Young men dominated the world of submarines in the 1940s. The United Kingdom deemed 35 years of age too old for a submarine commander and in the United States most submarine commanders were in their early 30s. In Germany, as the war progressed, the average age dropped to under 25. Age differences aside, most of the members of this elite club were nonconformists. In his mid-20s when he joined, Marinesko fit right in.
In 1941, the Soviet Navy commissioned the S-13 into the Baltic Fleet under the command of Captain Pavel Malantyenko. The S-13, was of the Stalinet, or S-class submarines. With its narrow body it looked more like a cigarillo than a cigar. Daily life aboard the S-13 was loud, crowded, and pungent. The air reeked of oil and the sweat of 46 crew members. Although fans drove fresh air into and throughout the boat, moisture clung to the walls. They were ready to avenge the Motherland.
Soviet submarines like the S-13 relied primarily on air reconnaissance to track enemy boats. When Russian airplanes spotted an enemy boat, they would radio that information to a submarine operating in the vicinity. The submarine then cruised into position, armed its torpedoes, and fired. On occasion a submarine spotted a lone enemy ship as it sailed on the surface of the water. When this happened, it reported sighting the target, dove, and fired.
Like many of his fellow sailors, Marinesko first whetted his appetite for submarine life in the Soviet merchant marine, followed by service in the Black Sea Fleet. He was assigned to the Baltic Fleet on a new, small coastal-type of submarine, the M–96, in 1939, but the boat wasn’t ready for service until mid-1941. He received a gold watch to mark the occasion of being in charge of a vessel said to be the best in the Baltic Fleet. After Germany invaded the Soviet Union in June 1941, the Baltic Fleet high command had ordered the M–96 to the Caspian Sea to serve as a training boat, and Marinesko was to take the sub to Leningrad for refitting. It never reached its destination. Germany’s blockade of Leningrad at the time prevented the M–96 from entering the waters in the vicinity of Leningrad. On February 12, 1942, a German artillery shell hit the M–96. It took nearly half a year to fix the damage.19 Far from the action, the bored, impatient, reckless Marinesko began to drink.
Six months later, on August 14, 1942, Marinesko and crew were finally on patrol near the Finnish coast. The young commander was comfortable operating in shallow waters, a skill that would serve him well when he attacked the Gustloff. He sighted the German heavy artillery barge Schwerer Artillerie-Träger, SAT–4, nicknamed Helena. Marinesko launched a torpedo and reported a hit. After the war, the Soviet Union’s Baltic Fleet raised the wreck and discovered Marinesko hadn’t hit as large a ship as he had reported.20
A couple of months later, in October, Marinesko’s superiors ordered him to attack a German ship and capture an Enigma coding machine. Marinesko and his crew had to drop a commando detachment on the coast of Narva Bay, in the south of Finland. The mission failed; half of the commandos didn’t return, and those that did came back empty-handed. Still, Marinesko received the Order of Lenin, a prestigious military recognition, and was promoted to a higher rank.
This pattern of rising and falling from grace marked Alexander Marinesko’s career. A change in command would change everything for Marinesko.
