Battle of the Atlantic E-Book

Marc Milner

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

World War II was only a few hours old when the Battle of the Atlantic, the longest campaign of the Second World War and the most complex submarine war in history, began with the sinking of the unarmed passenger liner Athenia by the German submarine U30. Based on the mastery of the latest research and written from a mid-Atlantic – rather than the traditional Anglo-centric – perspective, Marc Milner focuses on the confrontation between opposing forces and the attacks on Allied shipping that lay at the heart of the six-year struggle. Against the backdrop of the battle for the Atlantic lifeline he charts the fascinating development of U-boats and the techniques used by the Allies to suppress and destroy these stealth weapons.

Leseprobe

Contents

Preface to the Second Edition

Introduction

1Opening Skirmishes, September 1939–March 1940

2The Battle of the Atlantic Begins, April 1940–March 1941

3The Allies Strike Back, April–December 1941

4Carnage off America, January–September 1942

5Mid-Atlantic Confrontation, July–December 1942

6Crushing the Wolf Packs, January–May 1943

7Driving the U-Boat Down, June–December 1943

8Troubled Waters, January–August 1944

9Defeating the Old U-Boats… Again! September 1944–May 1945

10The Crisis that Never Was

Afterword and Acknowledgements

List of Abbreviations

Bibliography

List of Maps and Diagrams

Copyright

Preface to the Second Edition

The Atlantic lay at the heart of the Second World War. The Anglo-French alliance of September 1939 was a global maritime one, as both great powers drew strength from their vast possessions (and in the British case recently independent Dominions) and trading networks overseas. France, of course, was vulnerable to a land and air assault by Germany, and succumbed in May–June 1940. But Britain and her Commonwealth and Empire lay tantalisingly out of reach for the panzer armies of Nazi Germany in 1940, and so they remained despite attempts to force Britain itself into capitulation.

However, it was not enough for the western Allies simply to survive. The manpower and sinews of war – and ultimate Allied victory in 1945 – had to be brought to Britain by sea and, equally importantly, men and materiel had to be re-shipped from Britain to develop and sustain military operations in theatres around the globe. None of this was possible without unfettered use of the Atlantic. Indeed, the maritime nature of the western Allies’ war effort only increased as the United States became involved. It is difficult to imagine how the industrial and manpower resources of the Great Republic could have been applied decisively in Europe – from the landings in Italy and France, to logistical support for the campaigns ashore – without a secure Atlantic crossing to the advanced base of the British Isles. It is true that many aircraft were flown to theatres abroad, but even the massive air offensive against Nazi Germany depended, in the end, on command of the Atlantic.

This book is about the battle for that crucial theatre. It builds on decades of primary research and familiarity with the secondary sources to present a new vision of the Battle of the Atlantic. It suggests a revised understanding of the limits on German ability to win the Atlantic war. It draws long-neglected players, primarily Canadian and American, into a revamped narrative. It illuminates familiar events in new ways. And it integrates significant new material on the post–1943 era into the story of the Atlantic war.

The Afterword to the first edition indicated that much work remains to be done on this, the longest, most complex and most fascinating campaign of the Second World War. That situation has not changed appreciably since the first edition of Battle of the Atlantic appeared. I hope that this one will encourage a new generation of scholars to take up that challenge.

Marc Milner

February, 2011

Introduction

The Second World War was only a few hours old when a look-out on the conning tower of the German submarine U-30, cruising 600km north-west of Ireland, spotted a large vessel on the horizon. The U-boat’s twenty-six-year-old captain, Lieutenant Fritz Julius Lemp, spent the next two-and-a-half hours working around ahead of the contact so that he could make a close inspection from the safety of periscope depth. What Lemp saw through the lens in the gathering twilight was a small liner, running a zigzag course without lights and – apparently – armed. Such a target could only be an Armed Merchant Cruiser (AMC), typically a small passenger ship equipped with guns, manned by a naval crew, commissioned as a warship and used for patrolling. Lemp moved U-30 into firing position and, forty minutes later at 19:40 hours Greenwich Mean Time on 3 September 1939, he fired two torpedoes. Thus began the Battle of the Atlantic, the longest campaign of the Second World War and the longest and most complex submarine war in history.

