(U-51, patrol 6, continued...)
We'd no sooner plotted a course back to our intended patrol area when we received report of another convoy, not far SE of us, this one heading WSW and with a confirmed Royal Navy escort. It was just after midnight, and the intercept course we plotted would put us in a decent attack position well before sunrise if the convoy held true to her reported course. And it was indeed just a few hours later when the first shout of "Ship sighted" from the watch brought me scrambling to the bridge myself. A destroyer, zigzagging back and forth in advance of the convoy. A quick drop to periscope depth and a sweep of the area from there revealed no change in her patrol pattern; she hadn't seen us! I gave the order for silent running and lowered the scope; as I did, Helmut began reeling off reports of merchant after merchant heading directly into our intended line of attack, and then identified the screws of another two warships coming along with them. As they drew within visual range I raised the 'scope once more to have a peek at our oncoming adversaries; a battleship and, yes, another destroyer, the former cruising along in the middle of the pack and the latter just barely discernible as it nipped at the heels of its hindmost charges. Another quick look around as we passed unseen in front of the first column of ships revealed the totality of the herd: three columns, none more than four rows deep, not including the warships, not one of which had altered course or given any indication that they'd tumbled to our presence. A quick 90 degree turn to port would put us nose-first into the convoy, in between the two starboard columns; good enough. Another well-timed turn would put all our tubes, fore and aft, in optimum attack position. As we maneuvered, slowly but surely, I popped up the 'scope again to choose my targets. A Granville-type freighter and two medium-sized cargo tubs seemed to be the best the convoy had to offer, other than the menacing hulk of the afore-mentioned battleship; no doubt another capital ship would be a prize feather in my well-worn cap, but this patrol was about sinking merchants, and we'd probably not get a second chance at that - or have enough eels left over to make taking it worthwhile - if I went after the bristling monster in their midst instead. So be it. I popped up the 'scope again; still no apparent threat from the escorts, who all continued on their merry unheeding way; and now my first two targets were coming into range. Rohr eins - los! rohr zwei - los! The first two eels were on their way, and if luck was with us today and not the Tommies that cargo ship would have an unpleasant surprise in, oh, about three minutes, give or take. Now a present for the Granville as well: rohr drei - los! rohr vier - los! And last but not least, a timely fart in the general direction of the second cargo ship. Rohr fünf - los! The sound of the first explosion coincided almost perfectly with my order to dive. Helmut counted off two more distinct detonations as I lowered myself into the zentrale; Josef, my 1WO, insisted he'd heard four total. I glanced at Johannes, leaning over his chart table as usual, his stopwatch in hand, and watched as the young obersteuermann finally slid it back into its accustomed pocket and met my eyes with his own. A simple shrug told me the time had run out on our last eel; the noises that soon reverberated all around us told me and everyone else on board that at least one of our victims would never see port again. Well, I thought, three - maybe four - hits out of five eels fired, and one confirmed sinking so far; not bad for a day's work, all things considered. And miracle of miracles, no sign of serious retaliation from the enemy escorts. We'd dropped to 100 meters, still running silent and making a scant 2 knots, as the tail end of the convoy had passed over us; one of the escorts had made a few passes on the outer fringes of the herd and put a few wabos in the water, but they seemed to have no idea exactly where the attack had come from or where the attacker had gone. The dreaded, unmistakeable ping of their ASDIC searching us out never came at all. (to be continued...) |
(U-51, Patrol 6, continued...)