On October 15, 1942, two Finnish submarine chasers spied the S-13 while it was charging its batteries on the surface of the Baltic Sea. The Russian submarine, still under Captain Pavel Malantyenko’s command, dove to escape. It hit the sea floor. The impact severely damaged the submarine’s rudder and destroyed its steering gear. Defying the odds, the S-13 escaped and made it back to Kronstadt, the naval base off Leningrad’s coast. The Soviet naval leadership relieved Malantyenko, and gave the sub’s command to Alexander Marinesko early in 1943. Once again he would captain the latest Soviet model submarine, the only one of 13 type S (Stalinets) that would survive the war.21
He picked up the repaired S-13 in Hanko, Finland, and his first mission with the sub occurred in October 1944. He took position near the Hela peninsula in the Baltic Sea, a place where Nazi naval communication lines snaked through the water like electric eels. On one patrol, Marinesko’s keen eye spotted the small transport ship Siegfried, and he fired four torpedoes. Not one reached its target. He surfaced the submarine and opened fire with his cannons. Marinesko reported 15 hits and a sunken ship. A torpedo from the S-13 did hit the Siegfried but didn’t sink it. In fact, the Siegfried reached Danzig.22
This tendency to embellish his naval exploits would come to haunt Marinesko. But on the night of January 29, 1945, Marinesko prepared for combat. His submarine was fitted with torpedoes, grenades, and antiaircraft armaments. The S-13 and its crew were ready for two months at sea. Alexander Marinesko had received reports that the Soviet army was on a major offensive in East Prussia, pushing back the Germans daily. He was advised to be on the lookout for German sea transports. The crew was on high alert but they didn’t know the details of the situation. Aside from Marinesko, no more than five other crew members, including the radio operator, would have known what was in the dispatches.23
In November Alexander Marinesko was ordered to move the sub from Hanko, Finland, to Turku, located on the southwest coast of Finland. The narrow channel between the two harbors was infested with mines. The S-13 normally carried a complement of 12 torpedoes; it took only 4 on this mission. In case something happened and the submarine sank, the Soviet navy wouldn’t lose all those weapons. The boat could only move between 2 knots and 4 knots per hour. After arriving, Marinesko got orders to sink anything German. He decided to head for Gotenhafen, home of the Wilhelm Gustloff and the center of Operation Hannibal. The German navy was concentrated there and until now the Soviet navy had avoided this part of the Baltic Sea. Marinesko didn’t ask permission to do this. He simply acted with the signature decisiveness that his crew relied upon.
As the last rope slid from the Wilhelm Gustloff in Gotenhafen, Captain Alexander Marinesko patiently waited at Stolpe Bank, off what is now the Polish coast. The bank, 24 miles long and 10 miles wide, runs east-west. Knowing there were enemy ships in the vicinity, Marinesko seized the initiative. It had been three weeks without a single worthy target in sight.24
Around 8 P.M. the first officer on the S-13 submarine saw the lights of the Gustloff loom into sight. Marinesko ordered the submarine to follow the once-grand ocean liner for some distance before repositioning his boat and slipping into his strategic position.25
Like their enemy, Soviet officers and soldiers were taught that the more Germans they killed, the better, and it mattered not one whit whether those on board were soldiers or women and children. In their eyes everyone was complicit in this war.
Aerial surveillance showed the thousands of refugees crowding the various Baltic seaports. Russian air force pilots regularly strafed refugee columns, so the Soviets knew that East Prussians were trying to evade the Soviet armed forces.
Marinesko would have carefully calculated whether he would, from his initial waiting position, be able to carry out the task. “The Captain of the sub must always strive persistently to destroy the enemy. Only when it is impossible to use weapons may the attack be limited to a demonstration in order to contain the enemy.”26 He’d also have made doubly sure to avoid getting closer to other Soviet submarines; to do so would have risked revealing his presence to the enemy.27
The waters around the gravel-rich Stolpe Bank reached just under 100 feet deep at most, making this a chancy attack in shallow water. Yet it presented Marinesko’s first opportunity to demonstrate his prowess in almost a month. He knew if he returned to port without a kill, he could very well end up in Siberia. Observing the Wilhelm Gustloff, Marinesko probably couldn’t fathom why the former KdF cruise liner wasn’t maintaining a zigzag pattern. He also likely wondered why the ship’s navigation lights were illuminated. A veteran submarine captain, Marinesko would determine his position of attack based on whether the Gustloff moved in a zigzag pattern or straight ahead.28
As he lurked in the water tracking his targ
et, Marinesko might have thought about the rules of engagement employed by his German enemy. By November 1939 it was clear the Germans were going to ignore international law regarding sea warfare.
“Rescue no one and take no one with you. Have no care for ships or boats. Weather conditions and the proximity of land are of no account. Care only for your own boat and strive to achieve the next success as soon as possible! We must be hard in this war. The enemy started the war in order to destroy us, therefore nothing else matters,” said Admiral Karl Dönitz during the Nuremberg Trials.29
Soviet submarines similarly regarded any German ship a viable target. Ostensibly submarine captains were to carefully study the silhouettes of enemy ships and were supposed to enter the measurements of enemy ships they might encounter during patrol into their maneuvering tables.30 In that way, on the basis of precise estimates, commanders such as Marinesko “could strike blows against the enemy in a brave, audacious, and unexpected manner.”31
When Alexander Marinesko first spotted the Gustloff, he was sailing on its ocean side. As the S-13 neared the Gustloff, Marinesko increased his speed and circled the ship. He carefully slid his sub between the Baltic coast and the ship and cruised parallel to it. Now less than 5,000 yards away, the S-13 was closing on the Gustloff.