The idea that German submarines might attack shipping in the North Atlantic was, of course, hardly unexpected in 1939. After all, they had done so with remarkable success during the First World War and in 1917 had brought Britain perilously close to ruin. That crisis was precipitated by a combination of wishful thinking, poor organisation and planning, and a lack of proper anti-submarine equipment – primarily a good underwater locating device. In the early years of the First World War, no one really believed that the Germans would launch a submarine campaign against unarmed merchant vessels. Submarines were ill-suited to capturing enemy vessels, or to the obligations under international law to inspect cargoes and ensure crew safety prior to sinking a ship. Simply sinking ships on sight and sending cargoes and crews alike to a watery grave not only contravened international law, but such wanton destruction of property and the lives of civilians had never occurred in maritime war before. Indeed, even the Germans were loath to undertake a submarine campaign against merchant shipping, though it was the only way to strike a blow at the Allies through their largely impenetrable surface blockade. Every time there was a mistake, like the sinking of the liner Lusitania in May 1915 or the Sussex a year later, howls of international condemnation followed – especially from the world’s most powerful neutral country, the United States.

So between 1914 and 1917, the expectation that the Germans would not slip outside the bounds of acceptable behaviour – albeit stretched and modified by the new horrors of total war – governed British attitudes towards trade defence and anti-submarine warfare. Losses to shipping were sustainable, while defence rested on ‘protected lanes’ swarming with patrol vessels and aircraft, dispersion of ships along individual routes on the high seas and, ultimately, on keeping ships in port. German U-boats wisely stayed out of the heavily patrolled zones, operating offshore in individual patrol areas through which a solitary vessel sooner or later – because of the Allied practice of dispersion – was bound to pass. In the early years, it was this that gave the submarine the advantage, since it was heavily armed and faster than the average merchant vessel. Confronted by this lethal spectre from the deep, merchant seamen usually took to their boats, leaving the U-boat crew to the leisurely business of sinking the ship by gunfire or scuttling charges. As merchant ships began to fit guns, however, running gun battles developed and wary submariners grew more and more inclined to fire torpedoes first and ask questions later. This became increasingly so when the British sent disguised and heavily armed ‘Q’ ships to sea with the express purpose of ambushing submarines on the surface as they approached. In fact, until 1917 the principal weapons in both submarine and anti-submarine warfare were guns, which says a great deal about the power of international opinion and the nature of the fighting at sea.

All that changed in February 1917, when the Germans, out of sheer frustration at their failure on all fronts and an earnest desire to win the war, declared unrestricted submarine warfare against Allied merchant shipping. With U-boats now free to simply torpedo without warning any ship in the war zone around the British Isles, losses to Allied shipping skyrocketed and through the spring of 1917 the new practice looked like being a success. By April, Britain was on the brink of crisis. Ships and cargoes were going down much faster than they could be replaced, and the existing defensive system of high seas dispersion and safe lanes inshore no longer worked. It appeared that the only way to preserve shipping was to keep it in port. What saved the situation in 1917 was the decision taken at the end of April to put all ocean-going shipping into escorted convoys.

Convoys were an ancient idea. They had been used successfully throughout the great age of sail, and were used extensively during the First World War for troopships and other vital traffic. Indeed, by early 1917 heavy losses in routine merchant traffic to Norway and Holland had been virtually eliminated by the adoption of convoys. Even the crucial coal traffic to France was convoyed without loss. Extending this system to ocean shipping brought immediate results: losses went down steadily and shipping moved. It was the new convoy system, rather than anything technological or tactical, which defeated the 1917 U-boat campaign. Gathering shipping into compact, escorted groups cleared the ocean of easy, individual targets. This made target location for lone U-boats operating off-shore extremely difficult. And then when they did find a target, it was now a mass of ships heavily escorted by destroyers and, increasingly, long-range patrol aircraft: a daunting task for submariners used to handling a single lumbering merchant vessel.

The oppressive nature of constant naval and air escort around convoys forced significant changes in German submarine tactics. To find and attack shipping they had now to move inshore, where the convoy routes converged in channels and the approaches to ports, or where they were canalised by shorelines. Since this brought U-boats well within range of powerful land-based air patrols, including those by airships, it was necessary for the submarines to operate submerged most of the time, and attack shipping from submerged positions. Thus, the adoption of mercantile convoys in 1917 drove U-boats inshore to find targets and forced them to operate primarily as submarines. In the process, losses to Allied merchant shipping returned to a sustainable rate for the balance of the war. The problem of dealing with the sub became one of finding it in the water.

