[**The following takes place on a German U-boat in 1943. Here, the author’s U-boat had just survived a massive battle against an Allied convoy, and was part of a “Wolf Pack” which coordinated its efforts with the Nazi Luftwaffe. Following the battle, the U-boat struggles to fire upon the ships of the convoy and remain hidden as the Allies bear down on its last known position. **]
In our wake we sighted several destroyers of the Achilles and Afridi class. Our eyes burned from trying to sight the enemy through the fog. Constant alarms frayed our nerves. Depth-charge explosions could be heard close by. Towards 1700 another destroyer heaved through the fog. We shot two torpedoes at her, then crash-dived. One crewman struck his forehead against the sill of the hatch. The skin on his forehead split wide open. He looked as if he had been scalped when he dropped like a heavy bag onto the plating in the central room. The others tumbled on him. There was no time to take care of the man now. A few minutes later two thundering detonations shook the boat. We surfaced a short time later to observe the effect of our torpedoes.
We had hardly taken up positions on the bridge when we saw several destroyers on our starboard side bearing zero. They came at top speed for us. We could clearly see their high white bow waves. Captain Hopman’s voice was excited and tense. “Alarrrrm! Down, down, boys, fast!”
We dived through the hatch and tumbled to our stations. “Flooding! Go to 180 meters, quick!” We all yanked valves and handles as we had done so many times before; but this time, we instinctively felt that our hour had come. The destroyers had been very close by. This damned fog! Wide-eyed, we watched the depth manometers. The hands moved so terribly slowly. God, why doesn’t the boat drop faster? “Destroyers have stopped,” called Sparks from his position at the hydrophone. They had probably done so to pinpoint our position. We were quite certain that they could hear us, for our aim was to bring the boat down as quickly as possible with the help of electric motors.
”Destroyers at 60 degrees, two propeller sounds are getting louder, fast,” called Sparks. The boat was listing forward heavily. Tools, pots and pans, buckets, dishes, boots, and a thousand other things slid down the floor plating with devilish noise, easily heard by the enemy. The loud beeping and chirping of the destroyer’s ASDIC gear gave off a peculiar ticking and hammering along our hull as the sound waves made contact.
Captain Hopman had hardly finished saying, “Well, men, now they start!” when we heard the first grinding, lapping propeller sounds from the attacking destroyers. One destroyer steamed at top speed right over our position. We heard a loud crunching, as if a huge saw was being drawn over our hull. This was followed by a faint splashing sound. Everyone on board knew what that meant! The ensuing uproar was infernal. Fortunately the depth charges detonated above us; explosions below would have been deadly.
It was as if a large hand threw stones and sand along the hull when the ASDIC picked us up anew. Within a short time another destroyer attacked us. The same uproar again, and again, and again. Who was counting? The electric current had been reduced to a low voltage. Now the lights began to flicker and sometimes they failed completely, leaving us in pitch darkness for seconds. Paint cracked off the bulkheads, manometer glasses burst, and the pointers of the depth meters jumped from their sockets.
We were busy trying to appear composed, while our hearts hammered away and hot blood pressed through our veins. The faces of my comrades in the central room reflected slight signs of weathered terror. Their eyes gazed at a spot above them, as if to follow the attacks. Some watched intently the slight, slow movement of the manometers. Nearly everyone held on to something, perhaps intuitively; I caught myself clinging to an iron rod with my hands folded behind my back.
Source:
Giese, Otto, and James E. Wise. “Fourth Patrol.” Shooting the War: The Memoir and Photographs of a U-Boat Officer in World War II. Naval Institute, 2003. 157-58. Print.
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