The Laconia Incident Page 13

  As they proceeded east, the two lifeboats became separated. One was discovered by a passing British destroyer after fourteen days at sea. Captain Thomas’ boat made it to landfall in Liberia.

  Given his dealings with the crew of the Quebec City, it was clear to Leopold Schumacher, and the other officers and crew aboard U-156, that their captain fully intended to observe Dönitz’ Laconia Order by simply ignoring it.

  * * * * *

  Some thousand survivors of the Laconia aboard the Gloire were eventually landed in Dakar, Senegal, on 24 September 1942.

  * * * * *

  Dönitz was called to attend a high-level staff meeting in Berlin; the meeting was held on 28 September, and Der Fuehrer himself was present.

  After more mundane issues were discussed, Hitler took Dönitz aside. First, he complimented him on the job the U-boats were doing in destroying Allied shipping in the Atlantic and disrupting England’s vital supply lines.

  “But there is another matter,” he said. “Regarding this most recent incident off the African coast. You must drum it into your commanders’ heads that there is no place for sentimentality in warfare! War is a cruel and unforgiving business, and the coddling of enemy survivors at sea is foolish and unproductive. It is utter nonsense to offer enemy survivors food, water, or sailing directions. I read your order to your U-boat commanders, and it is fine as far as it goes, but it does not go near far enough!”

  Hitler was working up a head of steam. “You must tell your U-boat commanders that they are to shoot all survivors from sunken enemy ships—including those that are in lifeboats!”

  “But Mein Fuehrer,” Dönitz countered, keeping his voice as calm and steady as possible. “Are you at all sure that such a command would be wise? Please try to understand, Fuehrer, your U-boats are manned by volunteers, sailors steeped in maritime tradition. This is an honorable war they are fighting, and they fight for their Fuehrer and for their Fatherland. There is no honor in killing a defeated enemy fighting for his mere survival in a lifeboat. Please, Fuehrer, sending out such an order would utterly destroy the morale of your U-boat crews!”

  Hitler paused and considered the words of his Commander of U-Boats. Of all Germany’s fighting forces, land or sea, there was no arguing that his U-boat force was by far the most effective. Perhaps, he thought, Dönitz might just be right. The very last thing I want to do is destroy morale in the U-boats.

  “Very well, then,” he said. “Have it your way. It may well be that what you have already ordered is sufficient. But remember that we almost lost a U-boat because one of your commanders was far too chivalrous. I am well aware that Hartenstein is a hero of the Reich, but he went too far. Such behavior must not happen again!”

  “Yes, Mein Fuehrer,” a relieved Dönitz replied. “It must not and it will not.” But even as he spoke, he was thinking And perhaps you understand after all, Mein Fuehrer, that submarine crews are not at all like your SS battalions.

  * * * * *

  At least three of the lifeboats from the Laconia were not rescued by the French. One lifeboat, with Robby Cotton aboard, was rescued by the Empire Haven.

  A second was picked up by a British trawler after forty days at sea. Of the fifty-two passengers originally aboard, one was James Fellows. Only four had survived, and Fellows was not among them.

  Yet another was more fortunate, but only in comparison. The lifeboat in which Jim McLoughlin rode had set off toward the African coast, some 800 miles to the northeast. Of the sixty-eight passengers originally aboard, only sixteen had survived when it landed on the Ivory Coast some twenty-six days later, on 8 October 1942. Jim had celebrated (although that word hardly applied) his twenty-first birthday just six days earlier.

  The Liberian natives who greeted them, feted them in their village overnight before putting them in dugout canoes the next day for transport thirty-five miles upriver to the relative civilization in Grand Bassa. It was while they were in Grand Bassa that one of the survivors developed sepsis in a leg sore from which he eventually died. Jim and the remaining fifteen survivors remained in Grand Bassa, and were cared for until they were well enough to be transported to Freetown; by then it was well past mid-October.