The Allies worked continuously throughout the war to solve the riddle of the submerged submarine. The depth charge, a form of underwater bomb detonated by water pressure, had been invented before the war and became increasingly more effective as the war progressed. It ‘killed’ submarines not by direct strikes, but by the concussive effect of its detonation nearby, splitting hull seams, popping rivets, wrecking machinery and forcing the submarine to either fill with water or surface. With U-boats increasingly operating submerged, the depth charge supplanted the gun as the most important anti-submarine weapon. Only two U-boats were sunk with depth charges prior to 1917. In that year, depth charges sank six and in 1918 twenty-two. The only major problem with depth charges was that their lethal radius, which depended on depth and therefore water pressure, was normally no more than about twenty-five feet. Placing them with precision on a target moving in three dimensions was a difficult task, especially if you only had a vague idea where the target was.

Finding the submarine once it submerged was the problem and there was no easy solution. Most hunters had to rely on a visual fix on a submerging submarine or its periscope, random depth charging at the end of the bubble trace left by the compressed air of the U-boat’s torpedoes, or – for flyers – catching a glimpse of the sub through clear water, as happened on occasion in the Mediterranean. Precise location of a fully submerged submarine might be accomplished by primitive hydrophones: underwater microphones that picked up the sound of the sub’s engines. Both warships and aircraft began to use such listening devices early in the war. But all First World War hydrophones were passive and non-directional. Using a series of passive hydrophones to localise a sound was possible, but very time consuming; it was all weather dependent, and submarines got quieter as the war went on.

The ultimate solution was an active sound-locating device, some way to send out a signal in the water and receive an echo from whatever was out there. British scientists, building on a French breakthrough in quartz and steel transducers, conducted the first successful trials of an active underwater location system in March 1918, when echoes were received from a sub at a range of 500 yards. The technical problems of making a combined transmitter-receiver were quickly solved and the first sets of echo-location devices were ordered for the Royal Navy in June. The whole affair – a few primitive sets, trained maintainers and operators – was nearly ready when the war ended in November. Further and extensive technical improvements were made in what the British dubbed ‘asdic’ (for the Anti-Submarine Divisionics, that is the technical side of the AS Division of the Admiralty) during the immediate post-war period, but the nub of the submarine location problem had been solved – or so it was thought. The interval between transmitting and the return of the echo was measured in time, which was then easily converted to distance. Range and the fixed angle of the transducer (about ten degrees from the horizontal) allowed the depth of the submarine to be calculated as well, and therefore enabled an accurate attack using depth charges. Asdic – or sonar, as it’s now known – was one of the most important technological developments in naval warfare during the inter-war years. In theory, at least, it stripped submarines of their uniqueness – the cloak of invisibility which masked an otherwise frail warship – and it led many to even question the long-term viability of the submarine itself.

If the technical and tactical problem of the submarine seemed solved by 1918, it was also true that the larger issue of its indis-criminate use against merchant vessels had also been resolved. Within weeks of the commencement of Germany’s unrestricted U-boat campaign in February 1917, the United States of America entered the war as an ‘Associated Power’ of the Allies. Their choice of designation was deliberate. Americans had been deeply embittered by the Allied economic and military blockade of Europe, which contravened international law just as the German use of U-boats did. But the Anglo-French blockade was sparing of life and it compensated for some economic losses as well; the German blockade was of necessity unsparing of life or property. Thus the bitterness the Americans felt towards the Allies for their heavy-handed blockade was swept aside by the moral outrage that arose from the 1917 unrestricted submarine campaign. America subsequently entered the war, offset the collapse of Russia into revolution, and made Allied victory a certainty.

