eye. Can you still see me? Next time don’t let them get so close!” and things of that sort. In many ways, Lange was like our first skipper, Axel Löwe. His main concern was the good of the boat. Everything else was small fish.

  Later that day, I found out what Oberleutnant Meyer was talking about when he said I would get back my two days of lost furlough. First of all, although the days could not be officially restored to me, he did exempt me from duty. Then I was allowed to join a group of sailors who were leaving for a resort at Chateau Neuf, located deep in a forest about 40 kilometers southeast of Lorient.

  Oblt.z.S. der Reserve Harald Lange, U-505’s third and last skipper. NA

  The resort was absolute heaven! It had big double-sized rooms, a huge swimming pool, a fully stocked bar, there was no standing in line for food, and best of all, the delicious meals were served to us individually by a staff of beautiful young Mademoiselles. For four wonderful days I lounged about the resort, enjoying uncounted bottles of wine, beer, cognac, and champagne—all paid for by the Navy. I really got spoiled. Too soon, however, I had to return to Lorient and the war.

  On November 30, 1943, we had our first official day of duty under our new skipper. Standing there before us, Lange cut a very impressive figure. He was a very tall man, at least a head taller than the tallest man in our crew. In his deep baritone voice, he explained to us that we had no time for anything except getting the boat in shape. Therefore, there would be none of the infantry training that Zschech had deemed so necessary. He also warned us to keep a very sharp eye on any shipyard workers doing repairs on our boat.

  Harald Lange and U-505’s officers just before leaving Lorient on their first war patrol together in late 1943. From left to right: Leutnant zur See der Reserve Kurt Brey (Second Watch Officer); Stabsobermaschinist Willi Schmidt; Oberleutnant z.S. Paul Meyer (First Watch Officer); Bootsmann Heinz Möller; Oblt.z.S.d.R. Harald Lange (commanding officer); Obersteuermann Alfred Reinig; Marine-oberassistenzarzt Dr. Friedrich Wilhelm Rosenmeyer (Ship’s Surgeon); Obermaschinist Otto Fricke; and Oblt. (Ing) Josef Hauser (Chief Engineer). Author’s Collection

  U-505’s senior NCOs (left to right in the ascending order of their seniority; Harald Lange is in the middle): Bootsmann Heinz Möller; Obermaschinist Otto Fricke; Stabsobermaschinist Willi Schmidt; and Obersteuermann Alfred Reinig. Author’s Collection

  Lange was usually very soft-spoken and deliberate, but when his voice rose, you’d better watch out! He knew all the tricks of the trade and would not tolerate any slackening of our boat’s readiness. At the same time, to us, the new atmosphere of command aboard U-505 was like a breath of fresh air after a long dive. Lange almost always had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, but he did not smoke out of nervousness. Instead, he exuded an air of calm confidence based on his years of experience. We were sure that, with Lange at the helm, we would be successful.

  In no time, we had dubbed our new skipper “the Old Man,” a nickname that connoted our respect for his wealth of experience and easy-going attitude toward command. Once in a while, we remembered our previous skipper Peter Zschech, but not with nostalgia. Not many of us missed his hissing voice and sadistic behavior. Nor did we miss his i
nsignia on the conning tower when it was painted over with Lange’s emblem, a large sea shell. No, we thought, Lange is definitely the right man for this job.

  We worked hard during the day of course, but we were still determined to enjoy our remaining time in Lorient. During the day, farmers would come to the main gate and sell us bottles of home-brewed Calvados. At night, we took pleasure in the ruins of Lorient wherever we could find it. Drinks, an occasional girl, and unprovoked fights with the Luftwaffe made those days pass very quickly. Slogans frequently made their way through our crew, summing up our attitude toward life. The one that was favored during those days was: “A man only lives once, and then, no more.” It was an attitude toward life made logical by the desperate war situation we found ourselves in.

  On the 12th, I was handed a bundle of mail from home. A few were flowery missives of love from girls I knew. The rest were letters from my mother. Inevitably, they opened with verses from the Bible, and ended with her asking if I still prayed as she had taught me to. Between the lines, I could tell she was desperately worried about me. I did my best to reassure her that all was well and that we were confident of victory. There was no use in worrying her needlessly.

  One bit of news my mother told me was that two days after I passed through Marburg on my way back to base, the town had been savagely bombed by the Allies. The air raid obliterated the rail station and the train I would have been riding. If I had not been punished for my encounter with the doctor, I would have been there when the bombs hit. Another example of the remarkably good luck I experienced during the war!