  Sometime between his stay in Grand Bassa and his continued recovery in Freetown, McLoughlin contracted malaria, a disease that was to stay with him for the rest of his life. When sufficiently recovered to be considered fit to return for duty, Jim was drafted to HMS Hecla, a destroyer bound for England. McLoughlin couldn’t believe his good fortune! But just as he was to be mustered aboard her, he was hit with a severe bout of malaria and became so sick that Hecla left Freetown without him. Now Jim couldn’t believe his bad luck.

  It wasn’t until he was on his way to recovery several days later, that McLoughlin learned that on 12 November, the Hecla had been torpedoed by a German submarine in the Atlantic, west of Gibraltar, resulting in 281 casualties.

  * * * * *

  On Monday, 16 November, 1942, Werner Hartenstein, in U-156, returned to port in Lorient, his command having completed her fourth war patrol.

  Back to Table of Contents

  12

  Robby Cotton: Friday, 18 September, 1942, to 19 January, 1944

  It was on Friday, 18 September, when the lifeboat which carried Robby Cotton was discovered by the Empire Haven. The ship had only just reached the scene of the Laconia sinking, and was searching for survivors.

  Robby, salt-encrusted and dehydrated, was barely able to acknowledge his rescuer’s greeting. He learned that he had been promoted to Able Seaman when the Empire Haven made port in Liverpool on 29 September.

  After a month’s rest, he was drafted to HMS Violet, a corvette that made the regular run between Dover and Halifax, Nova Scotia, escorting convoys. The Violet was a Flower-class corvette, just 280 feet long, with a beam of 33 feet. Her top speed was 16 knots, which was just adequate for keeping station on convoys.

  Violet was equipped with a type 271 SW2C air-and-surface search radar, and a type 144 sonar. She had only limited anti-air capabilities—her mission, after all, was anti-submarine warfare. The Violet was designed and equipped to detect, locate, and attack submarines with guns and depth charges.

  Broad in the beam and shallow-drafted, the Flower-class ships were known both for their sea-worthiness and their rough ride. Even the saltiest seamen fought seasickness aboard the Flower-class corvettes, which were reputed to “bobble on a grass sea.” On the other hand, these ships were also responsive to the helm, and capable even in the roughest of seas.

  By 1943, the “happy time” in the Atlantic for Dӧnitz’ U-boats was over, and U-boat losses began to mount. By then, the skies over the convoys were populated strictly by friendly aircraft, and the British had long since succeeded in successfully miniaturizing radar sets so that they could be mounted in those aircraft.

  U-boat tactics had also long since evolved so as to attack in numbers and in unison, called Reudeltaktic by the Germans, and “wolf packs” by the British and Americans. U-boats also preferred to attack on the surface, where the boats were faster and more maneuverable than when submerged. But now, airborne radar allowed Allied planes to locate surfaced U-boats quickly, and then attack. Frequently, the planes were upon the boats before they could submerge, and a well-placed bomb would blow the boat to pieces. Even when boats were able to dive away from the air threat, they were forced to stay submerged until the plane cleared the area, and, by then, a targeted convoy would have long since sailed past the danger.

  To thwart detection from the air, and from ship-mounted radar, the schnorchel, or snorkel, a device designed to sip air from the surface for running the diesels while submerged, was being retrofitted to U-boats as quickly as possible. With the snorkel, the boat could almost match surface speeds submerged, and were far more difficult to detect with radar. But, as with the new type XXI U-Boat class—the Wonder Boat—it was too little and too late.

  * * * * *

  On 19 January, 1944, Violet was on escor
t duty for the combined convoys OS65/KMS39 in the Northwest Atlantic, just southwest of Ireland. The weather was miserable: cold, stormy, and overcast. The sea was rough indeed, with pounding waves ranging as high as thirteen feet. Violet was bouncing on the surface like a cork, pitching and rolling.

  The Violet had done her part, ever since the convoy had formed in Halifax, and gotten underway, detecting and chasing U-boats, attacking with both depth charges and guns. Among her smaller-caliber guns, Violet was armed with a single-mount, four-inch gun, and Robby, now promoted to Petty Officer Third Class, became her gun captain. Since the skies over the convoys were populated strictly by friendly aircraft, there were no air targets. The gun crews on the Violet made up for it by firing on U-boats at every opportunity.

