[烛光生存狂]-德国潜艇兵Hans Goebler

The following is a brief exerpt from the privately published autobiography of Hans Goebler, "Steel Boats; Iron Hearts". Hans, who unfortunately died in 1999, had some truly amazing stories to tell about his life as a submariner on the U-505 during WWII. It was kindly provided for use on this site by John Vanzo. This exerpt details an attack by Allied naval forces on the U505 in 1943 while it was in the Atlantic and the dramatic resulting aftermath which ended in the only known suicide of a German submarine Captain.

...I was lying in my bunk during the pre-dawn hours of October 23rd, when I realized that I was breathing fresh air. The gentle rocking of the boat, followed moments later by the throaty throb of the diesels, confirmed that we were on the surface. The air was cold and I was reluctant to leave my bunk. But I had duty to perform, so leave it I did. It surely made no difference to the bunk; another man would be lying in it before the sheets cooled.

A few minutes later, I was dressed and at my station in the control room. Zschech seemed more agitated than usual, climbing up and down between the bridge and the control room like a nervous cat.

I didn't pay much attention to him; my concern was with the ship's Doctor who, as usual, was trying to steal my breakfast bowl of "Kujamble Eis." This mixture of crushed ice and raspberry syrup was much treasured by us crewmen. It was also strictly rationed by Toni, our cook. Toni was of the opinion that the Doctor was too fat and therefore never gave him anything beyond the normal ration of food.

"That man eats too much. He is putting more in the diesel room pail than any two of us!" Toni was fond of saying. Naturally, this made the Doctor all the more obsessed with obtaining some of the frozen confection. Several times a day he would peek his head into the control room to see if there was an unattended bowl of the stuff. I'm proud to say he never got any of mine.

The day passed quietly, as if we were on a vacation cruise. We dived as soon as the batteries were recharged and didn't resurface until well after dark. I was back on duty that evening when, a little after midnight, we began hearing faint, distant rumbles. Over the course of several hours, the rumbling became louder and more distinct. They were clearly the explosions of depth charges. A long, steady series of them would go off, followed by silence, then another long series. The drum roll of the depth charges seemed to affect Zschech very deeply.

Around noon on the 24th, we once again heard the steady rumble of depth charges exploding in the distance. We had often heard this noise before, but never for such a prolonged period. We knew that, somewhere, a U-boat was catching hell.

Over the next several hours, the noise gradually got louder. It would stop for a short while, then resume, closer than before. I'm not being melodramatic when I tell you it began to sound like the slow, steady drumbeat of a military funeral procession, inching ever closer to our position.

After six full hours of this morbid tattoo, Zschech retreated to his cabin, closing the curtain behind him. Occasionally, he would call the radioman and soundman into his cabin for an update, but otherwise nothing was heard from him. Meanwhile, we continued on course through Sea Square CF5424. After sunset, the detonations started getting quite loud. We in the control room began asking ourselves what the hell Zschech was doing lying in his cabin as the kettledrum beat of depth charges got closer and closer.

At exactly 1948 Hours, the soundman ran to Zschech's cabin and reported engine noises. At long last, Zschech pushed aside the curtains of his cabin and emerged. As he walked by me, I could see that his face was ashen gray. Instead of issuing orders, however, Zschech climbed the ladder to the vacant conning tower.

We control room mates looked at each other in total puzzlement, silently asking each other what he was doing up there. On German subs, the only time the conning tower was used was when the Skipper wanted to look through the periscope. But we were cruising at a depth of 100 meters, far too deep to use the periscope.

Two minutes later, the radioman shouted a report up to Zschech through the conning tower hatch, informing him of what we all could hear with our bare ears: we were being scanned by Asdic. The pause between each Asdic "ping" was rapidly getting shorter. They had obviously located us and were headed right towards us.

Soon the enemy ships were almost directly above us. And yet, still no orders, still no Skipper. Where the hell was Zschech? Before we had time to ask, BOOM!?we were thrown off our feet by a giant depth charge explosion. The whole boat was rocking crazily as the control room air filled with broken glass and flying objects. I grabbed for any hold I could grasp... they never dropped just one. BLANG!!! The lights went out and the pressure hull rang like a church bell with the concussion from the second charge.

Finally, Zschech came down the ladder from the conning tower. His expressionless face, illuminated by the florescent paint on the air ducts, was ghostly white. We all stared at him, anticipating some orders for maneuvers, but still he said nothing. Instead, he walked zombie-like through the forward hatch into the radio room. As he passed me, I could see his wide-open, unblinking eyes shine in the half-light.

Two more charges exploded in quick succession. They were a bit farther off than the others and we dared to hope that the worst was over. Then, WHOOOM, the biggest explosion ever, nearly turned the boat over. Men were sent sprawling to the deck in heaps.

Amongst all the clamor, I thought I had heard a little bang coming from inside the boat, but didn't think anything of it at the moment. Then I glanced around and happened to notice Zschech slowly begin to lean over. I figured he had just bruised his head against a bulkhead, so I turned my attention back to my controls.

Then, BOOOM!!! An explosion even closer than the last deafened our ears, turning our world into a shattering, nightmarish blur of tumbling men and flying debris. Sprawled on the deck, I listened as well I could with my ringing ears for the telltale sound of in-rushing water that would signal our doom. Instead, there followed a few minutes of utter silence. The destroyers were evidently reloading their depth charge mechanisms as they circled for another run.

During that brief respite, our emergency lighting system came on. Our control room looked as if a hurricane had hit it, but we were still alive. Then, I heard some commotion coming through the open forward control room hatch. From my position I could see a body laying face down, motionless on the deck. A shiny pool of dark blood was quickly spreading around the man's legs.

A moment later, I saw the Radio Petty Officer kneeling down and examining the bleeding man. With some effort, he managed to turn the man over onto his back. After another minute, the lifeless legs were dragged into the Olymp, our nickname for the area around the Skipper's cabin. It was then that we realized that something was very, very wrong. A few of us crept quietly up to the Skipper's cabin to see what had happened.

There was Zschech, lying in his bed. He had shot himself in the head with his pistol during the depth charge attack!

It seemed like a million years had passed since Peter Zschech first occupied the commander's cabin. Now there he was, lying on his bunk, blood streaming out in little gushes from a small hole in the side of his head.

But even in this last act, Zschech had failed to fully accomplish his purpose. He was still alive, though he was making the loud, unmistakable sounds of a dying man.

The Doctor came running to the cabin. "What can we do?" the Doctor asked. "WHAT CAN WE DO?" The doctor was clearly panicked.

"Shut up!" someone snarled to the Doctor

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