The concentration of large numbers of ships in British and American ports in October, 1942, had not escaped the notice of German Naval Intelligence. The air was full of rumors; the long-
expected opening of a second front by the enemy might come at any moment. When the blow fell, in the early hours of November 8, 1942, at Casablanca, Oran and Algiers, it was evident that the Allies had completely deceived their adversaries.
The Germans were indeed expecting an attack on Africa, but they thought it would be aimed at Dakar on the coast of Senegal. A number of "wolf packs" had been assembled off the Azores, with which it was hoped to attack the invasion fleet while it was still on passage; but the enemy avoided Dakar and, entering the Mediterranean, landed on the coast of Morocco. In doing this, they had one of the most fortunate strokes of luck in the whole war. The inadequacy of German air patrols had enabled them to transport their entire expeditionary force in seven major convoys of some eight hundred ships clear across the Atlantic, unseen and unheralded. The Germans had assumed that the assembly of numerous ships at Gibraltar merely foreshadowed the passage of an exceptionally large convoy to Malta, and they had disposed their U-boats accordingly. But then the giant convoy, with its powerful escort, suddenly split up as it turned to starboard toward the African coast, and. the first waves of assault craft stormed through the surf to the beaches. It was only when the Allies' real intentions became clear that the greater part of the U- boats on patrol in the Atlantic were hastily summoned to the Gibraltar area, to attack the second wave of supply ships, while those in the Mediterranean were rushed to the assault area. It was immediately clear that the fate of Italy and of the German positions in the Mediterranean would depend upon the outcome of Operation Torch, the code name of the Allied assault. The U-boats did what they could to light their own torches; but a U-boat is not a maid of all work. They could harry the enemy, score individual successes here and there; with luck and daring, tie: down defensive forces and create a measure of confusion—such as Henke did in U 515, when he sank the liner Ceramic, loaded with troops. It is one thing to harry an invasion, but quite another to prevent it. Although Kals in U 130 and Henke achieved some success against supply ships, they had done so off the Atlantic coast of Morocco; the waters of Gibraltar, on the other hand, were more dangerous than ever for the larger boats. On November 26 the admiral received permission from the Admiralty to move them back again into the open ocean, where they were designated the "Westwall Group."
The early resumption of their normal function against Atlantic shipping was fully justified by results. Although the enemy now had shore-based aircraft which could fly as far as eight hundred miles out, in August 1942 the Wolves destroyed 108 ships aggregating over half a million tons, and in September their score was 98 ships of 485,000 tons, as revealed by British statistics. In September, as we now know, the British for the first time sailed an auxiliary aircraft carrier equipped with the old swordfish planes as escort to a convoy, and in the same month the new escort groups began to work as hunter-killers in co-operation with aircraft, achieving their first successes against U-boats. Nevertheless, 93 ships totaling more than 600,000 tons were sunk in October, and the Germans claimed about one million tons sunk in November, against the British admission of 117 ships of 700,000 tons.
Even these figures recalled the critical days of 1917, and Mr. Churchill found it necessary to set up a committee to coordinate all Allied anti-U-boat measures, the first session of which was attended by Admiral Sir Dudley Pound, Chief of the Naval Staff, and Air Marshal Sir Charles Portal, Chief of the Air Staff—indications that the anti-U-boat war was receiving top priority. Fifteen ships had been lost out of a single Atlantic convoy during three stormy November nights. The drop in losses to sixty-one ships of 336,000 tons for December was poor consolation to the enemy; for in the last days of 1942 twenty U-boats had sunk fourteen ships in a battle with a Newfoundland convoy which continued for four nights. The weather in this fourth winter of the war was:, if anything, worse than the year before; 116 days of gale out of 140! The British, with their sense of seamanship, realized that the decline in their losses at this period was due more to the prevalence of bad weather than to improvements in their A/S measures.
[See Appendix 2. Graph of the Battle of the Atlantic.]