  U-641, a type VIIC U-boat, Kapitӓnleutnant (Lieutenant-Commander) Horst Rendtel commanding, was operating with the wolf pack Rügen on her fourth war patrol, when it came upon the convoys OS65/KMS39.

  By the early afternoon, Rendtel was positioning his boat on the surface, under a frigid, sunless, and overcast sky, for a run on the convoys. At the same time, Violet’s radar operator picked up an intermittent surface contact amid the sea return. The contact might not have been anything at all—perhaps just a wave-tip higher than the rest—or it may have been an enemy conning tower. The operator thought for a bit before reporting it, and possibly crying wolf. Then he decided that the prudent thing would be to report it.

  He reported the “possible surface contact” to the bridge, and the ship’s captain, Royal Naval Reserve Lieutenant Charles Stewart, decided to leave station on the convoy, close, and investigate, and so notified Escort Command. As Violet was en route to the contact’s location, Stewart set general quarters, and Robby Cotton and his gun crew made to man the four-inch gun. Violet was bouncing so violently that it took a good five minutes before Robby and his gun team was able to reach, and limber, its weapon. From his post on the gun mount, Robby was able to observe the action as it unfolded.

  Rendtel was running his approach on the convoys from the U-boat’s bridge when Violet was sighted bearing down on the submarine. Rendtel immediately ordered his boat submerged. Aboard Violet, the “clear to fire” order came down from the bridge, and Robby tried to track and aim at the diving U-boat. But aiming, much less firing, from the bobbing gun platform at the lurching, and slowly disappearing, submarine, proved near impossible. Robby was unable to get a shot off before the boat completely disappeared beneath the roiling sea.

  When Violet finally reached the place where the submarine had last been spotted, the boat had already been underwater for several minutes. Captain Stewart ordered his ship to slowly traverse the spot, using active sonar in an attempt to locate it. Violet’s sonar operator searched, and Violet got lucky; the sonar man received a satisfying return ping on the third traverse. With the U-boat located, the corvette began the first of three depth-charge runs. Upon completion of the third run, U-641 shot to the surface, mortally wounded, not 500 yards off Violet’s starboard bow. Stewart immediately ordered his ship to back away from the U-boat, opening up the distance between them, lest the submarine suddenly get tossed toward, and possibly strike his ship.

  The men aboard the Violet watched as bodies scrambled from the receding U-boat’s conning tower and into a hastily-inflated rubber boat bobbing in the water. When only about a dozen or so men had made it successfully into the boat, the U-boat suddenly shot forward, then backward, spilling the others still trying to abandon their U-boat into the sea.

  The German submariners in the rubber boat quickly paddled away from their stricken craft, lest they get sucked down with it. From his position on the gun mount, Robby watched as the bow of the submarine lifted up, and then out, of the water. U-641 then slipped below the waves stern-first. By then, the inflatable was well away from the spot; in fact, Robby had difficulty locating it in the rough sea. And now, sea conditions appeared to be getting even worse.

  “Aren’t we gonna shoot at ‘em?” one of the loaders, a regular seaman named Hawkins, called up to Robby.

  “Whatever for?” Robby replied. “They ain’t a threat to us, nor to the convoys any more. What would be the point?”

  “But they’re the enemy!” the loader retorted. “We should blow ‘em out of the water!”

  “Should we now?” Robby said, almost pensively. “Have we come to that, now, have we, Hawkins? Have we British lost all traces of our humanity?” But Hawkins only scowled in reply, his blood lust up and unsatisfied. In truth, Robby dreaded the thought that an order to shoot at the survivors might come down from the bridge.

  And so Robby was glad when the order did come down to secure general quarters, and for a rescue party to form up on the main deck.