As the convoy slowly but surely pulled out of range I reversed course and headed back to the scene of the carnage, releasing the crew from silent running so Their Lordships could begin the arduous task of reloading the tubes with our two remaining eels. Once that was completed we began our slow rise back to periscope depth. Helmut had reported a merchant lagging well behind the pack, and we found her soon enough. One of the medium cargo ships, the crates on her foredeck ablaze in testament to at least one of the explosions we'd heard. She was listing slightly to port and looked to be making a mere 4 knots in the general direction of her now disappearing companions. Another eel in her side halted her progress and then sent her sliding bow-first beneath the waves. Off in the distance I could see a cloud of black smoke at the edge of the horizon. Our third target, I thought, most assuredly on fire, but still making good enough time to stay with the rest of the convoy. We plotted another intercept course, one that would take us out of visual range until we'd left them well behind us and also put U-51 back into attack position; with any luck we'd have our chance to deliver a final, fatal blow to the damaged survivor of our first attack. With only one eel left to play with, we couldn't hope for much more. At last the periscope revealed no lingering trace of the convoy on the horizon, and I gave the order to surface and again considered our options. A lengthy chase south and west would take us even further from home than we already were, and if the convoy continued on at her last known speed - we'd estimated 8 knots - we'd have to throw economy over the side to catch up. The LI was already grumbling about our fuel reserves; there was a limit to how long and how far we could continue our pursuit and still have enough to make it back to Wilhelmshaven. There were other options for refueling between here and there, yes, but our last time out had stretched into almost 14 weeks at sea after a resupply stop in Las Palmas, with barely a week in port before being sent back abruptly into the fray. No one, including me, would be overjoyed at the prospect of an encore of that performance so close on the heels of its immediate predecessor. A quiet conference with the LI confirmed what I'd guessed at already; we'd need to overtake the convoy and attack by mid-afternoon at the latest, then head directly for home or else give up any hope of making it there without seeking out some resupply ship and then no doubt receiving orders to make full use of what they gave us before returning to base. As much as I disliked the risks involved in taking on a protected convoy in broad daylight - and especially if the good weather held, as it seemed intent on doing - the failure of the escorts to offer an effective defense the first time around gave me some hope of success. By midday we'd outflanked the convoy and turned in for our attack run; at periscope depth, running silent, and with our fingers crossed that the Tommies in those escorts would do no better this time around. Our intended target was easy enough to find, even at the edge of visual range - it was the other medium cargo, still leaving a telltale trail of black smoke but easily keeping pace with the rest of the herd. It must've been the Granville whose death agonies we'd overheard in the darkness before dawn. Another quick sweep with the scope revealed both destroyers and the battleship chugging along in their expected positions, giving no indication that we'd been detected; perhaps our luck would hold out today as well. Our one remaining eel was in the stern tube, and I lowered the 'scope as I passed orders to the helm that would put us in a good spot to turn tail and fire on our would-be victim as she crossed our path. The boat had barely begun its first slow turn towards its prey when a ragged whisper came back up the ladder: destroyer, bearing 050, closing, increasing speed! Verdammt noch mal! I popped the 'scope as far above the surface as I dared and there she was - heading straight for us, and closing at what had to be top speed. No more luck for us today, at least not the kind that sinks ships; I could only hope that the kind of luck that kept our little tub from sinking wouldn't thumb its nose at us as well. Flank speed and dive, there was nothing else for it. If we could just get deep enough before... (to be continued...) |
Never mind, I started a new career completely, from Kiel this time with a VIIB.
I completed my pre-war patrol and I am heading now toward my patrol zone off the southwestern coast of Ireland. I will go through the Channel (it's still 6 september 1939) sink some french ships and afterwards go patrolling in my zone. I plan to return to home base passing NORTH of UK, I still have never tried to explore those regions and I am curious to see how the traffic (err, preys) is. Only, I fear the almost sure RAF presence... One question though: I am using SH COmmander and GWX3, I ordered it to show real ship names already since the start of my last ruined career, but on that occasion nothing showed up on Captain's Log when at home again after a patrol with sinking. Just the usual reports. Any ideas? :hmmm: (yes, I have installed that "patch" to make GWX and Commander work together as reminded to me by Jimbuna when I wsa downloading) |
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When returning home be sure to pass between the Shetland Islands and the NE tip of Scotland submerged,you should pick up MANY contacts,that area is a very busy thoroughfare :up: |
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Am I the only one who has MAJOR aircraft problems in the far north? Sometimes even along Norway's coast, they show up! But usualy from North of Scottland, well north of Færøerne, and halfway to Island. And ja, even in 1939. |
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Hope this helps (and is correct?) :yeah: |
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And always try and get into the habit of travelling submerged on cloudy days as much as possible,sudden air attacks are terrifying! you should still be quite safe at night,until of course the development of the Leigh Light,which I myself have yet to encounter in the game. Speaking of Leigh Lights are they as effective in the game as they were for real? (with GWX3 that is) I really cant imagine how demoralising it must have been to have been attacked at night without warning by aircraft then have your entire UBoat bathed in what can only be described as light from a bloody football floodlight! no more crash dive then,man the guns,pound the engines and zig zag like a madman,while reading verses from the bible. |
Yeah...