Allied losses in 1942 were serious enough, although less than the figures published in Germany. According to these, the U-boats had sunk 6V4 million tons of Allied shipping in that year— nearly three times as much as in 1941. Yet the U-boat losses had by no means risen in equal proportion. The steady reinforcement of British A/S forces was most noticeable in the Bay of Biscay and the waters to the north of the British Isles. The enemy kept special anti-U-boat groups stationed permanently here, while the skies swarmed with aircraft. Air patrols in the Atlantic, too, were now flying so far out that there was only a narrow stretch of ocean left in which the boats could move unhampered on the surface; and even this gap was reduced as soon as the enemy brought his auxiliary carriers in as direct escorts for the convoys.
The main problem had changed from the year before; it was no longer a question of finding the convoys but of fighting a way through to them, despite a nonstop screen of aircraft and surface ships which accompanied the convoys from the moment they left port to the moment they arrived at their destination. What could a U-boat captain do when he was forced under by an aircraft which then signaled the convoy to make a detour? As soon as the boat submerged, the pilot would drop bags of colored dye to enable the A/S ships to locate the spot where she had last dived.
Bur ror the enemy there was bad news too from the South Atlantic in October 1942, a group of six U-boats made a surprise appearance off Cape Town, and the hunting and killing that ensued recalled the "Golden Age." Merten in U 68 sank nine ships of 61,600 tons, Emmermann in U 172 sank eight ships of 59,800 tons, Witte came back via the Brazilian coast in Ü 159 to sink ten ships of 55,900 tons, Poske in U 504 sank six of 36,500 tons, Gysae in U 177 eight of 49,300 tons, Lüth in U 181 twelve small ships of 38,400 tons, while Ibbeken in U 178 sank six ships of 47,100 tons and damaged a 6,000-tonner Sobe, commanding U 179 —one of the first "U- cruisers"—sank one ship and then fell a victim to two destroyers
Cremer in U 333 was off Freetown at this time, hoping to force his way into the harbor to attack some transports which were known to be there. He was already inside the fifty-fathom line when he was surprised by the British corvette Crocus, which came storming toward him out of the darkness. Even as Cremer sprang to the bridge, Crocus opened fire and a rain of metal whistled past the captain's ears. The stricken ratings of the bridge watch collapsed in a groaning heap about him as he ordered, "Lifebelts on! Stand by to abandon ship!" But within seconds the corvette's stem crashed into and over the U-boat's stern, forcing it under water for a few moments. However, the U-boat continued to move at full speed under full helm, her hull apparently undamaged and still buoyant. Her propellers continued to turn —and she answered the helm.
On the bridge only Cremer was still standing, though severely wounded with a bullet in his left arm and splinters all over his body. Covered with blood, he continued to pass orders to the helmsman and the engine room, altering course violently to upset the enemy's aim; but this gained him only a few moments' respite before the shells began crashing round him again. Realizing that his only chance was to dive, he deliberately reduced speed and did a "wounded duck" trick to lure the enemy to try to ram him again. As the corvette rushed toward him he ordered full speed on his engines.
Taken by surprise, Crocus raced past his stern before she could turn. Now was his chance! "Crash-dive!" He never knew how he got down the con-ning-tower ladder, or managed to close the hatch. Falling half-conscious into the control room, which was full of water, he fainted and only came to at the sound of depth charges exploding round the boat, which was resting on the bottom. The first lieutenant and six men were dead, the captain and second officer badly wounded; the U-boat was in the hands of the third officer—a mere youngster—and the coxswain.