The lesson here was simple: in future, no nation would risk such an international sanction as a global coalition by resorting to indiscriminate use of submarines against merchant shipping.Nonetheless, during the inter-war years the international community moved to draw submarine operations back under the conventions of international law, especially the Prize Laws governing capture at sea. These obliged an attacking ship to visit and search enemy merchant vessels to determine if the ship was carrying contraband or war cargo. Then, in the event the ship was to be sunk, it was necessary to provide for the safety of the civilian crew. Troopships, ships in convoy or under escort, or those engaged in hostile actions, could be sunk on sight. These regulations were embodied in the 1930 Submarine Protocol, which was signed by most major states, including Nazi Germany in 1936. It was this agreement which prompted Commodore Percy Walker Nelles, Chief of Naval Staff of the tiny Royal Canadian Navy, to observe in 1937 that, ‘If international law is complied with, submarine attack should not prove serious.’ In this Nelles reflected the general sentiment of the whole British Empire and Commonwealth.

But the ‘if’ was the big part, and Nelles and senior British offcers were not so naive as to believe that international law would hold the U-boats at bay. They were also fully confident in the organisational and technical measures now available to deal with subs. By the late 1930s asdic had improved steadily and it was fitted in 220 Royal Navy destroyers, sloops and trawlers. Although later experience – and many historians – suggested that this was not enough, it is probably true that the RN had more asdic sets at sea in 1939 than the rest of the world’s navies combined. And the British had faith in them. In 1936 the First Lord of the Admiralty, Admiral E.M. Chatfield, claimed that the RN’s anti-submarine measures were eighty per cent effective: subs could easily be found using asdic and depth charges could follow with great precision. In theory, no U-boat was safe.

In truth, however, there were some serious flaws in Chatfield’s assumptions, not least of which was the toughness of modern submarines. This remained a mystery to the British because no proper trials of depth charges against submarine hulls were conducted during the 1920s and 1930s. Moreover, asdic training and trials were invariably conducted against submarines confined to small training areas in water that produced good results. The RN had no real experience of asdic in deep water, or in conditions that produced confused returns (like that from rough bottoms returning echoes in a random fashion). Nor did they understand that the sound beam from the asdic was distorted by temperature layers in the water (although submariners evidently knew this well enough). Finally, in most British warships asdic training was limited to once a year at best, and on foreign stations seldom that. In short, the potential of asdic was assumed, its real limitations were poorly understood, and enormous faith was placed upon it to solve the submarine problem in war.

In fairness, the British had not forgotten the two other essential lessons of battling U-boats and trade defence from the First World War: the importance of air power and the role of convoys. It was generally understood that it was air power that forced U-boats to operate fully submerged, which reduced their effectiveness and drove them inshore where, presumably, they could be found and attacked by warships. Unfortunately, the founding of the Royal Air Force in 1918 and its subsequent struggle to remain an independent service during the inter-war years resulted in a very low priority for anti-submarine aircraft prior to 1939. It took virtually the entire inter-war period to devise and develop an aerial anti-submarine bomb, which in the end was so badly fused, so light and so lacking in proper bombsights, that it was almost entirely ineffective. Most of the aircraft of Coastal Command by the late 1930s were obsolete and even the range and bomb load of the newest, the American Hudson bomber, was no improvement over the Blackburn Kangaroo of 1918 - the workhorse of the inshore maritime patrol squadrons of an earlier war. Only two squadrons of Sunderland flying boats were up to date, albeit with a poor bomb and almost useless bombsights. The ability of aircraft to kill submarines was, in fact, not a serious problem from the viewpoint of trade defence. The real value of aircraft was in aggressive patrolling and in forcing the submarines down, to render them largely immobile and short-sighted. This was true especially when they were used in conjunction with a system of convoy.

Whatever shortcomings the British may have suffered on the technical side before 1939, they were compensated for them in considerable measure by their efforts in organising and maintaining the infrastructure needed to carry out convoy and escort shipping. During the First World War the British, in conjunction with their allies and empire, erected a global naval control of shipping and naval intelligence systems. This was expanded and enhanced enormously in 1917, when oceanic convoys were adopted and the US entered the war. This organisation remained largely in place after 1918, and it was upgraded systematically and thoroughly in the late 1930s by Rear Admiral Eldon Manisty, RN, the officer responsible for perfecting it in 1917-18. It was enhanced by the establishment of an Operational Intelligence Centre (OIC) at the Admiralty in 1937, an office which would play a key role in years to come. By 1939, the British and the Empire and Commonwealth had everything in place to immediately establish a system of oceanic convoys if required.