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:ping: |
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Genuinely a frightening moment. |
I have....
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And against a formation of incoming bombers give them a rubber ring to put around their necks,they may shortly need it. http://justwilliam1959.files.wordpre...bird-bread.jpg :rotfl2: |
Hmmm..
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Reinstalled Sh3 and thought id do a IXC campaign, DiD ofc.
Leutnant Z s. Paul Wolbitsch 2 June 1942, Enroute to United states of America, taking long at 128 time compression and some moments in Realtime. |
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Ah, thanks for the tip!! Now I am nearby Dunkerque, I sank with a torpedo a trawler that spotted me, I hit the thing with a torpedo in the propeller and it almost jumped out of the water. It left a big oil leak on the surface and then it sank quickly. However from Dunkerque they sent after me a Bourrasque destroyer (stubborn French sailors......) and now I'll have either to go away (and give up entering in the port, where I would have liked to sink something with a blue white red flag) or send to Davy Jones' Locker that blasted thing... |
(U-51, patrol 6, continued...)
Wasserbombe! As I dropped from the ladder into the zentrale and stole a look through the fore hatch I could see Helmut tear the headphones away from his ears in anticipation of the impending blast. The last man tumbling through the gangway beyond disappeared as he rolled headfirst into the bugraum. I glanced at the depth gauge and knew in a heartbeat that only bad aim on the part of the Tommies would save us from a pounding this time. But their aim was anything but bad. The sounds of glass shattering and bodies knocking into each other and their surroundings filled the sudden darkness as the first detonations rocked us side to side and doused our lights. As lamps were found and lit and damage reports came up from the bow our junior engineer - a trainee on this patrol, his first time on U-51 - sprang forward through the hatch in response. The LI had enough to do in the zentrale; we were still in a steep dive, soon dropping past the 80 meters I'd ordered with no signs of leveling off despite the chief's best efforts to bring our descent under control. A report of flooding in the bow, relayed back from his protégé now at work on the worst of it, gave a pretty good indication of why. 110 meters... 115... 120... All back emergency! 125 meters... 127... 128... Our descent was slowing, it seemed, but we continued down nonetheless, still pointed nose-first into the deep. Anblasen! The hiss of air forcing its way into the tanks joined the medley of sounds all around me: the ragged breathing and whispered prayers of the men in the zentrale, the muffled grunts and curses and clangs of damage control in the bow, the hesitant but hopeful shuffling of feet as crew and commander alike rearranged their bodies in response to every perceptible change in our angle of descent. At last the needle on the depth gauge slowed to a stop and began to twitch happily in the opposite direction. We leveled off at 121 meters and, mercifully, stayed there. More depth charges exploded above and around us, but none near enough to add to the damage we'd already taken. As the screws of the attacking destroyer faded out of range of our naked ears I looked to Helmut for a better fix on the enemy's movements. He had none to offer. The hydrophones, he reported, had been rendered useless by the first round of wabos. More damage reports came in as the moments passed. Our radio was probably knocked out as well as the 'phones; flooding was no longer a problem, but the forward battery was kaput; both 'scopes were inoperable without further inspection and repair that, in our present situation, would be impossible. We headed east, away from the convoy, and prayed that her escorts would again decide that playing attentive shepherd to the flock was a far greater imperative than pursuing the injured wolf they'd left in her wake. And, much to my surprise and relief, this seemed to be the case. There were no more depth charges and never a hint of the hated ASDIC. Perhaps they weren't fitted out with it - hard to believe - or perhaps they'd marked us off as destroyed after that first successful and almost devastating attack run. As time passed with no further indication of activity above us, we began a gradual ascent from the depths. Finally our best estimates told us we were well out of visual range of the enemy's last confirmed position. With a nod the LI leveled us off at 20 meters and another order from me brought U-51 to a dead stop in the water and all human activity to a standstill. In the silence that followed, every man aboard strained his ears for the sound of any nearby vessel that might pose a threat as we reached blindly for the surface. Not that it made any difference. We had to surface. I gave the order and climbed the ladder to the tower hatch. (to be continued...) |
(U-51, patrol 6, continued...)
