The gun crew had the range almost immediately this time and their third shot hit the sea just behind the torpedo boat, seriously damaging the engines and injuring one man. At the same time our port look-out reported a ship on the port bow. All he had seen was the white bow wave. But through his glasses the commander picked out the shape of a destroyer coming at full tilt to the scene of action.
Down in the bowels of the U-boat we heard orders being shouted and then the clatter of sea boots on the deck plates above our heads. The men came tumbling down through the conning tower, the hatch cover slammed to and in a few seconds I was experiencing my second crash dive of the evening.
This time, however, we were far enough out for the commander to have complete confidence in the charts. There was apparently a sand bottom and the dive was straightened out, the boat trimmed and we settled slowly on to the bed of the sea. For nearly an hour we could hear the ugly boom of depth charges in the distance. None came very near us, however, and we settled down to a long vigil.
I think it was this long vigil that really cured me of my terror. Time dulls the senses and in the end I settled down to a game of cards. That we were allowed, as prisoners, to indulge in a game of cards by a commander who obviously could not regard us in too friendly a light may seem surprising. I think my own exhibition of terror was the cause. Fear is catching, and fear in a submarine at a time of emergency is to be avoided at all costs.
That game of poker must constitute something of a record. It started at three o’clock in the morning and it went on, subject to various interruptions, until nearly midnight the following night. We sat or reclined on the bunks and for a table we had a packing case from the store chamber. The light, which was directly above us, threw the interior of the bunks into complete darkness, so that it was impossible to see anyone’s features, and even when they leaned forward to put their cards down it only shone on the tops of their heads. The contrast between Logan’s head and those of the Germans who played with us remains very vivid in my mind. His hair stood up like a great mop, which together with his beard, gave him a very wild look. The Germans, on the other hand, had close-cropped heads and even those whose overalls were blackened with oil still managed to look quite smart.
The navigation officer played with us most of the time, acting as interpreter. At Logan’s suggestion I pretended that I did not understand a word of German, a pretence which was to stand us in good stead later. Different members of the crew joined us at various times. They gave us the benefit of the tourist rate of exchange for our money. Nobody seemed to feel like sleep until well into the next day.
I began to feel drowsy, however, quite soon after breakfast, which was an excellent meal of pressed ham and hard boiled eggs. For a time I played more or less automatically. Big Logan, on the other hand, seemed to remain quite fresh. Despite the language bar, he seemed to get on the best of terms with those he played with, laughing and joking, so that it was difficult to realize that we were in imminent danger of our lives. In fact, the atmosphere became so friendly that, with the sound of Big Logan’s voice booming in my ears, I found it difficult to believe in my drowsy state that I was not back in the pub at Cadgwith.
By midday the air was beginning to get pretty bad and most of us lay down and tried to sleep. Throughout the whole time we were submerged the engineers were working on the port electric motor. Twice it was started up, but each time there was an awful clanking sound. By lunch-time they had given it up, and in the afternoon they also turned in.
The only man who did not seem to sleep at all was the commander. I did not like him. He was the personification of the effects of Nazism upon the youth of Germany. He was cold-blooded, brutal and very ready to sneer. But he was efficient. He could not have been more than about twenty-five, yet his men had complete confidence in him. His coolness when actually in action had the quality of a machine, and I could not help thinking that if the German army were officered by a sufficiency of young men of his calibre it must be a very powerful machine.
But like so many Germans, especially those of Prussian stock, he lacked any understanding of the importance of psychology. He formed his opinion of men and expected them to act thereafter according to a formula. As far as the men under his command were concerned this seemed to work out well—he knew how each one would react in given circumstances. But like so many Germans he had no understanding of the English. Whether we are a much more complex race than the Germans I do not know—perhaps we are. At any rate, I had several verbal clashes with him, for when I told him I was a journalist he began to question me about the reasons Britain had entered into the war. He simply could not understand that we had entered purely and simply because we hated the precepts of Nazism and refused to live indefinitely under the threat of aggression. He spoke sneeringly of imperialistic aims and honestly believed that the whole thing had been engineered by Churchill and Eden.
As regards myself, too, he revealed himself as having not the slightest understanding of the complex psychological reactions that go on in the mind of a man accustomed to living an entirely individualistic life. Because I had been terrified when the action with the torpedo boat had been in progress, he thought I was a coward. And the more he implied that I was a coward, the more determined he made me to prove, as opportunity offered, that I was not a coward.
We remained on the bottom until shortly after midnight. By the time the order was given to blow the tanks, the atmosphere was so thick that it was really painful to breathe. Certainly by then I was cured of any fear of being cooped up in an air-tight vessel. Haldane is perfectly right. You gradually reach a condition in which your senses become so dulled that the prospect of death is by no means unpleasant.
We stopped at periscope depth. The commander reported all clear and at long last we rose to the surface. The conning tower hatch was thrown back and a sudden waft of cool air entered the submarine. I never realized till then how lovely it was to actually feel yourself breathing good life-giving air. Each man was allowed a few minutes out on the conning tower platform and I don’t think I have ever enjoyed a few minutes’ fresh sea air so much. The submarine was travelling at about 8 knots with her decks awash and the water creaming up white over the bows. It was a fine sight to see the vague outline of her slipping steadily through the long Atlantic swell. The night was cloudy, but there was a faint luminosity from the moon.
