THE FORESIGHT WAR (28 page)

The torpedo tubes were rapidly reloaded by the powered system introduced on the Type X, and the Elektroboot crept in closer, staying below the turbulent waters of periscope depth and relying on the Balkon hydrophone system instead.

‘High speed screws, coming this way.’
 
The Korvettenkäpitan frowned; they could not possibly have been detected, it must just be bad luck that they were in the path of a destroyer sweep.
 
The lound pinking of Asdic interrupted his thoughts; they were close to being detected.
 
Irritated, he manoeuvred the Type X around to aim at the oncoming warship.

‘Fire a T5.’
 
The Zaunkönig acoustic homing torpedo sped from the tube, curving around to home in on the noise of the cavitating propellors above them.
 
The detonation a minute later brought further cheers from the crew, and the commander confidently steered his boat through the escort screen and into the convoy, switching on the Nibelung active detection and ranging set, which enabled accurate torpedo firing without needing to use a periscope.

The Captain looked around at the devastation in his convoy with anger and disbelief.
 
OB150 had already lost four ships and an escorting destroyer, and not a single sighting of a submarine had been reported.
 
Furthermore, the escorts now had to trail Foxer decoys which rendered their own hydrophones useless.
 
He wanted to send his ship racing around after the hidden submarine, do anything rather than simply sit and wait, but there was no point in any action beyond the intensified Asdic sweeps around the perimeter of the convoy.
 
Another Swordfish had managed to take off and both planes were now skimming over the water, straining to spot a periscope or a torpedo track that would give them some clue as to where to hunt.

U470 went deep and slipped away from the convoy, all torpedoes expended, with six merchant ships and a destroyer to show for it.
 
At least thirty thousand tons, the Korvettenkäpitan reflected: a third of the way towards his Knight’s Cross in one attack!
 
He set course for Lorient.

The convoy regrouped and continued westwards; the crews wary and mentally bruised.
 
They had a long way to go to reach America.

Herrman emerged blinking into the early morning light, and looked round for signs of the night’s devastation.
 
The deep bunker had protected him from the bombs but he had still been able to feel the ground shake with their detonations.
 
Somewhat to his surprise, Dönitz’s Kerneval headquarters at the mouth of the Scorffe was untouched, but a heavy pall of smoke hung further inland.

‘Lorient copped it last night, as well as the new pens,’ Stadler commented.
 
Herrman thought about the little fishing
village
of
Keroman
nearby, the site of a massive project to build bomb-proof submarine pens.

‘Was much damage done?’

‘Quite a lot.
 
They were using heavy bombers to drop some really massive bombs.
 
Paid for it, though.
 
The bombers were Vickers Warwicks – too low and too slow to get away from our night-fighters so a lot of them didn’t make it home.
 
Unfortunately, we lost some of our planes also; it seems the RAF tried to protect their bombers by mixing Mosquito night-fighters in with them.’
 
Stadler turned away.
 
‘Come inside and get some breakfast.
 
There’s a meeting immediately afterwards.’

Herrman sat at the back of the conference room, observing the Befehlshaber der U-boote in action with his Operations Staff.
 
The Admiral was brisk and to the point; his small staff, young, able and displaying the fanatical enthusiasm inspired by their leader.

‘We have been asked to review the current position for the benefit of our guests from
Berlin
,’ Dönitz inclined his head towards Herrman and Stadler.
 
‘Käpitan Godt, could you summarise?’

Godt, the Admiral’s Chief of Staff, radiated quiet competence.
 
‘As you must know, the first phase of the fighting, after a good start, was increasingly hindered by the British deployment of air cover for their convoys.
 
This made it difficult for our boats to pursue convoys on the surface as they were frequently forced to dive.
 
Our planned night-time surface Rudeltaktik, which the British call ‘wolf packs’, also received severe setbacks because of the increasing use of radar by their escorts and aircraft.
 
However, the tide of battle is beginning to flow in our direction.’

Dönitz nodded briskly.
 
‘My compliments to xB-Dienst, they are doing a great job in breaking the convoy codes and warning us of likely targets.’

Herrman leaned forward.
 
‘But how certain can we
be
that the British are not reading our codes?’

Godt was surprised.
 
‘How can they be?
 
The new M-4 cypher machine is unbreakable.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure.
 
We have received intelligence reports that the British have acquired copies of the code machines and are able to break the codes quite quickly each time they are changed.’

‘That would be unfortunate but not as critical as it might have been,’ commented Dönitz.
 
‘The Rudeltaktik required frequent radio transmissions to coordinate mass attacks, but the new Type Tens hunt alone.
 
They only need to send a brief sighting report via Marine-Kurier, which is a short burst transmission, and then to listen out for information about convoy locations.
 
That is hardly enough to betray their location.’

‘I hope you are right,’ muttered Herrman.
 
For once, his loyalties were undivided.
 
The rapid defeat of Britain by the U-boats would reduce the risk of nuclear weapons being developed and used.

‘It is fair to say,’ Godt continued delicately, ‘
that
we could do with more support from the Luftwaffe.
 
KG Forty is based at Bordeaux under the Fliegerfürher Atlantik but the aircraft available are not always suitable and there are other problems.’
 
Herrman raised an eyebrow.
 
‘Their maps and codes are different from ours which makes coordination very difficult.
 
We really need more of the long-range Dorniers and Heinkels to carry out reconnaissance.
 