As a result of all these measures, Commodore Nelles of the RCN was able to report confidently in 1937, when the subject of sub-marine attack on merchant shipping was reviewed in Canada and the Empire, that the menace was a manageable one:

If unrestricted [submarine] warfare is again resorted to, the means of combating submarines are considered to have advanced so far that by employing a system of convoy and utilising Air Forces, losses to submarines would be very heavy and might compel the enemy to give up this form of attack.

In this Nelles accurately reflected British sentiment as well. Admiral Sir Reginald Bacon, in one of his final publications, Modern Naval Strategy (1940), could only conceive of a U-boat attack on escorted convoys in daylight from periscope depth: a rash act which Bacon and his co-author were sure would lead to the hasty destruction of the U-boat.

Apart from international law and technological and organisational improvements, what confirmed British belief in the remoteness and manageability of the submarine menace was simply the relatively small size of Nazi Germany’s submarine fleet. The 1935 Anglo-German Naval Agreement allowed Germany to build a submarine fleet comparable in tonnage to that of the Royal Navy. But that still meant that the Nazi’s U-boat fleet was small. By 1939 it numbered only some thirty-nine operational subs, of which barely twenty-five were ocean-going; enough to keep perhaps seven or eight on station at a time. After the war, Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz opined that with 300 U-boats in 1939 he could easily have beaten Britain. Perhaps. But if Germany had possessed 300 U-boats in 1939 the British would have been much better prepared to meet them. As it was, the RN had seventy-eight small escorts on order by the summer of 1939, with plans ready for a crash programme of auxiliary ‘whale catchers’ should the need arise. The fact is, given the submarine threat as it existed in 1939, the precautions taken to meet it were sensible. The bedrock of trade defence was largely in place. The small ships needed to make that work, and to supplement anti-submarine forces, could be improvised in the event of war, as they had been in 1914-1918.

Naturally, then, the primary focus of British naval planners during the inter-war years was on the large cruisers and battleships of their real and potential enemies. That kind of threat could only be met by investing in comparable ships (with all their attendant specialists and trades), the new aircraft carriers that profoundly influenced modern fleet actions, dockyards and bases – little of which could be improvised in time of crisis. Indeed, the Royal Navy’s main battlefleet was stretched around the globe, from the North Atlantic and North Sea, where it faced a rapidly rearming Germany, through the Mediterranean, which was patrolled by a small but modern Italian battlefleet, to the Far East where Imperial Japan, a powerful regional superpower, operated one of the great fleets of the world. Only the western hemisphere, left to the tender mercies of the USN, lay beyond British care. It is true that by 1939 the German surface fleet was small and principally a threat to merchant shipping. But the famous ‘Z’ plan of 1938 called for a major expansion of the German battlefleet, with massive new battlecruisers and battleships to challenge the RN directly for dominance of the eastern Atlantic. Under these circumstances, it was no wonder that the potential for the submarine problem to spiral out of control was seen to be – or was hoped to be – remote. In 1939 it could threaten, but it could not deal a mortal blow; however, enemy battlefleets could, and that threat had to be met head on.

While pre-1939 planning to deal with the U-boat threat was then based largely on common sense, no one really believed that Nazi Germany would abide by the Submarine Protocol. Moreover, submarines presented a very credible threat to warships, and so the basic technology and methods for handling submarines had – it seemed – been worked out. Senior British naval officers believed that they could deal effectively with the U-boats regardless of the strategy they adopted. In this they were proven sadly mistaken. Submerged submarines were tremendously hard to locate, even with asdic, under operational conditions, and very hard to kill once they were found. Moreover, the commander of the German submarine fleet in 1939, then Commodore Karl Dönitz, himself an experienced First World War submariner, was not convinced that sub- merged operations were the best way to employ submarines. During his last wartime operation, Dönitz had attacked a Mediterranean convoy at night while travelling on the surface, using his submarine as a form of torpedo boat. His U-boat was seen, driven down by gunfire and subsequently brought to the surface in a damaged state and abandoned. Dönitz was captured, but he remained convinced that the idea was sound. So much so that he published his ideas for night surface attacks in a small book in January 1939, Die U-Bootwaffe, which evidently went unnoticed in Britain.