‘We’re travelling due west,’ Logan whispered.
‘How do you know?’ I asked.
‘The moon, for one thing,’ he said.
‘What are they going west for?’ I asked. ‘Surely with a fractured propeller shaft and one of the motors out of action they’ll have to return to Germany for repairs?’
‘They wouldn’t stand much chance of getting through the Straits now that they can’t travel under water. Maybe they’re going to try and get round the north of Scotland. Or perhaps they have a base in Spain or somewhere like that.’
Our guards, who had kept very close to us in case we attempted to jump into the sea, indicated that our spell of fresh air was over. With the boat rolling heavily, I found the descent of the conning tower ladder something of a feat. We went back to the bunks that had been allotted to us, and for the first time since we had come on board I really slept. I think it was the drone of the engine that did it. The incessant rhythmic throbbing lulled my senses.
When I woke up the engine had stopped. There was considerable activity for’ard. I leant out over the edge of my bunk and peered into the one below where Logan lay. ‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied. And then in a whisper, he added, ‘I reckon we’re not far off the North Cornish coast.’
‘How do you know?’ I asked.
For answer he moved his arm so that I could see he held in the palm of his hand a big silver watch that he always carried in his trouser pocket. It was turned face downward and the flap at the back was open revealing a luminous compass. ‘It’s now just after four,’ he
said. ‘We moved off from Cadgwith shortly after midnight. Then for nearly two hours our course was practically due west. At two-twenty we bore away to the north—presumably rounding Land’s End. By three-fifteen our course was practically north nor’east. We hove-to about five minutes ago.’
‘What’s the idea, do you think?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps the commander is passing on the information he received to another boat?’
Logan did not reply, but turned his watch the right way up. The flap at the back closed with a snap. I looked up to find that our guard had risen from his seat on a bunk a little way down the gangway and was watching us warily. The conning tower hatch was still open. If we could rush the guard, get hold of his revolver and reach the controls of the tanks we might be able to submerge the U-boat. Death would come quickly with the conning tower hatch open. But even as I pondered the idea, trying to remember all the controls I had seen being used, there came the sound of feet on the deck plates above our heads and the members of the crew who had been up above began to tumble in through the conning tower hatch. The commander was last down and the hatch closed with a bang. I cursed myself for not having thought of the scheme sooner.
The order was given to submerge and the inrush of water into the tanks was plainly audible. There was a grating noise for’ard that I did not quite understand and the U-boat slowly submerged. Then there was silence. The commander, who had now left the conning tower, picked up an earphone that hung from a hook in the control room and began speaking into it. His voice was subdued, but I caught the words ‘motors’ and ‘fixed.’ Almost immediately the grating sound was resumed.
‘We’re facing sou’east,’ Logan whispered.
‘Then if you’ve worked out our bearings right,’ I said, ‘we are facing in to the coast.’
He nodded.
Twice the submarine seemed to bump the bed of the sea. I became convinced that we were moving forward, though the motors were silent. There was suddenly a horrible grating sound against the hull just behind our bunks, then another bump and the movement of the boat ceased. The tanks were then blown and we rose slightly.
The commander put down the earphone and moved out into the gangway. ‘All right, boys,’ he said, ‘we’ve arrived.’
The burst of cheering that followed this announcement was almost deafening in that enclosed space. The men came hurrying from their stations, pushing past our guard in a sort of mad race for the conning tower. In a few seconds, it seemed, the boat was empty. Our guard motioned us forward with his revolver. We scrambled out of our bunks and went along the gangway and up through the conning tower.
I cannot describe my amazement as I came out on to the bridge of the U-boat. I had presumed that we had been brought alongside a ship. Several ideas had occurred to me. I knew that supply ships were essential if repeated and hazardous returns to bases were to be avoided and I thought it possible that the Germans had produced some sort of vessel with a false bottom into which the submarine rose. That, I felt, would account for the fact that we had had to submerge first. What in fact I found was something much more sensational.
3
The Gestapo
THE U-BOAT WAS lying in a colossal cave. From end to end this cave was nearly a hundred yards long. The width, however, was only about forty or fifty feet. The roof, which was arched like a huge tunnel and about forty feet high, was strengthened by huge steel girders. The whole place was lit by brilliant arc lights and echoed to the hum of giant machinery. I know it must sound fantastic. I was myself utterly astonished when I saw it. The U-boat commander realized this, as he stood beside me on the bridge, and there was a sort of smug satisfaction in the way he said, ‘The world has yet to understand—and the English in particular—that Germany does not go to war unprepared. Already we are sweeping your shipping from the high seas. Your papers will be reassuring your people that Germany cannot do this for long as her submarines will have to return to Germany for munitions and supplies. This is the answer. It is a complete naval submarine base. We even have our own foundry.’