"Blow your tanks!" said Cremer, "we must get away from here before daylight." The U-boat came slowly to the surface and coxswain and third officer sprang to the bridge. Crocus lay some way off, probing the water with her searchlight, evidently looking for survivors. Carefully the U- boat's bow was brought round and she crept away into the night; it was a long time before they dared start up the diesels, while the corvette continued to search in the distance, firing star shells. While temporary repairs were made, seven of their comrades were committed to the deep as the chief engineer recited the Lord's Prayer. U 333 reported to admiral, U-boats, and received orders to rendezvous with Wilamowitz in U 459 to embark a doctor and replace casualties. They
steamed steadily northward, moving at periscope depth by day because the stern tubes leaked too badly if they went any deeper. For four long days they just managed to sustain the life of their captain and second officer. Cremer was dying from loss of blood, but just as the crisis came, a doctor reached him from U 459, remaining at his side until U 333 reached La Rochelle; here he was taken to the hospital, where he eventually recovered.
Yet the story of how "Ali" Cremer escaped from the gunfire, the depth charges and ramming by HMS Crocus off Freetown is only one of the hazardous adventures that befell the U-boats in those waters.
While operating against a convoy in fog near the Azores, another U-boat was surprised on the surface by a destroyer and rammed. The situation seemed hopeless; as the enemy ship swept down upon them, the U-boat captain ordered, "Lifebelts on—stand by to abandon ship!" The order was promptly executed by a petty officer and a rating on the bridge who, when the destroyer's sharp stem cut into the U-boat's stern, jumped overboard without waiting for further
orders, believing the U-boat to be doomed. As the men came to the surface and looked about them, they saw their boat going down steeply with a gaping hole in her stern. At the same time the destroyer was crawling painfully away with a heavy list and badly damaged bows, her half- exposed screws splashing the water wildly beneath her stern; within a few seconds she had disappeared in the fog.
The two survivors started to swim in the rough sea, which plucked them hither and thither. Crazy things happened sometimes; perhaps the corvette would turn back. But the fog was thickening and there was nothing to be seen but waves and more waves.
The rating lost his nerve, shouting and yelling for help. The petty officer, who was made of sterner stuff, managed to calm his comrade and for a time they trod water in silence. "It's hopeless," said the rating, "we'll drown sooner or later anyway—why not now?" . . . "It's not cold," said the petty officer, "I can stand it and I'm not going to drown before I have to." They swam a little further; the wind was rising, dissolving the fog into tiny raindrops that splashed softly around them. Suddenly a gap in the fog revealed a dark object drifting in their direction—a raft. With difficulty they swam toward it and clambered over the barnacle-covered side. It had evidently belonged to some sunken ship and must have been drifting for a long time half-
submerged; but it bore their weight. As dusk fell, the seas rose higher and higher, tossing them tb and fro, while the sharp-edged barnacles tore at their clothes, their hands and knees. They were weak with hunger and desperately weary; twice the raft overturned, and each time the petty officer managed to drag his apathetic companion back to it. The third time, however, the attempt failed and the petty officer was alone.
With the first hint of dawn, the wind freshened again. The solitary survivor could see nothing but huge waves with foaming crests. Before he was properly aware of it, the raft was torn from under him; when next he rose on a wave crest he could see that it had drifted thirty yards away. He knew he could never reach it again and so he waited patiently for the end.
But what in heaven's name was this? Barely a stone's throw away the seas parted—and a U-boat came to the surface! The unique, the utterly improbable thing had happened. In all the vast spaces of the Atlantic, a U-boat had chosen to surface precisely where one man was about to drown. The captain came on to the bridge and took his first careful look round the horizon; he was on the point of ordering the diesels to start when he heard faint cries and saw a man bobbing about on the waves. Within a minute he had turned the boat and picked him up.
The captain made a routine signal to admiral, U-boats, and there the story seemed to end. But that same evening the rescued man's U-boat was heard reporting by radio that it had lost two men after being rammed, but had crash-dived and managed to escape. Headquarters then ordered a meeting point for the two boats, and the survivor, restored to his own boat, soon recovered from his ordeal and sailed happily home with his comrades.
This strange tale of chance evoked much speculation at the U-boat bases. It was suggested, with all respect, that God Almighty must have had a special reason for intervening, having gone to the trouble of picking this man out of the vast Atlantic, only to set him back on his little U-boat.