The irony in all this is that when Lemp approached his target on 3 September 1939, he was operating strictly in accordance with the Submarine Protocol on direct orders from Adolph Hitler himself, and he made his final approach and attack submerged against a fast, zigzagging, darkened lone target on the high seas. This was not quite what the British imagined the submarine war to be, and not at all what the German’s wanted at the time. Mindful of the court of international opinion, anxious not to inflame relations with Britain beyond salvage and not to antagonise the French, German forces had been deployed into the eastern Atlantic in late August 1939 with absolutely strict orders to abide by international law and not to attack French shipping at all. By identifying his target as an Armed Merchant Cruiser, Lemp believed he was within his orders.

U-30’s two torpedoes had only a short distance to travel, about a thousand yards, but things immediately went wrong. One of the torpedoes turned once it left the tube and began to circle, posing a direct threat to the submarine. Lemp ordered a crash drive and evasive manoeuvres. While U-30 plunged and twisted away, the other torpedo completed the short sprint to the target, detonating against the port side engine room and opening a fatal wound. The ship soon stopped and began to settle in the water, with the sea pouring in and bulkheads collapsing. Emboldened by the ship’s distress, Lemp brought U-30 to the surface barely 800 yards away only to realise to his sudden horror that he had hit the 13,581-ton passenger ship Athenia. She was outbound from the Clyde for Canada with 1,418 people aboard. Lemp then compounded his error by trying to shoot away the ship’s antenna, before submerging and making off. Germany naturally denied any involvement and U-30’s log for that day was deliberately falsified on order to mask the disaster: the only known instance of a falsified U-boat log during the war.

Aboard Athenia, the scene was one of chaos and carnage. Passen-gers perished in their compartments below deck as the water rose, and they died as their lifeboats plunged awkwardly into the sea, or capsized. One boat filled with fifty-two women was ripped open by the propeller of a rescuing ship, drowning all but eight or nine of its occupants. In the end 118 passengers died, including sixty-nine women and sixteen children, of whom twenty-two were Americans.

No protest of error by the German government found a willing ear. Clearly, the Nazis intended to pick up where Imperial Germany had left off in 1918. The British Admiralty ordered all ships into convoy, and the whole apparatus of trade defence against submarine attack was stood up. The longest campaign of the Second World War had begun.

1

Opening Skirmishes

September 1939–March 1940

Within hours of the sinking of Athenia, the Royal Navy began its system of convoys, and deployed forces to stop German trade, intercept raiders and sink U-boats. German merchant vessels were harried at sea, some were sunk or captured, but the German surface raider fleet proved to be remarkably resilient. Kriegsmarine battlecruisers and pocket battleships struck into the broad ocean with comparative impunity. Although their success against Allied merchant vessels was slight, only one German raider was hunted down and destroyed in these early months. The others seemed to come and go as they pleased, and the lingering threat from a powerful and growing German battlefleet remained the primary concern of the British Admiralty. None of this was helped by the fact that the initial British anti-submarine offensive was a catastrophic failure.

In fact, the first month of war indicated that the submarine remained a very effective weapon. Of the fifty-three Allied vessels sunk by the end of September, forty-one were claimed by U-boats, and of the remainder most fell to mines, many of which were submarine-laid. In exchange, two U-boats were lost. British attempts to find and sink U-boats with hunting groups and aircraft were tragically futile. The first RAF Coastal Command aircraft to attack a sub in September 1939 crashed when its own anti-submarine bombs skipped on the water and exploded under the aircraft. The sub, which happened to be British in any event, escaped unharmed. Meanwhile, the Royal Navy began deploying its aircraft carriers into the Atlantic to hunt and sink U-boats. It proved a poor idea. On 14 September, U-39 fired a spread of three torpedoes at the aircraft carrier Ark Royal, which was on anti-submarine patrol west of Ireland. The torpedoes narrowly missed. U-39 was promptly sunk by the carrier’s escorting destroyers, which also rescued the submarine’s crew. It was the first U-boat kill of the war. But U-39 was an exception, one of only two U-boats found and destroyed by British hunting forces in the first six months of the war. The kill was also a stroke of luck. Shortly after U-39 was despatched, two Skua dive-bombers from Ark Royal located U-30 and attacked it with anti-submarine bombs. These bombs – like those dropped by RAF aircraft earlier in the month – also skipped on the surface, detonated in the air and brought both attacking aircraft down. The Skua’s crews were rescued by the U-boat; surely one of the most bizarre episodes of the war.