As he spoke my eyes took in the whole scene. The crew of the U-boat, some sixty men in all, were crowding the deck for’ard. Right at the bows three men were working to cast off a big cylindrical buoy to which the submarine was moored. The buoy itself was attached to a big chain which ran round a powerful-looking donkey-engine and dropped back into the water. I gathered that it was by this chain that the submarine had been dragged through the underwater entrance and guided to the surface.
‘You’d be in an awkward fix if the British secret service discovered your hide-out,’ I said. ‘With only that one exit you’d be caught like rats in a trap.’
He laughed. ‘Strange to say, that thought had already occurred to us.’ He took a step towards me. ‘And don’t think you’re going to be the little hero that takes word to the authorities. Or you either,’ he added, swinging round on Logan. ‘You’ll earn your keep with hard work and you’ll not leave here alive till Germany has won the war.’
‘Then it looks as though we’re doomed to die here,’ said Logan with a twinkle in his eyes.
The muscles on the back of the commander’s neck tightened. I waited for the inevitable. But he thought better of it and went down from the bridge on to the deck.
‘I’m afraid you’re getting the wrong side of him,’ I said.
Logan shrugged his shoulders. ‘What’s it matter,’ he said. ‘He’s not in charge of this place, and as soon as his ship is repaired he’ll put to sea again.’
‘Well, at least try and keep on the right side of the man who is in charge,’ I said. ‘Somehow we’ve got to get out of here.’
At that moment the cave echoed to the fussy chug-chug of a small boat which appeared from one of the archways leading off the main cave. In several of these archways I could see the dark grey sterns of submarines. The buoy had by now been cast off. A hawser was paid off to the boat, which did service as a diminutive tug. As soon as the hawser had been made fast the boat took the submarine in tow.
At the far end, the cave suddenly widened out into a big semi-circle. Radiating from this semi-circle were no less than seven caves. Each of these was wide enough to take one submarine and leave a reasonably broad dockside. Each cave was numbered. U 34, which was our boat, was taken into No. 5 berth. A number of the men had small boat hooks with which they fended the submarine off the rough-hewn rock sides of the dock. As the conning tower passed the entrance I saw the top of a metre gauge sticking up out of the water, while folded back against the sides of the dock were strong gates. The tide was apparently at the high. When the tide was low, the water could then be drained out of each basin and the gates closed to constitute a dry dock. The ingenuity of the whole place was incredible.
As soon as the submarine had been moored, we were led along the dockside and up a slope to a gallery that ran along the ends of the docks. We turned right, past docks 6 and 7 and up a long sloping ramp that curved to the left. This brought us to the first of two upper galleries. Here were sleeping quarters for hundreds of men, with rest rooms, which included billiard tables and equipment for all sorts of other games. There were also kitchens and lavatories, and the whole place was air-conditioned and kept free from the damp, that was so noticeable in the galleries at dock level, by means of double doors. The walls, floors and ceilings of these galleries were all cemented so that, though here and there trickles of moisture were to be seen, they were in general remarkably dry.
The crew of the submarine were each allotted a little cubicle which contained a camp bed. Logan and I were handed over to the watch. This was in reality a guard. We were taken to the upper level galleries and into the guard-room where we were introduced to a little man in civilian clothes who smoked endless cigarettes. He had a square head, a rather heavy jowl and little blue eyes placed too close together. He was quite pleasant to us, but I did not like him. Later, I discovered that he was a member of the Gestapo. Apparently even in the submarine service the Nazis do not trust t
heir men, for there were four agents at this base, and I learned later that in each submarine there was always one man in the pay of the Gestapo. The four men at the base, though they were ostensibly there to deal with any prisoners like ourselves that were brought in, divided the day into eight-hour watches, and were in fact the watchdogs of the base, wielding practically unlimited power. I was to observe this power later to our disadvantage.
A few routine questions were put to us, and then we were marched down to the dock-level gallery. We turned off this opposite No. 6 dock into what I believe miners would call a cross-cut. Here several small caves had been hollowed out of the rock and fitted with steel grilles across the entrance. We were both put into one of these. I had more immediate needs than sleep, but as I turned to explain the matter, the grille clanged to, the key grated in the lock and the guard marched off.
The only furniture in the cells was two camp beds with three blankets at the foot of each. I wondered how long the blankets had been there, for the rock floor sparkled with water and the place was chill with damp. The naked electric light bulb in the gallery outside remained on and though it was manifestly absurd that there could be any movement of air, a sort of chill draught rose from the docks where the U-boats lay. The sloping tunnel leading down to No. 6 dock was just visible from the corner of the cell.
I got little sleep that night. I suppose it was past five by the time we were under our blankets. But the unfamiliarity of the place combined with the chill and glare of the light to keep me awake. When at last I did get off to sleep it was to be woken up almost immediately by the clatter of electric welders and the roar and bustle of what sounded like a huge steelworks, for every sound was magnified a hundredfold by the caves and galleries. Sounds mingled so extraordinarily that, except for the welders, I could not identify a single noise. Every sound was made hollow and reverberating by the echo, so that it was as though it were being amplified by an old-fashioned loudspeaker with the tone control set to pick out the drums.
Wreckers Must Breathe Page 6