We broke through the surface and the diesels roared to life. As I scanned the horizon and found it empty I marveled at how grateful I was to see nothing but sea and sky in every direction. How many days and nights had we plowed our appointed way through wave and wind, more numb from tedium than from the elements, and then grumbled to ourselves and each other as yet another hour passed with no contacts, no enemies, no anything in sight that might alleviate the boredom? Today, for a change, no one would curse our fate at being the only evidence of human existence as far as the eye could see. After a full inspection of our damage both within and without, and a consultation with my officers, we decided to set course for Vigo and the supply ship anchored there. The LI assured me we had enough fuel to return directly to Wilhelmshaven, but our forward battery was still out of action and the remaining battery aft refused to recharge despite his most fervent ministrations. Both the radio and the hydrophones were dead and our 'scopes could not be fully repaired with what we had on hand. Neither could the deck gun, although the flak gun had been dutifully repaired and - along with one stern torpedo - would be our only means of attack and defense should either prove necessary. The compass, thank heavens, still worked, but as much as we would've liked to see it pointing us homeward with all possible speed, the journey there without the option of submerging for any reasonable length of time - and the certainty of being effectively deaf and blind should we do so - was not one I wanted to contemplate. How much could be repaired once we reached Vigo remained to be seen, but everyone agreed that we couldn't possibly leave there worse off than we already were. At the very least they could send our compliments to BdU and thus allay the fears of those at home who might otherwise assume us lost at sea. So, to Vigo - and then, with any luck, home. |
@frau kaleun
Thanks for the great read. |
U-51
Type VIIB 2-Flotilla, Wilhelmshaven Kptlt Kurt Dennert, Commander Our five day trip to Vigo and the resupply ship Bessel proved uneventful; no sightings of any craft approaching either by sea or air as we ran ESE towards the Spanish coast. Our diesels, thankfully, had taken no damage from our most recent encounter with the enemy, and I asked as much from them as I dared. That this was always slightly more than the LI could bear without casting a bearded grimace in my direction on occasion went without saying. We had no radio to relay news of our impending arrival, but whatever surprise the Bessel's master and crew felt at our sudden appearance in their neutral haven that fine May morning soon gave way to an orderly determination to see us as well fitted out as possible for the return leg of our patrol. And the long spring day we spent by her side also proved a tonic for U-51's crew; it might not have been shore leave in Wilhelmshaven, but it was a very welcome respite nonetheless. The weather there remained fair and calm, allowing everyone on board to take his turn at a leisurely moment or two in the sun as those on duty worked to ready the boat for what we hoped would be a direct passage home. It wasn't long after she'd reported our position and status that a reply began working its way through the usual channels and in due time was handed off to me by the Bessel's master. We would, indeed, return immediately to Wilhelmshaven for the completion of whatever repairs could not be sufficiently handled at Vigo; targets of opportunity encountered en route could be dealt with at my discretion, depending on the condition of our boat and whatever rearmament the Bessel could provide us for the journey. The weather remained clear and calm long after we'd lost sight of our temporary shelter and pointed our