The British were not so lucky with the second aircraft carrier sent to hunt U-boats west of Ireland in September. When HMS Courageous suddenly altered course to retrieve her aircraft late in the afternoon of 17 September, she turned right in front of U-29 at a range of only 3,000 yards. Two of three torpedoes hit, sending the carrier to the bottom in fifteen minutes with heavy loss of life. Courageous’ escort hunted the U-boat without success and Kapitänleutnant Otto Schuhart arrived home to a hero’s welcome. No more fleet class carriers were sent to hunt submarines. The British had the right idea, but the best carrier for anti-submarine operations proved to be small – and expendable – and aircraft needed much better weaponry. Not surprisingly, the Flag Officer for U-boats, Commodore Karl Dönitz, reported optimistically on 28 September that, ‘It is not true that Britain possesses the means to eliminate the U-boat menace… Enemy technique has doubtless improved, but so has the U-boat, which now moves more silently.’

To prove his case, Dönitz ordered U-47, commanded by Günther Prien, to raid the main British fleet anchorage at Scapa Flow. In one of the most memorable feats of wartime navigation and skill, Prien slipped silently into the anchorage on the night of 13 October and attacked the battleship Royal Oak as she rode quietly at her mooring. Approaching on the surface, Prien fired all four torpedoes from his bow tubes at a range of only 4,000 yards. One failed to leave the tube, two missed the target, and one struck either the bow of the battleship or its mooring cable. The detonation occasioned surprisingly little alarm. Royal Oak’s officers concluded that the detonation was some kind of internal explosion. Meanwhile, Prien swung U-47 around and fired his stern tube: that torpedo failed to hit. Stunned by his inability to hit a huge stationary target at point blank range, Prien waited patiently for the next twenty minutes while his crew frantically reloaded the forward tubes. Then, at 01:16 hours, he fired another spread of three torpedoes: all of them hit. ‘Over there a curtain of water rises,’ Prien wrote afterwards. ‘It is as if the sea is suddenly standing up. Dull thumps sound rapidly in succession, like an artillery barrage in a battle, and grow together into a single ear-splitting crash – bursts of flame spring up, blue, yellow, red….Black shadows fly like giant birds through the flames… Fountains metres high spring up where they fall. They are huge fragments from the masts, the bridge, the funnels. We must have made a direct hit on the magazine…’ And so he had. Nearly 900 men perished aboard Royal Oak, and the vulnerability of the fleet was exposed. Prien received a hero’s welcome, and even the British had to admit his penetration of the Home Fleet anchorage and the attack on Royal Oak was a remarkable accomplishment.

But the Atlantic war was not about sinking carriers and battleships, it was about sinking the humble merchant vessels that carried the sinews of war. In that respect, German prospects were not entirely rosy in the late summer of 1939, and the foundations of the solid organisation that would ultimately defeat the German war at sea were being laid. In fact, the war began about five years too early for the German navy, which hoped to be in a position to challenge British sea power directly by 1944 or 1945. With the limited resources available in 1939, Grand Admiral Erich Raeder, head of the Kriegsmarine, chose a strategy of disruption against the Allies. Operations were aimed primarily at Allied merchant shipping in the hopes that they might occasion delay and embarrassment to Allied plans, and perhaps even stop some operations. Raeder was under no illusions that against the combined might of the French and the British, the Germans could achieve much. Indeed, as he confessed in his memoirs, the best that the German navy could do in 1939 was to ‘show that they knew how to die gallantly’.

Many did. In the early stages of the war, Anglo-French sea power dominated the surface of the world’s oceans and made fugitives of German raiders or confined them to more remote seas. Of the two major warships deployed in August 1939, the pocket battleship Graf Spee was tracked down and forced into an ignominious scuttling on a sand bar in the River Plate off Uruguay in December following a classic gunnery battle with three British cruisers. She might well have escaped but for an ill-conceived decision by her captain to fight when cornered. Graf Spee’s supporting tanker, the Altmark, was tracked and finally trapped in a Norwegian fjord in February, where by international law the ship ought to have been immune from attack. But the British government ordered the destroyer Cossack to take off the 299 British seamen prisoners she carried. The scuttling of the Graf Spee and the boarding of the Altmark ‘caught the imagination of the British people’, the Royal Navy’s official historian wrote later, and ‘showed that once again the Germans could not challenge us on the seas with impunity…’.