For any ship in the Baltic, this was a risky maneuver because the waters are so shallow. Marinesko knew plenty of submarines had previously been caught in antisubmarine netting or because the shallow waters prevented submarines from diving. In addition, between 1941 and 1944, Finland had been on the side of Germany. During that time, the Germans and the Finns had completed more than 100 mine-laying operations in the Baltic Sea to jam up the Soviet navy.
Four torpedoes waited in the S-13’s torpedo tubes. Each torpedo was painted with an epitaph: “For the Motherland,” “For Stalin,” “For the Soviet People,” and “For Leningrad.”32 Torpedoes can blast holes up to 20 feet wide or more in a typical ship’s hull, which is made of steel an inch or less thick.
For most, if not all, of World War Two, Soviet submariners fired only a single torpedo, or perhaps two at most, at a target.33 It wasn’t until about 1944 that they shifted to volley firing, launching torpedoes in succession with a six-to-ten-second interval and at a constant lead angle. By that time the fan method, or salvo firing, was introduced, which that meant a submarine could discharge several torpedoes at once.
Unbeknownst to those aboard the Wilhelm Gustloff, the S-13 had been following it for more than two hours before Alexander Marinesko ordered his crew to fire the torpedoes. The submarine captain was now less than 2,000 yards from his target. The S-13’s engines were about to max out; its tower broke through the surface of the water. The tower hatch was closed, but if it had to dive quickly, the torpedoes might explode.
According to some reports, German ships in the area had detected the S-13 and even dropped depth charges at it. Submarines are actually vulnerable to sinking. Their low profile makes it hard for other ships to see them when they are on the surface; they can be accidently rammed and sunk if the ship goes unseen or can’t change course. Only if the craft doesn’t split apart on the way down can the crew stand a chance for rescue. If the water isn’t too deep, and if rescuers can get there before oxygen runs out, sometimes the submariners can be saved.34 Submarines are supposed to be able to withstand extremely high pressure when submerged. Nonetheless, its inner pressure hull may be vulnerable to collision damage. That means a submarine can actually crack under what seems to be a light impact with another vessel.35
Marinesko, diligent under the waves, borderline brash on the surface, saved his ship. And that is why Marinesko’s crews loved him even when the high command didn’t.
Marinesko’s maneuver on January 30 was a decidedly risky attack in shallow water. It was also the first time Marinesko had launched an attack in almost a month. He looked forward to a clean kill. Yet, he knew when the moment came to order his crew to fire the torpedoes, he had to remain cool, steady, and even aloof. He knew if he returned to port without a kill he could very well end up in Siberia.
So the sailor from Odessa slid his submarine along the port side of the Gustloff. The boat went unnoticed. Four torpedoes were positioned and ready to strike. He was a heartbeat away from becoming a hero.
Six
BATTLE FOR THE BALTIC
Any submarine sailing in the Baltic Sea theater of operations during World War Two faced demanding and hazardous conditions. The shallow waters were tough to navigate. Once submarines attack, they must dive at least 200 to 300 feet deep: There are few places of such depth in the Baltic.
Because Hitler’s strategy was to keep the Soviet fleet trapped in the Gulf of Finland, the German navy relied on an array of antisubmarine defenses.1 One tactic was to lace the Gulf of Finland’s coastline with mines and nets. Another was to sow tens of thousands of mines throughout the gulf’s waters. The German navy patrolled these waters with torpedo boats, surface boats that were used to lay the mines, to escort larger warships, and to surface-patrol. From above, the Luftwaffe surveyed the routes and patrol areas favored by Soviet submarines.2 While the war between Germany and Russia was primarily fought on land, the battle for the Baltic shaped the land war. Until 1943 Germany controlled the Baltic Sea and laid more than 60,000 mines.