Admittedly the change in British convoy routes to the north gives less scope for aircraft but we know the RAF is developing in-flight refuelling.
 
If the Luftwaffe would do the same, their planes could cover the whole ocean.’

Dönitz nodded.
 
‘Any assistance you can offer in that direction would be much appreciated.’

‘We really need to keep every convoy under continuous attack, to achieve a Geleitzugschlacht,’ continued Godt, referring to the travelling convoy battle doctrine required.
 
‘That means keeping as many U-boats as possible up where the convoys are.
 
Among other things, it means avoiding the time and risk involved in bringing the boats back to base to rearm and refuel.
 
We are aiming to achieve this by means of the Type Twelve supply U-boats, and are also gaining some assistance from Spain in arranging for boats to be refuelled in the Canaries.
 
Unfortunately, Franco is coming under increasing pressure from the British to stop this.’
 

‘To make rendezvous in mid-ocean implies radio contact,’ observed Herrman.
 
‘That is bound to be vulnerable to code-breaking, or just to radio direction-finding.’

‘We are aware of that,’ commented the Admiral, ‘but warfare cannot be conducted without risk.’

‘There have been reports of more local problems.’
 
Stadler’s interruption was the more surprising for its rarity.

Godt looked at him warily.
 
‘There has been some activity apparently due to the French resistance movement in the west-coast ports, if that is what you mean, but that is little more than an irritation.’

‘What aid are they able to give to the British?’

‘Some minor sabotage.
 
Possibly of more damage is information.
 
It seems possible that they are providing some sort of markers to guide in minelayers.’

‘Have there been many losses to mines?’

‘Not many.
 
We use Sperrbrecher to clear minefields each time a boat is expected in or out.
 
The British mine technology is not as advanced as ours; we are able to sweep most of them.’

The rest of the meeting was concerned with operational details.
 
Herrman eased back, worrying about the battle, recognising as clearly as Dönitz that this was one of the key battles of the war; the one Germany had to win to be safe from American involvement.
 
Listening to the streams of facts, figures and operational orders, he wondered just what was going on out there.

The Commander of the
USS Anderson
peered anxiously through binoculars at the approaching convoy.
 
OB150 had taken a pounding already with fourteen ships lost in three separate U-boat attacks.
 
Only in one case had the escort even detected the electroboat – a brief sighting of a periscope – but the boat had disappeared before an attack could be launched.
 
Still, he reflected, the storm had now swept on westwards and the calmer weather would aid air operations.
 
He was uneasily conscious that his ship, a big new destroyer of the Sims class, had been designed with the emphasis on gun and torpedo action and was not well equipped to deal with submarines.
 
However, she represented the best the USA could offer in supporting the Royal Navy in the western leg of convoy defence.
 
So far, no USN vessel had actually engaged a U-boat.
 
Sooner or later, the Commander was grimly aware, the time would come; and America’s neutrality would be strained even further.

‘Acknowledge the signal from the
Anderson
.
 
Tell them we have now refuelled from a convoy tanker and will be staying on until we meet the next west-bound convoy.’
 
The Captain of the hunting group settled back in his chair and sighed, conscious of little but extreme tiredness.
 
The voyage had been one of the most frustrating he had ever made.
 
The appalling weather had rendered the escort carrier useless and severely hindered sub-hunting.
 
A year ago, it would also have prevented U-boats from attacking; but the electroboats could seemingly locate and attack convoys from deep, regardless of the weather.
 
Now the seas were calmer, his Beauforts were scouting far and wide while the MAC ships’ Swordfishes circled the convoy more closely.

‘Signal from the
Kingston
, sir.
 
HE detected at long range to the south.
 
Could be an electroboat.’

The K-class destroyer had been ordered to wait well behind the noise of the convoy, listening on its sensitive new hydrophone array.

‘Order
Jervis
to assist and try to triangulate that HE.
 
Alert the Beauforts.’

A long period of waiting followed.
 
The Captain estimated the times required; say half an hour for the fast destroyer to get away from the convoy and start listening.
 
More time until the faint traces of hydrophone effect could be cross-correlated with those from the
Kingston
.
 
More time still to locate the submarine and attack.
 
He waited, patiently.

‘Signal from
Jervis
, sir.
 
HE detected and confirmed with
Kingston
.
 
Location about thirty miles to the south-south east.
 
They are on their way.’

Tension began to rise on the bridge, but only slowly.
 
Such detections did not often result in sinkings; the cursed electroboats were far too elusive.

‘Message from the Beauforts, sir.
 
Schnorkel head spotted; it disappeared before they could get there.
 
Sonobuoys being dropped on the estimated location.’

More waiting.
 
The tension built slowly, washing away the accumulated tiredness of days and nights of frustration.
 
The Captain thought about the problems of the crew in the cramped little aircraft, trying to make sense of the hydrophone readings from the pattern of sonobuoys.
 
Unlike the big
Warwicks
, the Beauforts could carry very few of the sonobuoys; another Beaufort, armed with depth charges or a homing torpedo, would be circling nearby.

‘Message from the Beauforts, sir.
 
Position triangulated; torpedo dropped.’

The tension rose until the Captain could almost hear it.
 
One minute passed; two.
 
He thought of the ugly little acoustic homing torpedo, questing blindly through the dark water, spiralling after the unsuspecting U-boat.

‘Message from the Beauforts, sir!’
 
The signalman’s voice was pitched high with excitement.
 
‘Underwater explosion observed!’