The other pocket battleship, Deutschland, made it home safely with little to show for her efforts. In the last four months of 1939, cruises by major warships – including the first by the new battle-cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, and a sortie by the pocket battleship Scheer – accounted for only fifteen Allied vessels, and sank only seventeen during the whole of 1940. But the British did not have it all their way. When Scharnhorst and Gneisenau tried to slip into the North Atlantic in November through the Faeroes-Iceland gap, they stumbled on the 16,700-ton armed merchant cruiser Rawalpindi, which was on patrol and supported by heavier vessels nearby. Rawalpindi answered the German summons to ‘heave to’ with gunfire, smoke and a radio transmission calling for help. But no help could arrive during the fifteen minutes it took the two battlecruisers to pound the old liner into a wreck. Then, for the next two hours, the German ships engaged in rescue work, the only time during the war large raiders were afforded that luxury in the North Atlantic. The effort was only given up when, in the light from the burning hulk of Rawalpindi, the Germans sighted a shadow cast by the light cruiser Newcastle. Her guns were no match for Scharnhorst and Gneisenau either, but her torpedoes, delivered at close range in the dark, were, and so the powerful German raiders beat a hasty retreat.

The direct impact of major German warships on the war against shipping remained negligible: by 1945 only forty-seven Allied ships had been lost to the guns of battleships and cruisers – about the same number were lost to mines during any three-month period during the war. It is easy to dismiss this raiding effort by capital ships as ineffective and rather pointless, but it tied down huge Allied naval and air forces, and did so until nearly the end of the war. Large units of the German fleet could not be ignored and they proved remarkably difficult to destroy. Scharnhorst,Gneisenau, Scheer, Lutzow (the renamed Deutschland) and the heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen all operated in the Atlantic without fatal interception. Indeed, in early 1941 Scharnhorst and Gneisenau cruised to the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, raiding shipping where Scheer had attacked a convoy weeks earlier and sank the small armed merchant cruiser Jervis Bay. Only Bismarck – the last to sortie into the Atlantic in May 1941 and unlucky as well – was actually caught in the noose and sunk. It is important to bear in mind this ongoing struggle with powerful German surface ships when the focus of the war at sea shifted to submarines.

Added to the problem of a small but modern and highly efficient German surface navy was that of their equally small – consisting of only some seven vessels – fleet of disguised merchant raiders. These regular trading vessels had been refitted as auxiliary warships, manned by naval crews and prepared with a number of disguises to cruise the distant oceans of the world and attack unwary Allied shipping. In 1940, their first and best year of operations, such raiders acco-unted for fifty-four Allied vessels, many of these in the southern ocean where Atlantis, Kormoran and Penguin made reputations as particularly effective raiders. For the Allies, the elimination of these marauders, and indeed the interception and destruction of major warships, depended upon the power of the main fleet, good luck of patrols, and, equally importantly, on the progressive expansion of the British Commonwealth’s system of naval intelligence and naval control of shipping.

The bedrock of the whole system of trade defence in the North Atlantic was the British Home Fleet. Its superior force of battleships, aircraft carriers, cruisers and destroyers checked the main power of the German navy and made it a fugitive presence at sea. This had been understood clearly by the Admiralty in the inter-war years. Battlefleets could not be improvised in times of crisis, as the smaller escorts of the anti-submarine fleet could. So the limited inter-war budgets had been wisely spent.

Naturally, it would have been best for the British to destroy the Kriegsmarine battlefleet outright early in the war, thus freeing men and materiel for other duties. But the Germans understood this perfectly well, and there was little to be gained by being crushed in a gunnery duel with the Royal Navy. With a small but modern force it made sense to maintain a fleet in being, to probe and upset defences, to spread them thin, and force the British to be strong everywhere. It was a logical and effective strategy. By October 1939, the British had four battleships and battlecruisers, thirteen cruisers and five aircraft carriers chasing raiders in the Atlantic, and four battleships and battlecruisers, two cruisers and a carrier assigned to convoy escort in the North Atlantic. All this in response to the two pocket battleships, Deutschland and Graf Spee. Meanwhile, patrols maintained by the powerful French navy secured convoys operating southward, towards Africa and the Mediterranean.

Naval stations, intelligence centres and sub centres.