The combination of these tactics devastated the Soviet navy, sinking or damaging its submarines and many of its surface ships. Throughout the first few years of hostilities, the German navy enjoyed virtually free reign on and below the Baltic Sea. The U-boats sank enemy ships and interrupted sea traffic in the Baltic Sea just as it did in the Atlantic Ocean and North Sea. Moreover, the German Kriegsmarine’s control of the Baltic Sea meant the navy could keep the Wehrmacht fighting on the eastern front well supplied.
Admiral Karl Dönitz always wore his U-boat diamond-studded war badge and his World War One Iron Cross pinned to his dark blue uniform. Deeply involved in the daily operations of the German navy, Dönitz could be something of a micromanager. The admiral doggedly pursued his goal to protect the key ports of Gotenhafen, Danzig, and Kiel. His perseverance paid off: “It is important that we retain possession of the Baltic Sea, the waters in the Baltic and Norway,” he told Hitler and the rest of the naval leadership. He cited economic reasons, but it was also for military reasons.3
Dönitz hailed from Grünaw-bei-Berein, and like his predecessor, commander-in-chief of the navy, Erich Raeder, he too had served in the German Imperial Navy. In 1916 he entered the submarine service and commanded U–68. At the end of World War One his boat suffered from mechanical problems that forced him to surface in the middle of a convoy after sinking a large ship. The British captured Dönitz and held him prisoner until 1919.4
Upon release, Dönitz promptly returned to his navy career. He advocated a strong submarine force. In 1935, after the Anglo-German Naval Treaty was inked and the 1919 Versailles Treaty restrictions lifted, Dönitz once again had a command, this time of a U-boat flotilla. He spent time as rear admiral in charge of all U-boat operations. Then, on October 1, 1939, just a month after the Third Reich invaded Poland, Adolf Hitler promoted Admiral Karl Dönitz to Rear Admiral. His command was that of Befehlshaber der Unterseeboote (Commander of the Submarines).
Alexander Marinesko understood the challenge he faced when he assumed command of the Soviet submarine S-13 in 1942. The young officer from Odessa surely knew of the U-boats’ ruthless campaign against civilian and neutral ships: An early incident in the war alerted him to its extent. On September 3, 1939, just two days after the Reich invaded Poland, Captain Fritz-Julius Lemp of the U-30 patrolled the northwestern sector of the Irish Sea. There he spotted the S.S. Athenia 200 miles west of the Hebrides and fired on the British luxury liner without warning.5 The unescorted ship carried 1,418 passengers and crew on board, most of whom were Jewish refugees. Of all the passengers and crew, 300 were US citizens. Lemp’s attack killed 118 people: 69 were women, 16 were children, and 22 were American citizens.6 Thus, Capt
ain Lemp fired the first shots of the Battle of the Atlantic. Lemp later received the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross, Nazi Germany’s highest military honor for bravery under fire.
The Germans were mindful that the unprovoked sinking of the Athenia would likely be compared to the World War One sinking of the passenger ship the RMS Lusitania, a British ship. The Nazis decided to cover up Lemp’s actions. They believed denying any involvement in the sinking was the best damage control. The Nazis also feared the sinking could draw the United States into the war, a development they wished to avoid this early on in the conflict as they didn’t want to engage on multiple fronts so soon. Hence, Joseph Goebbels’s Propaganda Ministry tried to make it appear as if the British had sunk the Athenia to entice the United States to join them in war. Germany’s spin machine failed. The Allies were furious and accused Germany of flouting international laws of the sea and engaging in unrestricted submarine warfare, as it had during the First World War.
The Athenia became the first of many merchant and civilian boats on the receiving end of German attacks during the Battle of the Atlantic, between 1939 and 1945. Germany’s U-boats pursued and attacked British surface ships, destroying supplies. The United States officially declared war on December 8, 1941. In the early years of the war, German U-boats had to operate on the surface of the water for maneuvers under cover of darkness. They would dive to attack. But, in the summer of 1943, the Germans began to pull their subs out of the Atlantic—the Allies had better radar and better and more powerful depth charges. This led Admiral Karl Dönitz to push the idea of a super U-boat with Adolf Hitler.
Death in the Baltic Page 10