bow first northwest and then due north toward the still distant waters between Rockall Banks and the British Isles. Our only contact before reaching them turned out to be another u-boat, a Type VIIC running due east across our path, making for the busy sea-lanes south of Ireland. Her bridge watch and their commander waved and yelled and signalled their greetings and good wishes; we offered them the same in return. From there it was another long stretch of empty sea and sky until we sighted a lone Granville-type freighter plowing due west between Rockall and the Faroes. It only took a moment to make my decision. Night was falling, and the weather had grown increasingly rough as we traveled northward; we were out of range of RAF Coastal Command; and it wasn't as though our tubes were completely empty. The wolf might be scarred, she might be tired, and she might be looking forward to a well-deserved nap in a dry, warm den - but she still had some teeth left. And if by chance the freighter turned out to be armed and dangerous... well, we could always outrun her and disappear once more into the darkness whence we came. As it turned out, there was no need for that. One hit below her funnel was all it took in the heavy seas of the night's approaching storm; we were still shadowing her and lining ourselves up for a possible second attack when an explosion tore through her midsection, sending her funnel up and then crashing down over the side into the deep. More explosions shook the air and illuminated her fate as the sea took her. We scanned the surface from a distance for men or lifeboats amid the debris, and saw none. Her end had come too fast and too hard. After that we made our way through ten more days and nights of high seas and pounding rain before sighting, at long last, the familiar lights of Wilhelmshaven. The sky was still pouring buckets down our backs as we pulled slowly into our pen and came to a welcome and long-awaited stop. Home at last, and even in those dark wet hours just after midnight, it never looked so good. |
U-51
Type VIIB 2-Flotilla, Wilhelmshaven Kptlt Kurt Dennert, Commander Final report, patrols 6/7 March 28, 1940, 16:35 Departed: Wilhelmshaven Mission Orders: Patrol grid BE21 April 1, 1940, 14:05 Grid AN 43 Ship sunk: SS Prince (Large Cargo), 7531 tons Cargo: Aircraft Crew/lost: 54/19 April 12, 1940, 06:41 Grid AF 61 Ship sunk: HMS Warspite, 36450 tons Crew/lost: 1069/652 April 28, 1940, 08:37 Grid AM 11 Ship sunk: Talthybius (Ore Carrier), 6938 tons. Cargo: Iron Ore Crew/lost: 74/24 May 15, 1940, 05:54 Grid BE 74 Ship sunk: SS Wray Castle (Granville-type Freighter), 4707 tons Cargo: Paper Products Crew/lost: 100/12 May 15, 1940, 08:27 Grid BE 74 Ship sunk: SS Sovereign of the Seas (Medium Cargo), 4479 tons Cargo: Textiles Crew/lost: 60/35 May 21, 1940, 07:07 Arrived: Vigo Rendezvous with the Bessel for repair, refueling, and rearmament May 22, 1940, 11:52 Departed: Vigo Mission Orders: Return to Wilhelmshaven May 27, 1940, 02:35 Grid AM 23 Ship sunk: SS Woodbury (Granville-type Freighter), 4707 tons Cargo: Military Stores Crew/lost: 51/22 June 6, 1940, 00:15 Arrived: Wilhelmshaven Crew losses: 0 Ships sunk: 6 Aircraft destroyed: 0 Patrol tonnage: 64812 tons Awards: Kapitänleutnant Kurt Dennert, Oak Leaves to the Knight’s Cross; Oberleutnant z. See (Ing.) Hans Woiwode and Stabsoberbootsmann Gerhard Petersohn, Iron Cross 1st Class; Oberfähnrich z. See (Ing.) Ulrich Kaeding, Iron Cross 2nd Class and U-Boat War Badge; Matrosengefreiter Paul Hansen, U-Boat War Badge Promotions: Oberfähnrich z. See Johannes Hutterer, to Leutnant z. See Career Totals Days at sea: 239 Crew losses: 0 Aircraft destroyed: 0 Merchants sunk: 39, 164864 GRT Warships sunk: 2, 37700 GRT Total ships sunk: 41, 202564 GRT |
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