  Captain Stewart then had Violet close in on the spot where the boat had gone down, hoping to rescue as many survivors as possible. But not a single man could be located in the ever-worsening weather. Any attempt to locate the rubber raft with radar proved just as fruitless. It was now clear that the entire crew of the U-boat was probably lost.

  The Violet then bobbled into a sharp turn and headed back toward the convoys. Robby would have preferred that the captain had stayed in the area of the sinking longer, and had tried harder to rescue the U-boat survivors, but he understood that the Violet’s mission was to protect the convoys, and he really couldn’t fault his commander’s decision to return to station. After all, he thought, these U-boats traveled in packs, and there may well be another one close by, waiting to pounce. But there were no more submarine attacks that day.

  Robby was used to lying in his heaving bunk, and had long ago learned to position his body so as to not be tossed onto the deck, even in the roughest storm. Indeed, he had learned to fall fast asleep in any weather the sea gods could conjure up. But that night, off watch and in his bunk, Robby could only think of the poor men who had gone to their deaths that afternoon. He wondered if Werner Hartenstein would have given up on rescuing Lavonia’s flotsam as quickly as Violet’s commander had done with the U-boat. Of course, conditions in the South Atlantic had been entirely different then, and it wasn’t really fair to compare the two events—or the two commanders, for that matter.

  Robby wondered if Hartenstein and his crew would survive the war. If they did, he knew, it would mean that Hartenstein and U-156 might well destroy yet more ships in the interim, kill even more of his countrymen and their allies before the last shot was fired. Still, he hoped that there was some way Hartenstein might yet survive, and they could meet, and he could thank him for sparing his life and the lives of the others who ultimately survived. Then Robby slept.

  Back to Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  September, 1942, and thereafter

  The British civilians who had been aboard the Gloire were interned in an old French Foreign Legion camp. The English and the Polish servicemen were sent to Casablanca and interned in a French prisoner of war camp. Under orders from their Nazi overlords, the French were directed to keep the British and the Poles separate, and arrangements were to be made later to transport the Poles back to Poland, where they were to be interned in “work camps.”

  Marco Scarpetti was allowed to leave the Gloire along with its other Italian passengers when it docked, but the Italians soon found there was really no place for them to go. Italian government operatives in Senegal tried to arrange transport of its personnel back to Italy, first by ship to a southern French port, and then overland through France to Italy, but no shipping was available. Sending them back to their units in Italy and North Africa overland on African soil was another alternative. Italian authorities worked on both plans while Marco and the other rescued Italians languished in a makeshift tent camp through October.

  German authorities, meanwhile, faced the same problems in their attempts to “repatriate” the Polish POWs to Poland. The Germans, however, had more access to available transportation facilities than did their Italian allies. They had set up an overland truck convoy to take th
e Poles to Algiers, there to be transferred to an Italian ship, which would land them in Messina, Sicily, and thence overland by rail back to Poland. But trucks for the initial leg of the journey would not be available until mid-October. Mid-October came and went, but the trucks did not. They apparently had been commandeered for a more important mission, and were now promised for early November.

  The Allies launched Operation Torch, the invasion of North Africa, on 7 November 1942. Operation Torch interrupted the final preparations to send Stanislaw Kominsky and his fellow Polish prisoners back to Poland; the requisite trucks now were needed to ferry troops and supplies to the front. The Poles, therefore, remained where they were, in French custody, just outside Casablanca.

  By 16 November, British and American forces had secured French North Africa, and the Gloire and the other French warships operating out of West and North Africa rejoined the Allies. In response, German forces invaded Vichy France starting from the Atlantic coast, and, by 11 November, German tanks had reached the Mediterranean coast. Italian forces, meanwhile, occupied the French Riviera, and had landed in Corsica.

  The tent camp housing the Italians became, technically, a POW camp, and the rescued Italians once again became prisoners of war, this time French prisoners. But their French captors posted no guards, and meals were still regularly served. No one forced the Italians to stay in the camp, but there was really no other place for them to go. They busied themselves building and erecting more permanent shelters, and organizing football teams. Marco taught language classes.